Yes! There is a lot to read and everytime I tell myself, “So little time”. I try and I try and I try. I have given up on television (well almost except for my DVD Movies with my boy). I read when I travel. I read when I wake up. I read when I eat breakfast. In short, I try and read everytime I get the chance to. Does reading alienate you from everything and everyone else? I have often asked that question and always got only one answer: No it does not and the greed to read is only what a fellow-reader will understand, isn’t it?
I mean look at it this way, we hardly have enough time left on this planet (with all the prophecies and not to forget what we have done to ourselves), then might as well spend that time reading, isn’t it? Why bother to waste that precious time on something so trivial like writing a blog post or watching “Julie and Julia”(which by the way I loved. It was one of the few films that I was cosying up to my boyfriend while watching) or doing laundry or looking at the clouds pass by.
I go back in time sometimes. When I was fifteen and I thought I had all the time in the world to read. I used to sit on the Worli promenade (ofcourse skipping school and college) and indulge in – you guessed! Reading! The first time I read, “Wuthering Heights” was beside the sea and that was the first time I fell in love with Heathcliff. I would spend hours at the local coffee shop and read and read till a good-looking man would enter and I would swoon over him for a while and get back to reading. The first time a boy broke my heart, I was reading, “Middlemarch” by George Eliot. When I got my first job, I celebrated by buying Vikram Seth’s “A Suitable Boy” – which by the way I yet have to complete. I know this post is just a ramble, however there are so many memories connected to books.
My first adult novel, “Madame Bovary” was given to me by my aunt and even she was not aware of its contents, considering she had never heard of it or was ever a reader. Not good for her. The two books my mother introduced me to when I turned seventeen were, “The Fountainhead” and “Lady Chatterley’s Lover”. In my family, my mum, my sis and I are the only readers. Sadly enough, my family does not believe in what books do for the mind. Its sad to know that my 10-year old cousin is not aware of his fairy tales or who Enid Blyton is, but he knows the plot of the next soap-opera to be aired on television. I wish more people would read. I wish people understand what its like to hold a book in their hands and smell the pages and cherish and get lost in a different world…Yes! I am lost and I love it!!