Writing in English has always been a headache for me. The more I read, the more restless I become. There seems to be an internal force inside me ready to burst forth after years of reading without writing. I know no excuses for choosing this, as it helps little to my career. Many of my friends and relatives dismissed the idea as childish and fruitless. Anyhow, bottled-up feelings have out maneuvered my reasoning power and assumed dominance. I started writing diaries two years ago and the total words has amounted to 70,000 words, insignificant indeed, but when I reviewed them page by page one day, I was amazed to find that it was not as difficult as it seemed to be once the journey began. To find so many young promising friends here is itself a pleasure. It is a worthy task.