Why I write

I read this phrase 'Why I write' in the Sin and Syntax book by Constance Hall and about how appealing phrase is with its rhythmic 'I I I' sound. In my case, the question really is 'Why I try ta write', which is even more rhythmic! So I wondered for some time about that today.

I write, firstly, to document thoughts that would otherwise fade away. Writing pins thoughts better than thinking them or conversing about them. So there, the first reason I write is mainly to document what I am thinking at a point in time. I remember writing my diary even in my school days. Looking back, it was gibberish but amusing to read now! Another related reason is that writing preserves ideas and stories with some vague sort of permanence. A story I wrote twenty years back in my blog is refreshed in my mind when I read the details that I included in my writing. The more details there are, better the reconstruction of the incident or the story. Last few days, I have been documenting my mother's recipes since she is around at home to help with the recovery following a knee surgery I had. Documenting them gives me a sense that our heritage recipes will be preserved in time.

Thirdly, there is an urge in me to share what I have learnt or discovered, without the focus on the person who is writing it. Passing on information that is interesting or is perhaps someday of some use to someone else; a recipe, a map, a person I met, a village I visited, an experience I wish I knew how to deal with or to expect at least.

There is, of course, some vanity in it. I write so others can read not just the (hopefully interesting) information I present but also appreciate how well I present it. Over the years I have moved this reason to being less important to writing than the three mentioned earlier. It is difficult though, to remove the observer from the observed, and to swallow the pride that comes from being the observer and in the quality of the description of what was observed. It is a work in progress and I am constantly working on it. In the section 'Why I write' (which is the title of an essay written by George Orwell) in the Sin and Syntax book, Constance also writes about how writing is an aggressive hostile act, with words imposing on the reader's most private space. I am trying to be mindful of this while writing these days.

Lastly, and perhaps mostly importantly, there is the innate joy in writing that I also experience while reading something written well. I still remember the feeling I felt when I was reading pages and pages of The Hungry Tide sitting below a tree in Bhadra Tiger Reserve in the year 2006, while anemometer readings were to be taken every hour for twelve hours, to document the patterns in wind speed and direction. I also remember the pang I felt when I was in a remote site in Arunachal Pradesh, when I just finished East of Eden, and was silently crying to myself in a lone Inspection Bungalow. No particular reason to cry, but feelings became tears, like spring water flows from deep within a rock, even when its not raining. I felt this again while reading Kafka on the shore too and wrote a blogpost just after finishing it. That piece happens to be my most favorite writing ever. That feeling is deep and priceless. 

If my writings can ever bring that depth of a feeling in anyone reading them ever, a nostalgic touch of their previous experiences, or the tingle of a taste from their home when homesick, then the words have reached their destination; they have conveyed the feelings I felt from my thoughts to words to someones else's thoughts; journey complete. For these reasons, and others which are not yet obvious to me, I will continue to write, as long and as well as possible.