Engineer by Day, Creative Writer by Soul

“Have you retired?”

“Are you moving towards retirement?”

These questions caught me off the guard. They were posed not with malice, but with a kind of puzzled curiosity. I had recently begun sharing my blog posts and poetry—works crafted with care, intention, and a growing sense of creative fulfillment. The response has been warm and encouraging, with many followers eagerly anticipating my posts. However, a few acquaintances chose not to comment on the writing itself; instead, they questioned what the writing implied.

To them, writing—especially poetry or storytelling—signaled a step away from the rigors of professional life. A quiet phase. Perhaps retirement.

But why does this stereotype exist? Why is it hard to imagine that a practicing engineer, deeply involved in consultancy, teaching, and institutional work, might also write creatively—not as a hobby or side gig, but as a genuine extension of thought?

Let me back up. I’m not a writer in the conventional sense. I didn’t study literature. I didn’t grow up dreaming of publishing novels. I’m a science student, a qualified civil/structural engineer. My career has been shaped by technical rigor, codes and standards, consultancy projects, and academic mentorship. I’ve served on boards, contributed to national institutions, and taught senior students at a premier government college. I still do all this. My professional life is full, demanding, and deeply engaging.

And yet—I write.

Not because I have spare time. Not because I’m winding down. But because I’ve always had a creative urge—a quiet, persistent voice that finds expression in words. It’s reflected in how I think, how I teach, how I solve problems. Writing is not a detour from engineering—it’s a bridge. It deepens my engagement, sharpens my thinking, and helps me see patterns, empathize with stakeholders, and communicate more effectively.

So why do we assume creativity belongs to retirement?

There’s a cultural script many of us follow, often unconsciously: work hard, build your career, and once you’ve “done your bit,” you can finally indulge in the softer pursuits—writing, painting, gardening, music. These are seen as post-professional activities, ways to fill time after the main act is over.

But what if that script is flawed? What if creativity isn’t a postscript—but a parallel narrative?

The idea that writing is incompatible with a serious professional life is not only outdated—it’s limiting. It suggests our minds must be compartmentalized: analytical or artistic, technical or expressive. But real life doesn’t work that way. Our thoughts don’t obey such boundaries. And neither should our pursuits.

Creativity and professional life can—and must—coexist. They enrich each other. Embracing creativity alongside our careers brings a fuller, more nuanced perspective to both. It’s not about waiting for retirement to explore our passions; it’s about integrating them into our daily lives.

And I’m not alone.

Many professionals—doctors, scientists, bureaucrats, entrepreneurs—write. Some quietly, some publicly. Some start early, some later. The impulse is the same: to make sense of the world, to share insights, to connect with others. Yes, many take up writing after retirement. But that’s not because writing belongs to retirement—it’s because retirement finally gives them permission. Sometimes legal or professional constraints delay that expression. But generally, there’s no such barrier. Time, space, and societal approval are avoidable hiccups. And what if we didn’t wait?

Does writing make you a better professional? I believe it does. Writing demands clarity. It forces you to organize your thoughts, question assumptions, and articulate ideas. These are the very skills that make for good engineering, good teaching, good leadership. When I write, I’m not just expressing—I’m refining. I’m learning to listen to myself, to others, to the world around me.

Writing also helps me explain complex engineering ideas in accessible ways. It’s not just about putting words on paper—it’s about thinking deeply and critically. It allows me to communicate more effectively, persuade more convincingly, and lead more empathetically.

Beyond professional gains, writing is a source of joy and fulfilment. It’s a way to express creativity, share perspective, and leave a legacy. It cultivates empathy, invites introspection, and slows you down just enough to notice the beauty, irony, and complexity of life. In a fast-paced, transactional world, writing is a form of resistance—a way to reclaim depth, nuance, and meaning. It adds richness to life—not in monetary terms, but in emotional texture. A well-crafted sentence, a resonant metaphor, a story that touches someone—these are small triumphs that nourish the soul. And yes, writing is a stress buster too. Amid deadlines, meetings, and technical challenges, it offers a pause. A moment to breathe, reflect, and recalibrate. It’s therapeutic—not in a clinical sense, but in a human one. It helps process emotions, release tension, and build resilience.

So, to those who ask if I’ve retired, here’s my answer:

No, I haven’t retired. I’ve expanded. I’m still working, still teaching, still contributing. But I’m also writing—because I can, because I want to, because it matters. And I refuse to choose between the two.

Professionalism and creativity are not opposites. They are allies. The more we embrace that, the more whole we become. So, if you’re a professional with a creative urge—don’t wait. Don’t apologize. Don’t explain. Write. Paint. Sing. Share. Let your work and your words coexist. Let them dance.

Because life is not a sequence of compartments.

It is a symphony.

And every voice matters.

MANOJ MITTAL- SEPTEMBER 28,2025|NOIDA

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Technical Support-Trisha

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