Why I do what I do

It was this old joke that I shared with a friend during those early days in journalism - what do you call someone who succumbs to something?

A ‘succumbu’.

It cracked us up to no end, as we thought of all the times we had succumbed to things. Soon, it became easy to spot these succumbus in our midst - that glutton who had succumbed to that extra portion during a meal, or the sot who had succumbed to that last drink when he was ready to crawl home hours ago.

Over a period of time, more succumbus emerged who didn’t quite fit the typical mould we had in mind. But they were succumbus nonetheless - a dedicated lot who succumbed to what they loved.

Back then, I had little idea that I would fall prey to it someday.

As a kid, writing was something that I enjoyed and I looked forward to writing essays at school, irrespective of the language. That soon made way for dreams of becoming a travel writer, as I started scribbling notes in a little pad that I carried with me.

Those early aspirations were about travelling to exotic locations and painting a rosy picture around it. But it soon made way for travelling and writing about people and issues that mattered, things that would inspire others to take that first step forward.

Nothing quite prepared me for the rush that came alongside chasing a story in a brand new environment.

There were occasions when a potential story would emerge when I least expected it; yet other times, where it took months before the research was satisfying. A lot of time was dedicated to this hunger for knowledge, while meeting incredible people along the way who helped sate it. Then of course, came the thrill of actually penning it until I was satisfied with the output.

It was rewarding on a personal front. The thrill that came alongside the chase was irreplaceable. Whenever I sat at ease, I knew that it was just a matter of time before I hit the road again.

And just like that, I became a succumbu.