I am five years old and my small round face is lit up by two round open eyes full of wonder. A picture book lies open in my hand. My little sister is beside me and she is laughing wildly at someone or something. Her small mouth is wide open and she looks unimaginably happy. She is small and sweet and an adorable love. Her wet hair is parted equally on both sides of her small head. For a child her age, she has deep black hair gracing her shoulders. I trace my fingers across the photograph taken many years ago when we were small, and I have no recollection of my love for her. Now, in this very moment, I find the urge to reach out to her, pick her up in my arms and kiss her soft cheeks. I want to tell her, that I will love and protect her forever. There is so much love now, that this moment seems unbearable and my heart might just overflow. My sister will be here tomorrow with my beautiful niece and I will never be able to tell them how much I love them, but I hope they will know, they will understand.
The photographs are old and the albums in which they lie are older and worn out. When I told my wife that we need to shift them to a newer one, she warned me, that a new home might not be a better one. Looking through the photographs, I feel that the smile of my sister is so much now. It is all now. She is now. Who lies to me? Is it the photograph or time or is it just my love for her? Not a love that has come now, out of nowhere, but the love that lay hidden inside me beyond my understanding.
Friday, March 16, 2007
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
The Lucky Reader
I want to be a good reader. In my life so far, I have tried many times to be good at many things and everytime I have failed.I think I did not try enough.Reading came to me by chance. It was an accident of which I recollect nothing. What has remained with me as an aftermath, has been a gift. In school, I was a talkative and inattentive person and my teachers inspite of their best efforts could not change me.My mother tried various remedies like singing classes, art classes, which she thought might help me to settle down. I did not. I was a good singer and I liked singing and I was reasonably good at art. I believe, that I could have been really good at these had I tried harder or if I had put in the desired hard work. But I wasn't inspired enough to do it.
During my schooldays I read intermittently and my favourite was the Hardy Boys series. I liked the physical feeling and the mental excitement of being with an exciting book curled up in bed. I read mostly on weekends and, if the book was exciting enough then everyday till I reached the end. I usually read after lunch and before falling asleep at night. There was a special feeling about reading after lunch. As the torrid noon eased into a lazy afternoon, the drifting day and its accompanying silence gave me a sense of contentment, a power of concentration. I got ready to immerse myserlf in the turbulence of words and the mystery of the story. This is how I can describe it now. Then I lacked the felicity. I just had the feeling.
Amidst the chaos of school life , I did pour over newspapers selectively reading interesting and literary pieces. Literary reviews, analysis etc. I would also collect photographs of authors, thinkers, poets which at times accompanied the pieces I read. I familiarised myself with Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Pablo Neruda, long before I read their works.I wasn't reading enough but I was soaking it all in, but had no idea what to do with it. I did not inherit a library nor did I have a reader around me. My mother tried in her own little way but I guess I required a bit more than that. Maybe, I was not lonely enough and could amuse myself with strange games. maybe, an access to a library would have led to an amusement through reading. Maybe. I was on my own and strangely no friend of mine ever discussed with me the virtue of reading. Later in life, I passionately discussed books with friends whom I knew in my formative years, yet in those years books were the last thing on my mind.
The reading bug bit me in the last year of college and then on reading and acquiring good books became a habit.A costly one. Books are never a priority in one's life. Especially books that serve no practical purpose. Reading A Chronicle of a Death Foretold and loving every moment of it is not going to affect one's professional career. Reading is not a priority.Reading instills in me a sense of power,a sense of awe and humility. The love of books has brought new and wonderful
friends.I only despair at the fact that it did not happen earlier.The love of books has led me to many new loves and I have come to realize that it is an invigorating and illuminating disease.
Reading is a tough love. It is time consuming and it is without material gains. But then love is always unreasonable and mysterious. Many of my friends who had been readers before and have let their love die away, always warn me that one day this love of mine too will die away. They have failed to understand that reading is a form of revelation for me, it gives me a
sense of wonder, it makes me a better human being (I think). It provides me with unadultered entertainment and relaxation.
Every book I read whets my appetite for another one and sets me off on another journey. A brother of mine once asked me why do I read all these weird books? Well, I read precisely to find out why.So keep reading and let each reading add something to your life, and remember that any excuse for not reading, is driven by stupidity,lethargy and arrogance.
During my schooldays I read intermittently and my favourite was the Hardy Boys series. I liked the physical feeling and the mental excitement of being with an exciting book curled up in bed. I read mostly on weekends and, if the book was exciting enough then everyday till I reached the end. I usually read after lunch and before falling asleep at night. There was a special feeling about reading after lunch. As the torrid noon eased into a lazy afternoon, the drifting day and its accompanying silence gave me a sense of contentment, a power of concentration. I got ready to immerse myserlf in the turbulence of words and the mystery of the story. This is how I can describe it now. Then I lacked the felicity. I just had the feeling.
Amidst the chaos of school life , I did pour over newspapers selectively reading interesting and literary pieces. Literary reviews, analysis etc. I would also collect photographs of authors, thinkers, poets which at times accompanied the pieces I read. I familiarised myself with Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Pablo Neruda, long before I read their works.I wasn't reading enough but I was soaking it all in, but had no idea what to do with it. I did not inherit a library nor did I have a reader around me. My mother tried in her own little way but I guess I required a bit more than that. Maybe, I was not lonely enough and could amuse myself with strange games. maybe, an access to a library would have led to an amusement through reading. Maybe. I was on my own and strangely no friend of mine ever discussed with me the virtue of reading. Later in life, I passionately discussed books with friends whom I knew in my formative years, yet in those years books were the last thing on my mind.
The reading bug bit me in the last year of college and then on reading and acquiring good books became a habit.A costly one. Books are never a priority in one's life. Especially books that serve no practical purpose. Reading A Chronicle of a Death Foretold and loving every moment of it is not going to affect one's professional career. Reading is not a priority.Reading instills in me a sense of power,a sense of awe and humility. The love of books has brought new and wonderful
friends.I only despair at the fact that it did not happen earlier.The love of books has led me to many new loves and I have come to realize that it is an invigorating and illuminating disease.
Reading is a tough love. It is time consuming and it is without material gains. But then love is always unreasonable and mysterious. Many of my friends who had been readers before and have let their love die away, always warn me that one day this love of mine too will die away. They have failed to understand that reading is a form of revelation for me, it gives me a
sense of wonder, it makes me a better human being (I think). It provides me with unadultered entertainment and relaxation.
Every book I read whets my appetite for another one and sets me off on another journey. A brother of mine once asked me why do I read all these weird books? Well, I read precisely to find out why.So keep reading and let each reading add something to your life, and remember that any excuse for not reading, is driven by stupidity,lethargy and arrogance.
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