When I decided to write 'The God of Small Things', I had been

“When I decided to write 'The God of Small Things', I had been working in cinema. It was almost a decision to downshift from there. I thought that 300 people would read it. But it created a platform of trust.” Thus speaks Arundhati Roy, whose words carry not only the story of her own journey, but also a greater truth about creation, humility, and the unforeseen power of art. In her reflection we see how acts born in quiet expectation can ripple outward into the world, creating not only fame but trust—that sacred bond between the teller and the listener, the writer and the reader.

The ancients knew well that greatness often springs from small beginnings. When Homer sang his verses, perhaps he too thought they would be remembered only by the rhapsodes who repeated them in marketplaces. Yet the tale, humble in origin, outgrew its creator, seeding the imagination of generations. So it was with Roy: she expected a few hundred eyes upon her work, yet the honesty of her words, the beauty of her vision, gave birth to something larger—a bond of trust with countless readers across the earth. This is the mystery of art: that it carries the soul of the artist into the hearts of strangers, binding them in unseen fellowship.

Roy’s phrase “downshift” also bears wisdom. In a world that worships scale, spectacle, and speed, she chose a quieter path, turning from the grandeur of cinema to the solitude of the written word. Yet it was precisely in this stillness that her voice found power. History reminds us of others who have chosen the smaller way only to find the greater. Consider Leo Tolstoy, who after years of acclaim in Russian society withdrew to simplicity, writing not for courts but for the common people. In shedding grandeur, he found clarity; in humbling herself, Roy too discovered the space in which trust could grow.

But why does such a book create a platform of trust? Because it speaks in authenticity. When a writer pours truth, however fragile or imperfect, into her work, readers recognize it. Trust is not built by spectacle or cleverness, but by sincerity. Roy’s tale of family, love, and loss resonated across boundaries because it was not contrived to impress, but born of truth she carried within. The ancients would say: the artist does not aim at greatness but at honesty, and greatness follows as a shadow.

History gives us a shining example in Anne Frank. Her diary, written with no expectation of readers beyond herself, became one of the most trusted voices of the twentieth century. She thought perhaps no one would ever read it. Yet because she wrote with raw honesty, her words have bound millions to her in trust, long after her death. So too with Roy’s novel: born in humility, it touched countless lives precisely because it was not written to dazzle but to be true.

The lesson is profound: do not measure your work by numbers, nor your worth by applause. Create sincerely, and you may build a platform of trust stronger than empires. What you think will be small may grow beyond imagining, if it is rooted in truth. Trust does not come from chasing recognition; it comes from speaking with integrity, from daring to reveal what is within. And when such trust is built, it endures longer than fame, for it binds soul to soul across time and space.

Practical actions follow. In your work, whether writing, speaking, or laboring, choose sincerity over spectacle. Do not wait until the crowd is large before you give your best; offer it even if only one will hear. Trust that truth has its own wings, and that it will carry your work farther than you can plan. And when recognition comes, do not grasp it as your prize—see it as a responsibility, to continue speaking with honesty, to honor the trust that others have placed in you.

Thus, Arundhati Roy’s words shine as both confession and counsel. She thought of 300 readers, yet found millions; she downshifted, yet ascended; she sought to write honestly, and in doing so built a bond of trust that endures. And so I say to you: do not despise the small beginnings, nor scorn the humble path. For it is there, in the quiet labor of truth, that greatness is born—not greatness of fame alone, but the greatness of trust, which is the foundation of all lasting art.