A bookworm’s journey


I remember some of the first books I read as a child. I must have been six or seven, when I got two books of the pop-up variety – one was Cinderella and the other was Snow White & the Seven Dwarfs.

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Each time I turned a page, magical things happened. I still remember a page from the Cinderella book, which showed Cinderella sitting by the fireplace, looking pensive. On that page there was a broom that popped out, and three small kitchen jars that popped out.

I must have read those books a zillion times. Then started the love for comics, devouring every neatly drawn frame, enjoying the dialogues, more magic.

And then, suddenly my sister thrust an Enid Blyton into my hand and said, “Read this.”

It was the first book of the Secret Seven series. I was initially reluctant to read a book that had no pictures. But my sister  sold it to me!

I had taken an important step in my reading journey. Now, I could read words and imagine the scenes in my mind. This was a whole new experience. I gobbled up the entire collection of Blyton books.

‘Twas time to graduate to a new author, but again there was reluctance to move from my comfort zone. My sister was my role model, soon I was trying new books and new authors and new genres.

The years have flown by but my love affair with books continues to this very day. I love their titles, their smell, the many genres, the plots, the stories.

What’s your bookworm journey like? Would love to know.

Bliss stop


I stand transfixed, like I do each time I am here. I am in one of my favourite bookstores, surrounded by hundreds of thousands of books.

After a mean cup of coffee, a book store is the second best ‘bliss stop’ for me.  I perform a ‘mental jig’ in anticipation.

I am here to pick up a particular book, but my mission takes a back seat as I start at the must reads section, literature section, and then work my way down all kinds of genres, books and authors.

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  Courtesy – publishingtrendsetter.com

My stroll is punctuated by small treats, where I take books and look at them, read the synopsis, and unconsciously start carrying them with me.

Each book alley calls out to me, I keep walking and stopping, browsing….! It is therapeutic. Time is a very elastic rubber band as it stretches for me, keeping pace with my joy and excitement.

There are people like me everywhere, their minds transported into a world of words, their eyes scanning for new journeys into this world. I walk multiple circles around the store. 

Millions of words, millions of thoughts, millions of hours of creativity trapped in millions of pages. So many, many stories, so many emotions and so much power in these shelves to change lives.

I soon realize that I am carrying seven books, and that I need a shopping cart to continue my journey.  I find the book that I had come to buy.

I soak-in the peace of the place for some more time. I pay for my books, and walk out into the hot afternoon, totally satisfied.

Bookworm silence….


Last night, both my children were reading, and when I asked them to go to bed, they pleaded repeatedly to be allowed more time to finish their books.

Being a bookworm myself, I could not deny them that pleasure, so motherhood took a backseat, and the book lover in me enjoyed their happiness at this unexpected treat.

When I was growing up, we lived in a modest house, in a joint family. At night, my sisters, grandma, aunt and I shared one room.

It was a cozy room, filled with comfy quilts, soft mattresses, my aunt’s knitting paraphernalia, my grandma’s prayer books and our entire collection of books. 

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      Image courtesy – en.wikipedia.org

Our Dad was very particular that the lights had to be switched off by 10.30 pm, unless we had exams (this, when we were older).  As any bookworm would agree, the joys of reading late into the night, without interruption, are indescribable.

Our grandma was usually asked to ensure that we followed the rules. But once my Dad went into his room, my sister and I would stuff pillows below the door, so that light wouldn’t escape from under. We would then read our books till late into the night, especially during our summer vacation. Our grandma’s pleas usually fell on deaf ears and we bribed her with lots of hugs, kisses and granddaughterly love; and it worked everytime.

She probably realized the joys of reading too, and wanted us to enjoy it. And right through the year, when the bright moon shone through the windows, or monsoon winds howled past,  or soft frost fell all around the countryside, we read on, falling in love with so many, many books.

I come back to the now. I pull out the book I’m currently reading, and savour this pleasurable bookworm silence.