The one thing that I have not been able to do after the birth of my son is reading a book. Yes, I did read 'The Moonstone' but that was for a purpose and not for mere pleasure. Reading, for me, has been a hobby, a pastime, a passion, an escape at various stages of my life. I don't even remember at what age I started reading. In my childhood, Phantom, Tintin, Archies, Amar Chitra Katha and Chandamama were constant companions for a very introverted person like me. Then in school, Nancy Drew captivated my girlish imagination and I proudly wrote down the name of each and every Nancy Drew mystery that I had read. ( The last entry was about No. 106 or so). I still remember the Library hour was on Fridays and as we had no school on weekends, the one thing I waited most was to get my hands on one. We used to go home by bus and all the time I was seated, I would be in this strange state of bliss knowing that I had a Nancy Drew in my bag. It was an entirely different thing that being a fast reader, I would devour the book within one hour - the six-day-wait ending so fast that I would wait for the next Friday!
My favourite subject in school was obviously English and the poetry, prose and drama that we studied has remained fresh in my mind till date. It is amazing how few stories or poems leave a lasting impression on our minds due to the teacher's evocative explanation or the inherent beauty of the subject. Even now, I remember 'The Face on the Wall', 'The Stench of Kerosene', 'If', 'The Highwayman', 'The Road not Taken' and 'The Brook's Song'. Credit is also due to my English teacher, Rohini Ma'am, a young, beautiful and extremely intelligent lady who instilled in me a greater love for the language.
Though college did not offer any avenues for me to explore literature further, I scoured book shows, stores and friends' collections to expand my literary knowledge. It was during these times that I became familiar with classics like 'Pride and Prejudice', 'Wuthering Heights', 'Pickwick Papers', 'Anne of Avonlea' which joined my old favourites, like Enid Blyton's school series, Sherlock Holmes mysteries and Agatha Christie's whodunits. It was however not until my post-graduation in Literature that I had a complete encounter with my first love. Studying English Literature not only gave me an opportunity to view the subject in a different light but more importantly,in my perspective, allowed me to read as many books as I could. So, while 'The Rivals', 'The Battle of the Books', 'Absalom and Achitophel', and sundry Commonwealth and Indian writing were a part of syllabus, I had ample time to catch up with books like 'The Brothers Karamazov' and 'A Suitable Boy'. That was the golden period of my love affair with books. Having a lot of free time on my hands, many afternoons were spent lounging in my empty hostel room on my bed, reading a book and falling asleep.
After my marriage, I ended up for three years in the US of A which thanks to its generous system of public libraries is a heaven for book lovers. Sidney Sheldon bestsellers jostled with Booker Prize winners like 'On Beauty' and 'The Kite Runner' on my coffee table. If I had ample time in my MA days, in US I had time to kill. Laughing over a PG Wodehouse was my way to drive away depression. When I was pregnant, there were strict orders not to read any gory stuff...so I ended up reading 'What to Expect when you're Expecting'. Hmm...and there my journey took a break.
Reading a book for me after all these years is more than a way to pass my time. It gives me the chance to lose myself in a different world. How much fun I have had imagining how Elizabeth would look when Darcy proposes to her! How I wished I was Anne surrounded by the beauty of Avonlea! Why couldn't I be a part of Bertie Wooster's world? Why did Rowling had to end the Harry Potter series? Is there a real Baker Street?
Books do not just appease my romantic side...they also manage to move, inspire and educate me. Khaled Hossieni's depiction of Afghanistan, Arthur Miller's take on McCarthyism and the ironic endings of O'Henry are just a few examples of the magic that lies in the bound pages of a book. As my days revolve around my growing son, just like the Fridays in school I am waiting again for the time when I have the leisure to get lost in the simple or intricate, classic or contemporary, romantic or severe, mundane or intellectual, fantastical or realistic pages of a book.
My favourite subject in school was obviously English and the poetry, prose and drama that we studied has remained fresh in my mind till date. It is amazing how few stories or poems leave a lasting impression on our minds due to the teacher's evocative explanation or the inherent beauty of the subject. Even now, I remember 'The Face on the Wall', 'The Stench of Kerosene', 'If', 'The Highwayman', 'The Road not Taken' and 'The Brook's Song'. Credit is also due to my English teacher, Rohini Ma'am, a young, beautiful and extremely intelligent lady who instilled in me a greater love for the language.
Though college did not offer any avenues for me to explore literature further, I scoured book shows, stores and friends' collections to expand my literary knowledge. It was during these times that I became familiar with classics like 'Pride and Prejudice', 'Wuthering Heights', 'Pickwick Papers', 'Anne of Avonlea' which joined my old favourites, like Enid Blyton's school series, Sherlock Holmes mysteries and Agatha Christie's whodunits. It was however not until my post-graduation in Literature that I had a complete encounter with my first love. Studying English Literature not only gave me an opportunity to view the subject in a different light but more importantly,in my perspective, allowed me to read as many books as I could. So, while 'The Rivals', 'The Battle of the Books', 'Absalom and Achitophel', and sundry Commonwealth and Indian writing were a part of syllabus, I had ample time to catch up with books like 'The Brothers Karamazov' and 'A Suitable Boy'. That was the golden period of my love affair with books. Having a lot of free time on my hands, many afternoons were spent lounging in my empty hostel room on my bed, reading a book and falling asleep.
After my marriage, I ended up for three years in the US of A which thanks to its generous system of public libraries is a heaven for book lovers. Sidney Sheldon bestsellers jostled with Booker Prize winners like 'On Beauty' and 'The Kite Runner' on my coffee table. If I had ample time in my MA days, in US I had time to kill. Laughing over a PG Wodehouse was my way to drive away depression. When I was pregnant, there were strict orders not to read any gory stuff...so I ended up reading 'What to Expect when you're Expecting'. Hmm...and there my journey took a break.
Reading a book for me after all these years is more than a way to pass my time. It gives me the chance to lose myself in a different world. How much fun I have had imagining how Elizabeth would look when Darcy proposes to her! How I wished I was Anne surrounded by the beauty of Avonlea! Why couldn't I be a part of Bertie Wooster's world? Why did Rowling had to end the Harry Potter series? Is there a real Baker Street?
Books do not just appease my romantic side...they also manage to move, inspire and educate me. Khaled Hossieni's depiction of Afghanistan, Arthur Miller's take on McCarthyism and the ironic endings of O'Henry are just a few examples of the magic that lies in the bound pages of a book. As my days revolve around my growing son, just like the Fridays in school I am waiting again for the time when I have the leisure to get lost in the simple or intricate, classic or contemporary, romantic or severe, mundane or intellectual, fantastical or realistic pages of a book.
