Reading has been a sort of refuge, a safe haven, a secluded fort where I encased myself from the rest of the world as I delved upon those books, page by page, getting lost and forgetting the world outside.
Growing up upon short stories was a large part of my upbringing. From folk tales to tales from the Mahabharata which my grandfather used to narrate to me, I grew up upon a varied range of stories. With these my reading increased, and I moved on from small stories to novels.
My father brought me my first set of novels when I was in standard three. One evening he returned home carrying a set of books consisting of Robinson Crusoe, Swiss Family Robinson, David Copperfield, The Count of Monte Cristo, King Solomon’s Mines and a collection of Tales from Shakespeare by Charles and Mary Lamb. I savoured these books as much as I devoured them. Since then, the number of books I acquired and gobbled seems to have increased drastically. They were my constant companions. I found myself lost in these books more than the other world. As the years went by, my happiness increased with the number of books I accumulated, and soon enough I had made somewhat of a small library of my own. Nothing gave me more pleasure than to see these books stacked beside one another. I always found the smell of new books invigorating as each page after page left that soft, warm scent when turned, a smell so enchanting that it was half the reason to take up a new book and go over it. I never dreamed of a large house, but rather owning a large library, filled with books, which I could go on stuffing till the end of my years.
My degree in English literature rather than quenching my thirst increased my range in readings. I came into contact with books which I would cherish for the rest of my life. Most people spend their lives searching for that perfect person with whom they can spend their lives; I on the other hand have spent my life searching for books which I’ll hold onto till the bleak of my days. Leaving my home in Assam and coming to Gujarat, meant I couldn’t carry all my books here. But, as each year go by I try to see that my new library here grows, and be an even bigger one than the one I had. With every single book added I feel closer to that dream. I see kids today whose parents could afford to give them costly phones and devices but never urge them to read or gift them a simple yet cheap book. I was fortunate that on that cold evening many years ago, my father decided to bring home a few handful of books for me rather than something else, for that moment now defines me, and who I have become as these long years rolled by.
Growing up upon short stories was a large part of my upbringing. From folk tales to tales from the Mahabharata which my grandfather used to narrate to me, I grew up upon a varied range of stories. With these my reading increased, and I moved on from small stories to novels.
My father brought me my first set of novels when I was in standard three. One evening he returned home carrying a set of books consisting of Robinson Crusoe, Swiss Family Robinson, David Copperfield, The Count of Monte Cristo, King Solomon’s Mines and a collection of Tales from Shakespeare by Charles and Mary Lamb. I savoured these books as much as I devoured them. Since then, the number of books I acquired and gobbled seems to have increased drastically. They were my constant companions. I found myself lost in these books more than the other world. As the years went by, my happiness increased with the number of books I accumulated, and soon enough I had made somewhat of a small library of my own. Nothing gave me more pleasure than to see these books stacked beside one another. I always found the smell of new books invigorating as each page after page left that soft, warm scent when turned, a smell so enchanting that it was half the reason to take up a new book and go over it. I never dreamed of a large house, but rather owning a large library, filled with books, which I could go on stuffing till the end of my years.
My degree in English literature rather than quenching my thirst increased my range in readings. I came into contact with books which I would cherish for the rest of my life. Most people spend their lives searching for that perfect person with whom they can spend their lives; I on the other hand have spent my life searching for books which I’ll hold onto till the bleak of my days. Leaving my home in Assam and coming to Gujarat, meant I couldn’t carry all my books here. But, as each year go by I try to see that my new library here grows, and be an even bigger one than the one I had. With every single book added I feel closer to that dream. I see kids today whose parents could afford to give them costly phones and devices but never urge them to read or gift them a simple yet cheap book. I was fortunate that on that cold evening many years ago, my father decided to bring home a few handful of books for me rather than something else, for that moment now defines me, and who I have become as these long years rolled by.