"Why Do You Write?"
Because I like it.
Because writing is liberating.
Because thoughts are fleeting, but words have a habit of lingering on.
Because sometimes, I find it difficult to keep a track of my thoughts otherwise.
Because my brain, much like yours, jumps from one topic to the next too fast.
Because I think of the chapatti I had for dinner.
Because I think of how it’s made of unleavened dough.
Because I think about how the yeast that made the leavening process possible used to be a metaphor for corruption in the past.
Because sometimes, I can’t stop thinking how corruption chokes this country.
Because right now, I’m choking in this polluted city; a sufferer of asthma like so many others.
Because in spite of it all, I still love this city that I live in.
Because I’m fickle minded.
Because my heart beats a thousand times a second, and resonates with stories that I want to write.
Because now, I only fall in and out of love with the most ridiculous things and not people.
Because I have fallen in love with a river.
Because I have fallen in love with a city.
Because I have fallen in love with an ocean.
Because when I was forced to leave the river, or the city, or the ocean, my heart screamed silently.
Because words were then the only way that I could record the sorrow.
Because writing was the only way that I could experience it.
Because it’s fun.
Because wordplays and puns make me laugh.
Because when I write, misinformation typed backwards still stays misinformation.
Because I can tell the truth labelled as a lie and people believe that it is, indeed, a lie.
Because just by writing something clever that you can understand, I can make you feel intelligent.
Because thoughts are free (i.e. unbound) and thoughts come free (i.e. they cost nothing) .
Because just by explaining something clever that I’ve written, I can make you feel stupid.
Because I travel and see new things.
Because I always take time to hear strangers tell me about their passions.
Because I can indulge in those second hand memories whenever I want.
Because I can relive my own memories from time to time.
Because every morning when I wake up, I never know what I might think up.
Because people are inspiring beings.
Because I indulge in those inspirations.
Because I drink way too much coffee.
Because I feel that my best stories are the ones that flew away before I could write them down.
Because there is no greater tragedy than losing a pen when you need to write.
Because the need to write will always, always be greater than the want to write.
Because writers, like everyone else, are competitive beings.
Because watching a friend sitting next to me writing passionately spurs me on to write as well.
Because a picture may be worth a thousand words, but a thousand words will always be more valuable than a picture.
Because the words we write today shape the words that will come in future.
Because (insert favourite author here) wrote as well.
Because once upon a time, in a land far away, my English teacher said so.
Because she told me that happy stories sound happiest on warm summer nights.
Because she said, sad stories sound saddest on cold winter mornings.
Because she showed us how scary stories can make chills run down your spine, like cold water dripping on your neck inching slowly and slowly down your back, sending shivers down your whole body, making you tremble in fear.
Because in spite of a scary story, ‘a man and his ostrich walk into a bar’ probably makes you smile.
Because with the coming of autocorrect and spell-check, spelling mistakes have just been too much fun.
Because old ink on aged paper smells like vanilla ice cream topped with caramel syrup.
Because some stories are smooth as honey, while others are smooth as aged whisky from a charred oak cask warming your throat.
Because writing makes me read, and reading makes me think, and thinking makes me write.
Because that’s the only vicious circle I seem to be able to enjoy.
Because sometimes when I don’t want to talk to people, writing something makes them leave me alone.
Because some people are still readers, and the readers still wait for the writers to write.
Because thankfully, pens and pencils and paper still come cheap.
Because mornings in the loo without something to read would just be so boring.
Because somebody has to provide early morning bathroom break entertainment.
Because some stories can keep me up for nights and nights till I write them down.
Because some stories frustrate me by never coming out the way that I wanted them to.
Because some stories make me want to kill myself.
Because some stories make me sing at 3:00 AM.
Because most stories make Thamma (my grandmother) smile.
Because when I was little, Didiya (my sister) got me hooked to books.
Because writing can be an intimidating activity, sometimes.
Because not writing is a frightening pastime.
Because I want to be a writer, and a writer writes.
Because I would like to see those words sing at 3:00 AM.
Because it’s better that instead of me, that hated character dies.
Because until I get them out, thoughts in my mind seem outrageous.
Because the things in my mind that seem too outrageous have a habit of not seeming so on paper.
Because the ideas that float in and out of me never stay forever.
Because I am always scared that if I don’t write, that idea would be lost and never found again.
Because until I put that final full stop at the end of the last sentence, the story isn’t done.
Because when it’s finished, it always looks good.
Because it’s eternal.
Because it’s the only thing that makes me feel immortal.
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