This essay was written as a part of a collaborative exercise with fellow writers in the Delhi NCR Substack group. Links to their essays are at the end of the article.
I’ve been writing for over a decade now — tech news, dramatic Facebook posts, personal essays, short stories, podcast scripts, and probably a few things I’ve forgotten. I was happy with my progress. My friends and family also loved my writing, but honestly, that might be because I’ve forced half of them to read it.
Still, something felt missing. It was like eating a dish that’s good, but you know one secret ingredient isn’t there.
Then Substack happened.
Suddenly, I found this magical world full of writers and readers who understood the struggle of arguing with imaginary characters who ghost you for weeks and then make you write nonstop. People who want to be heard without actually having to speak. People who obsess over every word. People who just want someone else to say, I feel that too.
I thought Substack itself was the jackpot. It was — until I saw a post.
It showed a group of Substack writers in Mumbai meeting in a café.
And I thought: Holy shiz. How did this idea never cross my mind?
Reading the work of writers you admire is great, but meeting them? That’s a whole new level. Jackpot pro max.
Turns out Utkarsha Srivastava had the same thought around the same time. We talked, decided we should give it a try, did some posting and networking, and soon we had our first Substack meetup in Delhi.
And if you think that was a one-time adventure, allow me to clarify: commitment issues are not my thing. People switch jobs like they’re flipping TV channels (yes, I’m old enough for that reference), but I stayed in my first job for almost five years. So of course we had a second meet-up. And a third.
If you noticed fewer faces in the later photos, you’re right, the number did drop. But what the photos don’t show is that the group itself was growing, in the background, much like my weight. Slow, steady, unstoppable.
At this point you might be wondering, ‘Why is this important for me?’
Fair question. Substack tells me people from 37 countries read my newsletter (subtle show-off), so there’s a good chance you’re not from Delhi.
But this is still relevant.
Remember that ‘missing thing’ I felt before joining Substack?
It was this — the connection.
I’ve made so many friends in this creative community. I hope they consider me one too, though with the number of reminders I send them to write, I might just be the group’s irritating fitness coach.
I’m sure, at least one of them will become truly famous someday. When that happens, I’ll proudly say, I knew them from their humble days, while casually bringing out the handwritten postcards I saved. They are a part of my secret retirement strategy. I will auction one whenever I plan to retire.
Wait, did I say that out loud?
The meet-up attendance dipped, but the connections didn’t. We still share articles we love. We send postcards. We cheer one another on when writing feels impossible. This very post came out of one of our group activities. (Ved Shankar I hope I did justice to this piece)
We create together, grow together, push each other, and have fun. It’s not quite a Hum Saath Saath Hain situation, but it’s close enough.
We haven’t met in person recently, but we still get on virtual calls to talk about writing, brainstorm ideas, and discuss all things creative.
Most of us aren’t full-time writers. Yet we meet, we connect, and we try to write together at least once a month. When a connection matters, you make time for it.
I have a full-time job, a three-and-a-half-month-old daughter, and a new book launching soon, but I still show up. Because it feels good to be around people who share the same passion and are trying just as hard to keep it alive.
There’s so much to learn from them — one is running her own clothing line, one is building a design label while parenting, one is diving deep into long-form content, and others are studying while exploring writing. It’s inspiring to watch people chase multiple dreams at once.
Even the idea for this post came from someone in the group. So if you ask me why I invest time in this community, the answer is simple: the return on investment is high (thank you, business degree), and it genuinely feels good to be around them.
Writing can be lonely. You can sit with a blank page for hours and feel like you’re the only one struggling. But then you get a message from someone in the group saying, “I haven’t written a word in two weeks,” or sharing a random idea, or sending a meme that somehow fixes your mood — and suddenly the blank page doesn’t feel so scary.
I think that’s what connection really does. It reminds you you’re not doing this alone.
It makes the small wins feel bigger, and the bad writing days feel less dramatic.
It gives you people who clap for you even when your own brain refuses to.
And honestly, every month when we sit together, even virtually, to write, complain, laugh, and push each other a little, I feel grateful. Not the polite thanks for coming kind of grateful but the real kind.
So yes, I’ll keep showing up. I’ll keep nudging them to write. I’ll keep saving their postcards for my future retirement auction. And I’ll keep choosing connection every time, because it makes the whole writing journey a lot more fun.
P.S. If you’re from Delhi-NCR and want to join the group, DM me on Substack. We’d love to have you and who knows, maybe one day your postcard will help fund my beachside retirement.
If you’ve made it this far, please read these essays by fellow writers from the Delhi NCR Substack group, on the same theme
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