I am a self confessed Bibliophilic. I read anything that comes my way from the usual stuffs (read novels, stories, sports literature) to the unusual (read cook books, philosophy, poetry) and is one of those things that makes me feel good all the time. I am happy to have taken refuge in the imaginary world emanating from the realms of those few pages in good or bad times, in exciting or depressing moods. May be the content of a book makes a difference but I am sure even the worst of books could still manage to trigger some food for thought.
It’s the age of the IPADs and kindles and I was just thinking about the relevance of those wonderfully bound, golden coloured pages. Kindle’s good but haven’t brought myself to part with my hard bound beauties yet. When you have a book in hand it’s an experience, it’s as if one shares all his intimate feelings with it, the creases at the ends (though I am quite careful most of the time) and the book expanding at the centre of the page and some words/sentences catching your eye and your hands automatically flipping through it time and again. Its like same two books can never be the same. That’s why I loved the idea of Tom Riddle’s diary in Harry Potter and the Chamber of secrets.
I think I have got this habit from my dad, a voracious reader with philosophy, religion and Tamil Literature his forte. I have kind of picked up from him and the habit’s not going to die for a long time to come. We have this huge book shelf at home stacked with all kinds of books, my younger sister’s books on medicine with bare bones/muscles as the cover page (doesn't make good viewing though) and my elder sis’s books on Maths and Physics and mine with Computers and novels. It’s such a lovely sight, one of the best things I like about my room.
My first book was the “Wren and Martin” high school English grammar my dad got me when I was in 2nd Standard. I can still remember the book bound in a black cardboard with a red ribbon around it. It was a gift for coming 2nd in the class. I remember enthusiastically scanning to search the meaning of “noun”, “adjective”, “pronoun” then, not that much hasn’t changed of late, I still look at it for those confusing jargons now J
Just recollecting the books brings back so many memories as if time travel were to be true. Standing next to Gandhi when he tells his dad the truth in “My Experiments with Truth”, sitting next to a dejected Kalam when his first project was a failure in “Wings of Fire”, listening to Atticus Finch when he explains his daughter about civil rights in “To Kill a Mocking Bird”, running with Forrest Gump when he tries to reach out for his long lost friend in “Forrest Gump”, flying with Harry, Ron and Hermione on their quest for the Horcruxes in “The Harry Potter Series”, Fighting the oaks alongside Frodo in “Lord of the Rings”, Nodding in appreciation when Howard Roark gives his defence in court in “The FountainHead” and so many more.
But what gives me so much joy in a book, is it the content or is it the pictures ? Or is it about the philosophy or is it about the use of language. I think it’s because it helps me build my own world, a self-made world with all my imagination and creativity, a world that none can ever take it away from me, now or ever.
Thanks for the that first “red book” from my dad ages ago, I have just built a beautiful world from it.
