Most writers take years to find their voice. Roy Mahajan found his before he turned ten. By eleven, he had already published two books, landed an interview with 2GB’s Ben Fordham, and had his work recognised in Parliament. One gets the sense that for Roy, writing isn’t a detour from childhood, it’s how he’s choosing to live it.
His first book, No Worries, Jason Will Be There, was a story about loyalty and kindness, wrapped in the kind of accessible narrative that appeals to both kids and grown-ups. It wasn’t ghostwritten or edited beyond recognition. It was simply what came out when a ten-year-old boy from Sydney decided he had something to say. “Incredible 10-year-old Aussie writes his first book,” declared Fordham during their radio chat, in what now sounds like an early chapter in a much longer story.
Roy followed it up with Shallow Yet Deep, a poetry collection that sprang from a school project. Poems like “The Story of Nature”, later picked up by Red Room Poetry, offered a surprisingly quiet kind of clarity. There was no attempt at adult imitation, no forced rhyme or over-polished sentiment. The simplicity was the point. His verses didn’t need to be long or overwrought, because Roy isn’t trying to sound like anyone else. That, perhaps, is what makes his work so readable.
Unlike many children’s authors whose first book ends up in a dusty drawer or a vanity print run, Roy’s books have travelled. No Worries, Jason Will Be There is now in his school library at Cherrybrook Public, where younger students borrow it the way they might a novel by Andy Griffiths or Morris Gleitzman. He’s sold over 50 copies at local bookstores in just a few hours, and his author events have drawn curious readers and supportive families alike.
The most telling gesture, however, isn’t a launch or a radio plug. It’s what he chose to do with the money. Roy donates his book profits to Tangaroa Blue, a marine conservation organisation focused on reducing plastic pollution in Australian waters. His collaboration with the Australian Marine Debris Initiative was a fundraiser, and it also signalled that, for him, writing has a purpose and a desire to leave something useful behind.
Recognition followed in a way that many adult writers might envy. In February this year, State MP Mark Hodges gave a Community Recognition Statement in the NSW Parliament, honouring Roy’s books and his contributions to youth literature. The Children’s Book Council of Australia also featured his work in its March issue. And Desi Australia profiled his poetic efforts with a quiet enthusiasm that many debut poets twice his age rarely receive.
Roy’s third book, Owen Goes to Disneyland, wasn’t meant for the public. It was written as a gift for his Kindy Buddy, which sounds like a story in itself. A kind gesture, handwritten and personal, the kind that never makes it into literary awards catalogues but stays on bedroom shelves long after. In a world increasingly shaped by commercial targets and literary ambitions, Roy writes like someone who just enjoys the act of telling stories.
The next project may be his boldest. Roy is working on co-authoring a new book based on the stories of his younger brother Kabir, who at four is now possibly Australia’s youngest storyteller-in-training. His collaboration with the Australian Marine Debris Initiative was a fundraiser, but it also signalled that, for him, writing has a purpose and a desire to leave something useful behind. If published, it would make Kabir the youngest author in the country, one younger sibling passing the torch to another, or perhaps just sharing the pen.
Roy’s author profile on Amazon lists his titles with the usual polish of a published writer, complete with biography and links. But the distinction lies in how organic it all feels. He is still a school student, still drawing his own illustrations, still refining his ideas at the dining table with family input. The books are real, the effort is sincere, and the reception has been warm without being staged.
A few years from now, Roy might move on to other things. Teenagers change direction, as they should. But whether he ends up writing fiction, journalism, poetry, or something else entirely, the early chapters of his story have already offered something worth noting: creativity can be quiet, young, and driven by purpose rather than performance.
To contact him, you don’t need to go through a publishing house or PR firm. His mum handles most of it. The books are on Kindle, the poems are online, and the author is probably somewhere nearby, sketching a new story or typing one-handed while holding a biscuit.
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