The early years of my life saw me as a total non-reader of books. Coming from a family which had voracious readers especially my father and brother – I was the black sheep. However hard they tried but books never interested me. To add to it was our school librarian who would issue us the most boring and mundane books week after week.
Not to mention I did grudgingly read the Enid Blytons as expected of all good children my age. Comics were frowned upon and disapproved by parents and teachers with the exception of the Amar Chitra Katha’s which I thoroughly enjoyed and proudly possessed. Gradually this gave way to the Nancy Drews’ (supposedly for girls), Hardy boys was again boring. The more serious stuff like Thomas Hardy and the classics were actually imposed as part of our school routine which drove me further away from books.
As I entered grade 9 something miraculous happened. Our school had a new Nun (yes, I went to a convent school). She was our Vice Principal, an unconventional teacher, an exceptional human being, a person with extraordinary instinct and skill of understanding the psyche of her students. She built up her own personal library in her special staff room. In between classes she would call a selected few of us (I being one of her favourite students thanks to my beautiful handwriting – which she would refer to as pearls strung together) and give us books to read, knowingly fully well which ones would interest us.
Thus, igniting my love for books. She would often spend time discussing the books with us too as also asking our preferences to add to her library. As days turned to weeks, months – before I knew it, I was addicted to reading, and began a never-ending love affair.
I was introduced to a huge gamut of titles and authors I had never heard or read about – remember it was the pre-internet, predigital era. Among the first good books I was given to read were – To Sir With Love by E.R. Braithwaite, To Kill a mocking bird – Harper Lee. I had also graduated from reading the average Nancy Drew Mystery stories to the more mature (supposedly) Sidney Sheldons’ and the occasional Danielle Steele.
Then, more meaningful books came my way – Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell, The Bridge Across Forever by Richard Bach. These remain some of my favourite books. Buying books was an expensive affair so we relied upon friends or the Central State library to get, exchange and read – but many a time the sorry condition of the books made the experience not too pleasant. Understanding this dilemma of mine – my father’s words came as manna from the sky. He encouraged me to buy as many books as I wanted to read on the condition I would look after them and take good care of them. This gift from him which started almost three and a half decades ago – continues till date.
My reading journey enhanced my knowledge and vocabulary immensely, it changed my perspectives about people and sensitized me to situations and people around me. It became a great stress buster too – remains so till date. I went on to read more and more, and gradually built up my personal Library of which I remain extremely possessive.