“Okay fine, give me hundred and that’s it. I don’t usually sell them for that low, but
then you are my regular customer.”
“Yeah right”, I thought grimly. “Alright. Here, take
it”, I gave up. Both of us knew I would
not leave without buying.
This was me talking to a book dealer. He sells books by the road side, with piles
of them spread out on a cot, and I often buy from him as I get them for nearly
half the price of the pretty originals.
My feet refuse to budge when I reach the place. Once I am rooted to the spot, I have no other
choice than to let my hands pick up books so that I go through them. The book dealer knows one, when he sees one; bibliophile.
I have been reading books for as long as I can
remember. My mother had acquainted me to
books ever since I was 3. Of course, I
could not read then. But she used to
narrate stories with those picture books for kids. The story of three bears and Goldilocks, Thumbelina,
Rapunzel, Snow white and the seven dwarfs and so on. She would sit me on her lap and narrate the
story according to the pictures making me turn the pages. I was so fond of them I would go through the
pages again and again. As I learnt
reading it was time for Champak, Balamangala, Gokulam, Chandamama , Tinkle and
various comics that came as a boon by Amar Chitra Katha (Thank you Uncle Pai!).
By fifth grade, we were allowed to borrow books from
the Junior Library of our school and that was when I was introduced to Enid
Blyton. She has created such a wonderful
world of fantasy for children. Her
stories of imaginary creatures like pixies, gnomes and elves and their lives.
It was fascinating. Even her adventure
books like Secret seven and Famous five have been my favourites. She wrote several novels all for kids and the
saddest irony of her life was that she hated kids and did not bond with her own
grandchildren. She was hardly close to
her own daughter.
My craze had reached its peak when Harry Potter had
come to this world and the list of books since tends to infinity. I got eager and desperate to find the books,
borrowing from friends, exchanging, begging and pleading to the reluctant ones.
“I have always imagined that paradise will be a kind
of library”, said Mr. can’t-remember-his-name, and he imagined right. Whenever I go to a library or a books store
my first feeling is euphoria. Then I
feel an irresistible urge to take away as many books as I can carry, and confusion
about which one to pick first when there are so many you want, and no money to
buy them all. Then from nowhere I get this idea of taking
up a job as a librarian, or a sales girl in that book shop, so I can be with
the books all the time and read them all one by one. The thought is itself elating.
Books are the best friends you can get. Having no siblings and both parents working,
I find myself alone most of the time, and books have been my
best companions, always. Once my nose is
buried in a book I am in a different world, oblivious to the world I physically
exist in.
Finding books is like meeting people, destiny. Strange as it seems, books have a way of
finding you. As soon as you set your
eyes on the first page, you build a connection with the book, a bond with the characters;
you get attached to them, get into their minds, and feel their feelings. You are curious to know what happens at the
end, and at the same time, when you do reach the end, you feel sad, as if saying
farewell to friends. You miss the people
of book-land. Thoughts about the book
linger for days after you have finished reading it. You remember incidents from the book or some
funny lines, and find yourself smiling all of a sudden, much to the horror of
any onlooker.
Like any other relationship, there are ups and downs
in relations with books. Some make you
very happy, some make you cry, some play hard to get, and some hard to let go, some
teach you ethics, and change your life, some fail to entertain you like you
thought they would and some can be very disappointing. But it is reading-life teaching you lessons
the hard way. Eventually you learn not
to judge a book by its cover, and it is what is inside that matters.
Come what may, I will remain addicted, a chain reader.
“I am wondering what to read next”
-Nivedita