The shared intimacy of reading private journals
| on finding out about people's inner lives and finding my nana's journal
{having 2 mashed boiled eggs with cheese on toast & writing this - before going in to work}
As Anais Nin expanded into the world at large, the world also invaded her diary. The secret notebook, the “hashish and vice” of herearly days, began to bulge with clippings, interviews, travel articles, prefaces, reviews—a scrapbook of her external achievements.
Quite a few of my favourite books were actually not meant to be published at all: Sylvia Plath’s Unabridged Journals, Kafka’s Letters to Milena, Sartre’s letters, the diary of Anais Nin; these are some books that have left a mark upon me. Oh also Virginia Woolf’s a Writer’s Diary!
Reading their journals now published as books serves as a pre-text for all their books. You kinda get why their characters were a certain way, why they chose to revolve all their books around darkness and blood, you seem to understand the person in a way that no fiction can ever explain.
And I think that’s because when people are writing without a magnifying glass on them, without any pair of eyes trying to hold them accountable, without any need to do better or say better — they start opening up. They are not seeking to make a point, an argument or be performative. It’s like being alone in the house where you know you aren’t being watched.
Franz Kafka, for my non-readers, he was an author who wrote absurdist, existential stories where most of his protagonists were isolated from the world, trying to overcome a deep crisis. He was also one of those red flag, mysterious, broody men (i mean thats totally my opinion from the works ive read lol) but when i read his Letters to Milena which are literally his private letters to Milena, the girl he was having an affair with, published as abook - i realised omg he’s such a loverboyyy! Like his entire flow of writing changed! it was flowery and animated and literally cute. It was very un-kafkaesque and showed me a whole other side of him.
Another thing that attracts me to journals is how it operates at two levels. There’s the content itself and then there’s the writing. I might get a bit more literary here so forgive me if I become boring, but hear me out: the content tells the actual event, you’re basically invited to participate in the event happening that the writer is talking about however the writing style conveys the emotion >> illegible writing may convey hastiness, but huge chunks of letters may show angst or irritation, neat symmetrical writing may show ample time and peace. And that itself can radiate so much emotion that the text contains.
Similarly, when I’m angry journaling, my writing comes out horrible: it’s cuz I’m voraciously trying to get the words out on paper, almost like im physically pulling something from inside me and casting it aside. (I didn’t pick up on this until way later when I revisited my diaries and saw how I wrote — bec the writing was so unlike my usual writing). The style and also what I was writing - I write more harshly, using more Urdu words to express. While happy writing is flowery writing, proper grammar and structure, using so many synonyms!
This, is at the root of why I like reading private notes so much. There are so few places where we get to be close to other people and really discover the messy humanity they carry behind the identities they have neatly polished for society life.
What prompted me to write this post, and I will be honest is because I found my nana’s diary 🥰 his journals!! He used to write! All the sweet memories I have with my nana is associated with my childhood. Unfortunately, when I grew up and became mature enough to understand him at a deeper level, he got sick, suffered from dementia and almost lost his ability to talk. Very painful for me, since he was the only man in my life who actually acted like how decent men are supposed to act like.
But finding his journal is like finding a gem amongst a mountain of coals. It’s like finding a part of my nana that I never knew — that I don’t think anyone knew. At the same time, if I’m being honest I feel like I’m doing something so illegal — like imagine him writing down his feelings not knowing that they will be read by his grand daughter one day? but I will keep his privacy intact, dw. but if im being honest, I think if my nana knew that i stumbled upon his diary and writing about it on a platform, he would actually be very proud of me. Bec he absolutely loved reading. He unfortunately passed away without knowing that i graduated with a literature degree warna honestly he would have been vvv proud! (small thing, cuz now im getting nostalgic, but he used to call me madame bec i had this habit of turning everything into a discussion haha)
so this was really illegible so i took a picture of it and entered it into chatgpt to translate into english and omggg he wrote that a poem of his was included in a radio program called “Bandah” in Bannu, where poets’ works were recited. He also mentioned that he kept writing and sending his ghazals and poems to magazines and newspapers, and that some of them got published. Omg 😭 😭 😭 I JUST FOUND THIS OUT WITH YOU GUYS IM CRYING
does that mean I get this art of writing from him???? i know he used to read a lot but writing also?? damn.
I sometimes think he just wanted everyone to ask about him, his life, the things he had seen but he was so secretive! he barely talked about himself and had an aura of strictness around him which no one was able to penetrate through. And me being me, I used to yap around him a lot and ask a lot of questions and he would get SO TEARY WHEN TALKING ABOUT HIS CHILDHOOD (he and his sister were the only family members left alive during the 1947 partition) so as a child, I thought oh maybe these are shaky waters and I shouldn’t cross them so I never got past beyond a few things that I know.
But do you see how this journal is bringing me closer to him? I read another 3 pages just now that i transcribed in english (not including here) and im literally visualising my nana in 1981 dressed handomely and attending this urdu mushaira that he wrote about. 🥺🤍
I hope somehow my nana visits me in my dreams, knowing that a precious part of his life has found its way safe and securely into my hands, and I think there is no bigger honour than having someone’s life stories safely buried within you.
I would one day want my children to read about my life, and my experiences, my friends and my heartbreaks so they can learn the art of peeling off the layers from a person to truly understand them.
(im sorry if this got longer, the nostalgic outburst is very unplanned)
well, i had a really cute time with you guys. if anything, this is a sign to sit with your parents/grandparents and ask about their previous lives - before they became a mom, a dad, a dada or a nana/nani. You will be surprised to find out that every person has a bag full of stories to always share 🥰
With love,
Urooba.
The nostalgic outburst as a reaction of reading this was quite unexpected, in a good way, because I remember finding my parents letters to each other when they were in a long-distance relationship, even though I wasn't allowed to read them all, the writing style now reminds me how I write to myself in my journal. I also found old lists and hisaab kitaab (lol) which reminded me of how I make lists and write everything down, just like my mother. Even though the outburst isn't as profound as yours, keeping in mind that your nana used to write poetry, published it too, but getting to relate to your parent/grandparent on a far more personal level that reminds you how you have always been a part of each other is equally emotional.
The diary datss are just before his grandchild was due. We all got the literature for nana jan. We all had parents , but I've been thinking lately, and our true maa baap were our grand parents. Nana Jan spent the most time with you and at the end he adores you and made you feel the same. I learned about this world beyond KHI from him. Histories Geographies all having philosophy in common. Thank you for sharing this.