Books and beyond...

1 March 2010

I read out a story to Anoushka- The Snow Queen. She falls asleep and I put the book down. I myself can’t go to sleep without reading. Just as I pick up my book I am flooded with memories of all those late nights that I had spent with page turners.

From the world of fairies and elves shown to me by Hans Christian Anderson and Enid Blyton, I slowly graduated to Famous Five, Five Find Outers, The Secret Seven, Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys, Tom S. and Huckleberry Finn, and Agatha Christie, when I was in the 5th standard. Initially it was a bit uncomfortable, for the familiar Fairyland was nowhere in sight. Those tiny fairies wearing necklaces made of dewdrops, sipping nectar while sitting on toadstools and sleeping in Buttercups on pillows filled with fluffy clouds, were now replaced by human beings and mysteries that surrounded by them - mysteries that were solved in the most fascinating ways. These books were such page turners for the detective in every child. I have lived these mysteries running through dark tunnels, looking for clues, changing into disguises, hiding behind curtains, practising ventriloquism , putting the pieces together…. The characters, the setting, the culture was so English, and I got so used to reading about jam, scones, sandwiches, bacon, tarts and Ginger ale, ( though I had never even had most of them), that our very own Upma and Kande pohe seemed alien. My mouth used to water at these unknown delicacies and I used to want to go bicycling by the countryside and camp in tents. The lovely Tinkle was a must read everyday and remained an integral part of my life for many years.

My brain is ever craving for information. It seeks learning – wisdom. I am ashamed at not knowing so many things. I feel guilty of not providing enough food for it. I wish I could remember all the things I have seen, read, heard and known… I wish I was very intelligent. I wish I could read every good book written and understand it. Books are enormous reserves of knowledge. They hold a mirror not just to what we are surrounded by, but also our inner self. With imagination par excellence they explore the known and the unknown, the real, surreal and unreal. They offer catharsis and a vent to various emotions and also provide great perspectives and insight about the world that we live and enrich our life.

My transition further was much easier. Master story tellers like Sidney Sheldon, Michael Crichton, Jeffrey Archers took me on unknown journeys of thrill and delight. True Lies, Lost World, Nakamoto Murder Mystery, Jurasic Park, Kane and Able, Shall I Tell The President engrossed me with their description and details and Ian Flemimg’s Bond series, all were sensational. And then came Any Rand and her very individualistic style and strong characters, I was attracted to Roark in a strange way. Eric Seagul’s sad Love Story made me cry. After my dear friend Sagar presented to me Illusions, I went on a spiritual trip. It was the first and best book that preached positive thinking. I used to wonder where Donald Shimoda must have parked his plane and if there really lives one Jonathan, among all species of animals, questioning his existence and refusing to follow the much treaded path. Rebelling and daring to be different. Whenever there is strange news of a tigress feeding a piglet, a lioness befriending a deer, an inseparable cat and dog cuddled up together, or the dog who loves to sing and play piano or snowboard, or a wild croc who communicates with this man with special abilities, I wonder if these are the Jonathan Livingstones of their species.

Shakespeare and his plays and Sonnets, Wuthering Heights, Desire Under The Elms, Farewell To Arms Emma, D. H Lawrence’s, Sons And Lovers, Pride And Prejudice and many other books were study material for the literature student in me. I also thoroughly enjoyed quite a few biographies and autobiographies. From Marilyn Monroe to Mikhail Gorbachev, Hitler to Lata Mangeshkar and Richard Nixon these made very interesting reading.

Across The Bridge Forever is a love story like none other of unfathomable depth. And amidst The English August, several masterpieces by R.K Narayan including The Guide, Mario Puzo’s Godfather, I kept getting lost in the fantastic worlds that these authors created. Then there was Alchemist, and a series of such books – Chicken Soup…, The Monk…The Secret… that reiterated that believing was achieving and life had to have a purpose. The Female Eunuch and Myth= Mithya are some of the most thought provoking books that I read. The former concentrates on how ‘the masculine’ dominates our lives. A male dog is dog, but the female is a bitch, Master- is respectful but Mistress is not. Human beings are referred to as ‘Man’. Man is a social animal…. It is interesting how things around us, our language, even our religion can be very ‘Male’. In German the personal pronoun for a girl is ‘it’. Imagine this-It is pretty! I love it! I’ll take it!!! No wonder women are nothing but objects… The later gives insight into the Hindu religion. Both these books were disturbing to my mind.

Now of course reading is more fashionable-and that is good. The Sea Of Poppies, The White tiger, Memoirs of a Geisha…. I am glad more and more good and great books are being written and read. Even today I pick up a Tinkle or IIlusions and read it with the same excitement…. the same commitment.

These books have transported me into a different world every time I read them. I have practically lived all these books and the many lives of the characters in it. Every book….. many lives…..