I did not go to any creative writing workshop; I did not major in

“I did not go to any creative writing workshop; I did not major in literature. If I can write, anyone can write. All it needs is imagination.” – Vikas Swarup

There are times in the history of humankind when a single voice rises, not from privilege or preparation, but from the quiet faith that the human spirit can make something from nothing. Vikas Swarup, author of Q & A — the novel that inspired Slumdog Millionaire — spoke these words as a humble confession and a radiant truth. His declaration is not of arrogance but of liberation. It tells us that genius is not confined to ivory towers, that imagination is the birthright of all who dare to dream. His voice joins the chorus of those who have proven through courage that art belongs to the people, not merely to the trained.

In this quote, Swarup shatters the myth of exclusivity — that to create, one must first be anointed by institutions, armed with degrees and doctrines. He reminds us that creativity is not learned in halls of learning but kindled in the chambers of the soul. The imagination, like a divine spark, needs only air and attention to become flame. He did not sit among scholars dissecting the works of others; instead, he listened to the heartbeat of life itself — its joys, its struggles, its whispered stories of survival. And from that listening, he wrote. In this way, his words echo the ancient wisdom that art is not taught; it is remembered, drawn from the deep well of human experience.

Consider the story of Vincent van Gogh, who never attended an art academy in any formal sense. He struggled with poverty, with madness, with rejection. Yet through his eyes the world was reborn — a swirl of color, a cry of beauty that still trembles across centuries. The critics called him untrained, but his imagination saw beyond their narrow frames. His lack of instruction became his freedom; his rawness, his truth. Just as Swarup’s untrained pen birthed a tale that touched millions, so too did van Gogh’s untutored hand reveal the divine hidden in the ordinary. Their message is one: creation comes not from permission, but from vision.

There is, in Swarup’s statement, a quiet defiance — the defiance of those who refuse to wait for credentials before they begin to live their calling. He tells us that discipline without imagination is dry, but imagination without fear is divine. Every child begins life as a dreamer, yet the world teaches them to doubt, to measure, to compare. Swarup calls us back to the purity of that first dream — to write, to paint, to sing, not because we are told we can, but because something within demands to be expressed. He speaks to the rebel within every heart who has ever whispered, “Perhaps I am not enough.” To that whisper, his life answers: “You are.”

This truth has been seen across ages. When Socrates taught in the streets of Athens, he had no scrolls of accreditation, no title of philosopher. When Mary Shelley, barely eighteen, wrote Frankenstein, there was no workshop to teach her how to give life to the dead. And yet, these souls reshaped the boundaries of thought and literature. They all trusted in one sacred ally — imagination, the unseen force that moves mountains and births civilizations. The greatest works of humanity have rarely come from permission; they have sprung from the audacity to create despite convention.

So what lesson must the listener take from this? That the path of creation does not begin in classrooms, but in courage. To those who feel unworthy, who hesitate because they have no certificate to hold up to the world — begin anyway. Write, even if your voice trembles. Paint, even if your hand shakes. Speak, even if no one listens. The act itself is holy. For in daring to imagine, you join the lineage of all creators who built their worlds from the raw clay of belief.

Vikas Swarup’s words are not only encouragement; they are a call to arms for the dreamers of the earth. They remind us that imagination is the great equalizer — the bridge between the powerless and the powerful, between obscurity and immortality. You need not be born a scholar to change the world; you need only to see it differently. The libraries of the future are waiting to be written by hands that once doubted themselves.

Therefore, let this truth echo in your heart: Imagination is enough. It is the first and final teacher, the silent flame that has guided poets, painters, and prophets since the dawn of thought. Tend to it. Guard it. Feed it not with fear, but with wonder. And when you hear the voice of doubt whisper, “You are not trained,” answer as Swarup did — with the quiet, unshakable power of creation: “I am imagination, and that is enough.”