Leafing through the pages of one
of the most exciting and intriguing novels ( A girl on the Train, Paula
Hawkins) I read in the recent past, no
sounds from the TV disturbed me, no aroma from the kitchen aroused my tastes
and no beeping of continuous messages on Whatsapp caught my attention. I was
engrossed into this thriller and nothing could bring me back from the world of “Rachael
and Tom”. It was then that the feeling of nostalgia hit me and triggered a
zillion thoughts in my head.
As a kid, reading books was one of my favourite pastimes. But as time passed, and as a
ton of other things came up, reading, slowly and unknowingly fell on the back
seat. I remember reading through
happiness and sadness, through joy and grief. The smell of a new book excited
me and at a point, books and some peace was all that I needed to call my day a
good one. Those dark evenings when my parents got me books from the library, my
joy knew no bounds and those were my most priceless possessions. I recall reading in buses, on my way to
school, at home, while eating, forgoing my TV time to read and also before
sleeping.
Reading gave me a sense of thrill and it kept me occupied. As an idle
child, I was not a very good company. My mother being an ardent reader and a
loyal lover of books, she has always encouraged me to read. My first ever book
was when I was in Grade 4 and it was a Famous Five series. Naturally, as a kid,
this new practice of sitting in one place constantly, looking at hundreds of
words with no animation and graphic movements like the one in my cartoons, I was
resistant. In fact quite resistant. But no playing with mothers, they know how
to get things done. Especially mine, who cannot take NO for an answer, She got
me the perfect mystery book, helped me begin, helped me continue and when I came
to the last bit, since the book belonging to a mystery genre, I obviously
couldn’t put it down, I needed to know the Invisible thief. I did it and there
was my mom beaming with joy. Her daughter had completed an entire story book
and most importantly enjoyed the process. And after that, no stopping me. All I
did was to read, and at such a pace that I finished one book in one week. During
my school days, I have the memories of gobbling lunch in 5 minutes and running to
the library to get some reading time.
In the process of growing up, sadly
I lost in touch with books and they were now strangers to me. Today, almost after
a gap of 2 years (sadly!), I picked up a novel, and believe me it is one of the
best feelings I have had. The activity of choosing from hundreds of books in a
library, to carefully read its review and plot summary was an activity that
took up almost half of my Sunday time. Last evening, when I had literally
nothing to do, absolutely nothing: This long lost hobby came into mind. Luckily,
with no traces of laziness in my body at that point, I immediately headed to
the library.
It almost felt like an all new
place to me. Having been there a million times earlier, the place felt new, the
smell felt new and the idea of being in a library felt new. Unusually,
yesterday it had an eerie, forlorn atmosphere because I know it is generally
bustling with activity. I was not quite
happy with the thoughts going on in my head, but there’s no running away from
those, is there? Feeling new in a place, I have once loved is not a feeling
that I enjoyed very much. I was having a strong feeling of Monachopsis which wasn’t
what I really expected. Also,
claustrophobia took up a large portion of my mind. No, it wasn’t the lack of ventilation.
The library had huge rectangular windows that gave enough ventilation for that
room. Deep in my heart, I knew what it was; it was the view of thousands of
books before me and more books on the side and many more behind. I felt a
feeling of resonant connection with the books there. I could feel the unsettling awareness of my
heartbeat. I almost felt the guilt
mounting up. Well, I honestly cannot explain my thought process at that moment.
For an unknown reason, all I could feel was some pain and some guilt for having
forgotten my most loved hobby. That
library had the strange feeling of wistfulness almost like a used bookshop, but
I made sure it didn’t matter. I scanned through the books and spent a good time
to pick up what I felt like. Funnily, I almost built up a hypothetical
conversation in my mind, with those books of course.
Yesterday, the 16th of
July, at that library which was my place of obsession during my younger days, I
vowed to myself, reading should never become a forgotten hobby once again and
for the love of god, I never wanted to feel the way I felt amidst those books.
Picking up two books, I walked
out happily, promising myself that I would come back again very soon.
Reading has always given me an irreplaceable
joy and the contended feeling of completing a book, no words to explain those.
