A Legacy of Ink: The Story behind My New Year Diaries

By PRIYABRAT BISWAL

With each New Year, a bittersweet memory resurfaces — one I’ve cherished for decades. It’s the memory of my mother, quietly standing by my side as she handed me a diary, a simple yet profoundly meaningful gift. For me, the arrival of the New Year will always be intertwined with the memory of her thoughtful gesture, which changed my life in ways I never anticipated.

It all began in 1979 when, as a young boy, I left the warmth of home to stay in a school hostel. Coming from a small, remote village, the concept of a diary was foreign to me. Back then, I would scribble my daily activities in a homemade notebook, made from loose sheets of paper bound together by thread. My writings were sparse, mostly limited to recording study hours or the occasional noteworthy event. There was no introspection or deeper meaning — just a simple chronicle of life as a young student.

However, a change was on the horizon. One summer, as I returned home for the break, my mother noticed my crude notebook. I saw a mix of surprise and affection in her eyes as she examined it. The following New Year, to my amazement, she gave me my first real diary. It wasn’t just any diary; it was a beautiful hardbound book with a smooth, inviting cover. My mother had spent Rs 25 on it — a sum that was no small amount in those days.

The significance of this gift went far beyond its material value. It was a message, a silent yet powerful encouragement to write, reflect, and record not only life’s events but also the thoughts and dreams within me. It marked the beginning of a new chapter — one where my words would find a true home.

Time, however, can be both cruel and kind. In 1999, the Super Cyclone struck, devastating everything in its path. The winds and waves destroyed my belongings, leaving me with nothing — except the memory of that first diary. Though the storm claimed the diary, it could never take away the love that accompanied it. All I have left is the weathered, tattered cover, which I still keep to this day. It is a relic — a reminder of my mother’s love and the bond we shared through something as simple as a diary.

Over the years, my relationship with diaries evolved. What began as a practical habit — recording mundane school activities — transformed into a cherished daily ritual. My diaries became confidantes, silent listeners. They were no longer just for recording events; they captured my emotions, dreams, and reflections. Over time, they became windows into my soul, each page a snapshot of who I was, what I believed, and where I was headed.

But it wasn’t just the act of writing that became important; the presence of a diary in my life symbolized something greater. A comment from a relative sparked a fire of defiance within me. I vowed to prove that my passion for diaries was not just a passing hobby but something much more significant. From that moment, I began collecting diaries — not just any diaries, but exquisite, expensive ones. My collection grew, as did my love for the art of writing. It became a personal mission, one that, unknowingly, was beginning to define me.

Along this journey, I was fortunate to meet remarkable individuals who supported my passion. My cousin Mihir Bhai (Shri Mihir Kumar Mohapatra), a thoughtful soul, made it a point to gift me a beautiful diary every January. This annual tradition deepened my connection to my family and heritage.

Among the many who contributed to my collection were truly exceptional individuals. Shri Gourahari Das, a distinguished writer and journalist, has always been a constant source of encouragement and inspiration. His words have the power to uplift my spirit and broaden my understanding of the world. Shri Anil Bhatt, the former Deputy General Manager of NALCO, a man of great dignity and wisdom, also became a generous supporter. His thoughtful gifts of diaries and fountain pens spoke volumes of his kindness. Another person who left a lasting impression on me is Shri Bibhudatta Mahapatra, Vice President at Aditya Birla Group — a man whose multifaceted talents were only rivalled by his generosity. These individuals, along with countless others, enriched my journey and deepened my love for diaries.

Even the German Embassy in New Delhi and the Consulate General in Kolkata recognized my passion, sending me beautiful New Year diaries and calendars as tokens of goodwill. Their kindness reminded me that sometimes, simple gestures can forge lasting bonds.

For all the wonderful people who supported me, it was my mother who remained my greatest inspiration. Even after I left home, she continued a small but meaningful tradition. Every December, she would give me money to buy a New Year diary — a practice I carried on after her passing in 2017. To this day, I continue to buy a new diary for myself every year, no matter how many others I receive.

Yet, the world has changed. In an age dominated by electronic gadgets, the world of paper diaries has diminished. Many organizations have stopped gifting diaries as New Year presents, and paper diaries themselves are becoming rarer. Still, no matter how advanced technology becomes, nothing can replace the joy of holding a diary in your hands. The tactile experience of turning pages, the comfort of a pen gliding across paper, and the satisfaction of looking back at handwritten words — these are feelings no electronic device can replicate.

As the years pass, I often reflect on the journey that a simple New Year diary has taken me on. It’s been more than a way to record my thoughts — it has been a constant companion, a witness to my growth, struggles, and triumphs. The memory of my mother, the support of those who shared my passion, and the simple act of writing have shaped who I am today. Each New Year brings not just another diary, but another chapter in a story I continue to write — a story filled with love, memories, and the timeless beauty of ink on paper.

(The author of this article can be contacted at the phone number 7978664134)