Why I blog, you ask?

How daring of you to ask why I blog! Who do you think you are, Modi’s kurta-pajama maker? Don’t you know my deadly IndiRank? Or my bust-line and views punch-line and page-views? Or even that I am on speed dial with BlogAdda’s dadda whom I send a carton of alphonso to every Diwali? Badey aaye!

But now that you have asked that question, dumb as a nose hair it may be, I will answer. Even if you are blogging bloke-ing sitting on the 11th planet, for you have to be far removed from blog-o-sphere to ask anyone like me why I blog, I shall answer. What goes of my Swarovski studded pen? 

Once upon a time on a cold winter night, when my umbilical chord was cut came a divine voice which announced – ‘The Writer has been born’. Swear! Such power in that voice and such truth there was, the doctor fainted, then quit doctory and is now a best-selling author himself (He writes self-help, for himself, but I digress). Now, that lovely voice was heard by all, including my newly-opened ears. Which meant, I had to write for I was born to write. 

The divine itch to write something would strike me by surprise and in amazing places. Really! I was 5 when I wrote my first word in my convent-created school diary. It was F … whatever. But it felt so good. To have written something meaningful. Something worthwhile and something I could pass down generations as my own F… anyway! My itch to pen had to be taken care of at every stage in life. When it loomed large, it was larger than the one which rears its head the moment you step into a bus, all sweat and grime and slime and no B-tex. Passionately I scribbled ‘Roses are red, violets are blue, what features you have, what jaw-line too’ sonnets for good looking pahari waiters on restaurant serviettes and etched biological haikus behind monuments. I wrote here and I wrote there and I wrote everywhere when my talented hands yearned to write the gloriously wonderful things that came to mind.

And then one day, bhagwan ka shukra hai, I discovered blogging. Tailor-made for hands such as mine, like a glove. My blog was born, a cross between a c-sec and a natural birth, and I felt reborn somewhere ‘Between Write and Wrong’. And simultaneously was born a desire to take it to the next level, all my writing power and prowess. To practice, for it makes a 10/10 woman even more perfect, and to experiment. After my first post, a tribute to all the <3s and the ‘F’s and the smileys I had been writing, I lay back on bed, imagining myself waking up to a butler asking me to sign copies of my books for the crowd downstairs. Or sitting on a news panel to blah-blah about topics from women to politics to mitochondria to leather soles to diaper rash to lycra to anything. In short, to be a celebrity writer like Honey Singh Freida Pinto. Toh you see, to reach that one fine butler morning in life, I blog and blog and blog.

However, ab jhooth kya bolna. I also relish the attention. Here in the world of blogging, age is no bar at all, to anything, and neither is writing skill. ‘Kudos’ and ‘brilliant’ flow as free as pee after two bottles of Budweiser. Such doses of generosity, over-wired support and sense of oneness that no one will leave without saying ‘well written and poignant’, even if the post was a happy photograph no more and even if photograph was spelt Photograff. There is ample gas to make you fly like a hot air balloon and start planning your Booker book after post no. 16, ‘brilliant’ no. 160. Such love and encouragement that you don’t even need to open the dictionary to learn how to spell ‘encourazement’. Fark hee nee painda! As long as you are nearing what they call a ‘pro-’ vitamin B5, teens hosiery, relief balm Blogger status.  

And no better exercise than to blog away and share with all 7 continents the bhadaas that networking sites or neighbourhood networking pants up inside you. Typing all the frustration down in one breath and sans susu-breaks, extra !!!! marks and what the hale, you have a healing post ready. I have experienced it often. I wrote and wrote and wrote, forgot to blink, sweat came and fingers cried, but I wrote and wrote and that witch and what does she think and have you seen his hair and who you calling rude, dur fittey muh and I was going yes, oh yes, ohhh yessss and a … release. It ended. What catharsis what freeing. What a ‘powerful’ … rant post ready! More power to me!

I’m hungry, which reminds me. Some of life’s biggest pleasures come in the form of big mounds of biryani served to you in star-rated crockery, for free. Just like all hostellers are poor, well, so are we. Hence the blogger meets look like mini-Kumbhs except no one is a sadhu here, or naked (Sigh!). I blog so that I remain forever eligible to walk into a gathering of fun-loving people who love free food, free drinks, free face-to-face networking, free birds and freebies too. Being contest-crazy needs hard work, sometimes 4 times over. And while hard word breeds satisfaction, at no point does it match the sated burp of three kinds of cheese cakes settling in your stomach's wall. For free. Free!

Ab bolo, got your reasons why I blog ya you need more? Or did you also just get the reasons why you blog? That or this, time to press ‘Publish’. 

And go dream of that one fine butler morning. It will happen, you see!

Jai Mata Di!


[Written for WordPress Daily Prompts : 365 Writing Prompts aimed at posting at least once a day, based on the prompts provided. The prompt for today was - Million-dollar Question – Why do you blog?]