Why Do I Write?
A deep introspection supported by two cups of Cardamom tea, has revealed that I write for 3 good reasons:
I write to flush the malarkey bug out of my system.
When I don’t write, this bug starts biting those in my immediate vicinity. Its first victim is almost always wifey. The bite of this bug is venomous. The immediate symptoms resulting from this bug’s bite include a heightening of the voice-pitch, flaring of the nostrils, bulging of the eyes, and tightening of the neck-muscles. Once in a while, it also ends up in the rolling pin transforming into a targeted missile, which I am able to dodge only because I have years of practice under my belt.
Writing thus, helps me escape the possibility of physical harm that can result from dishing out my malarkey in the real world!
I write to defrag my Mind.
According to friends (who might be foes in disguise,) I soak up information of all kind. My mental hard disk is quite like the room I used to live in before marriage. When I’d return from the market with something I had bought, I’d scan the room, locate the first vacant spot, and toss it there. Nobody ever came into my room, except my friends whose rooms were equally messy, so there was actually no need for me to organize things. The problem however was that despite my room being a treasury of sorts, I could never find anything.
Now wifey makes sure that I can find things in the house. My computer and my mind however still lead a wifeless existence. They both must be defragged at regular intervals. Writing is my way of defragging my mind.
I write for a cause!
I am a programmer. If you don’t recognize the term you were probably born in the nineties or after; in that case, you know us as coders. We are called coders because we use a code to communicate with the computers. The non-coders think of us as witches and wizards, and try to maintain a safe-distance from us. Once at a wedding, I found myself in a rather gregarious group. They were talking, laughing, bantering, yelling – doing all the things that people do on a happy occasion until one of them asked me about my profession. Such a hush fell in the group that I might’ve as well told them that I was an undertaker and not a programmer.
I write to dispel the notion that programmers are from Pluto.
I write to demand equality.
I write to say that coders matter!