Cognito Ergo Scribo

“The best moments in reading are when you come across something – a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things – that you’d thought special, particular to you. And here it is, set down by someone else, a person you’ve never met, maybe even someone long dead. And it’s as if a hand has come out, and taken yours. “

If we were to begin at the cliched beginning, I might say I was always mighty fond of books. It might be a seemignly nostalgic and excessive statement considering its how every bibliophile would want to start his story of first love. But I (and a few number of mild scars that one manages to gather while reaching for shelves not exactly in one’s range) assure you that was how my story began. Swear!

Summers for a little kid might mean making up tales of dragons and pirates sitting on the mango tree and pretending one’s slightly elder cousin and friends as Act-3 in Peterpan’s fight against Hook. But this joywouldn’t have been rendered if not for being deeply attached to the J.M barrie narrative,in the beginning.

If memory serves (considering my fondness for fiction is involuntarily extends its influence), it was the hot summer afternoon and the secretive rack with wooden door that compelled me forward that summer. Considering Cindrella was so beautifully illustrated, I would have that book read out loud by every adult in eye (and ear shot- for I sought them out fervently like a little warrior)

The vanity never fails me when needed and hence the visual appeal was what had drawn me towards books,initially. Though the love for it sustained through those confused,angry, free-spirited teen years throguh my love for a good narrative engulfed in murky international conspiracies or mysterious deaths of wealthy patrons on famous trains.Thus, my teenage anguish was saved through my excessive appetite for mysteries. The whole sections of Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew’s were defeated easily. Though the rest of novels took a stand with their lengthy narrative and sheer quantity of pages, my idle summers ensured their defeat too. Thus were added to my pile of conquests the like of Agatha Christie, Doyle, Jack Higgins, Frederick Forsyth, Robert Ludlem, Alistear Mclean and Sidney Sheldon..

Little did i know that while exhausting the treasure cove of a library at home, I would eventually be paving way for the adventures of literature – the experiments, the critical blows, the recommendations – you know the lot. Even before the advent of identity crisis that supposedly befalls the young adult, I was dealing with the crisis of seperating the good from the popular. Many a sleepless nights (and drowsy morning lectures) would be spent on best sellers that would be later categorized under one or other of the following

• The VFM read (Value for Money )
• The Winning Stallion
• The over rated book of century
• The Outright Silly

While I began the tedious process of sorting through Sidney Sheldon’s, JKR’s, Dan Browns,Robin Cook’s, Paul Coehlo’s – I was being driven into the long awaited hall of true literature. Well, The University’s vast library indeed house the hall of literature for our fellow Art Graduates but I believe it did change my life.

Like a crazy maniac chasing the tornado, I began going after book after book telling tales of lost wars, defeated spirits and and unfair world – mostly told to me in excessive english which would force me to over look paragraphs or dust off my trusted and torn Webster’s Dictionary. Misery Loves company and So Virginia Woolf  went ahead and made friends with Tolstoy, Bronte and Kafka. But the sanity was restored while I finally reached out to the P.G.woodehouse, Jane Austen’s. (And the Shakesperean tragedies were thankfully balanced out by the bard comedies) As this noticebly lengthy paragraph illustrates that my little past time have been dependent on quite a good amount of pocket money – I was pretty quick to discover the used books tutelage soon. It was indeed a special feature that made me cherish the book even more! Not only was I already mystified by the magic of seeing my sentiments in some others writings but also the fact that quite a few number of patrons have cherished (or strongly not) this particular book ,adds to the indentity of the copy I own – engulfing stories told in the book into those of its owners. Its indeed Magic!

“We are such stuff: As dreams are made on, and our little life: Is rounded with a sleep.”