Every person’s life is in a book, half filled, and half yet to be written. Will you be the author to yours?
Books were my companion when, as a child, I had very few interactions with the outside world. The other cool kids always knew the moves to the latest songs, the latest shows, and the latest trends, and I’d feel like the odd one out from the bunch. Well, I wasn’t bullied for it, though, for what I lacked in interaction, I made up for in my imagination. To that, I have literature to thank for.
When I was 10, I found my dad’s old trunk and pulled out all the books he had. It was an exploration in the storeroom on a rainy day. Apart from his old artworks and sketchbooks, I found a dozen lot of books. There was something antique and charming about the cream-colored pages with fine print text and words that danced in my young mind. I was drawn. There was no going back once I opened those. It hadn’t even mattered to me that there were no pictures.
In my early teens, I fell in love with classic R.L. Stevenson. I thrived in the world that was, yet could not be seen with eyes open. Far too often, I’d find myself tracing the curled edges of these books. By seventeen, I had fallen in love with Sidney Sheldon’s works. I would have a rush of emotions with the works of Nicholas Sparks, the intense philosophy in Paulo Coelho and the melancholy in Khaled Hosseini. It was an easy escape into the world of characters and their stories.
I was in my college years by then, studying in Kolkata. Ever so often, a trip to College Street was called. I liked the worn and much-read books in those streets than I did the new, unopened ones. These old ones carried all the emotions of how the reader fell in love with the characters, passed from one person to the next. I still love the smell of dusty old books as much as I like the excitement of turning the pages of a new one.
I doubt that I’ll ever stop falling in love with books.
As for now, I’m 22 and much more invested in research articles and cures for cancer or the latest diseases. A scientist in the making, you see. But every now and then, I find myself in bookstores whenever I stumble upon one, turning pages. Else, I always have a book in my bag when I’m traveling. Yet, this time, you’ll find me reading medical thrillers from Robin Cook instead of romance or adventure.
Perhaps it was because my parents inculcated the habit of reading, but I developed a love for writing too. One day, maybe there would be a book with my name, standing proud, displayed against the window of popular bookstores. I would stand there, watching with satisfaction as it gets picked up by another book lover.
Given how exceptionally and eloquently you expressed yourself there, we’re sure both of your dreams – becoming a scientist and an author – will materialize soon, Crowny. What’s your take on her story? Do let us know in the comments below. Do you have a story to tell? Well, we’d love to hear.