My reading journey
I was about 5 or 6, when we would take the rickety public bus and head to Sapna bookstore, in Bangalore, and Papa would give me a free reign to pick up books of my choice. I bagged a whole ‘big-shopper’ of books and dad didn’t flinch once.
There were always books around in our childhood home. A luxury I never took for granted. Even during our summer holidays, we would run in to the grandparents’ home and my annual ‘Tinkle’ comic magazine subscription would be neatly piled up, all set to be devoured, alongside the freshest mangoes of the season.
As a middle schooler, while cramming for exams, the midnight oil was also burnt to finish the latest Harry Potter book or catch the murderer in yet another Agatha Christie mystery. Journeys to and from school, always had a music cassette on and a book in my hand. So much was the craze that I would request my uncle traveling to Europe on a work trip, to please pick up J.K. Rowling’s latest release, much prior to it hitting the bookstores all the way in Jakarta, where we were living at the time.
When we moved back to Bangalore, I got a bookshelf I could line the pretty book covers and opened my little library of sorts. I would lend my books to friends and keep a little record of the exchanges. Even during the challenging high school years, mostly spent hovered over H.C. Verma, Irodov and the likes, a part of me yearned to get back to the world of novels and fiction; an escape almost, from the daily drudgery of pre-med school preparations.
Med school and residency years thereafter were long and demanding. Fictional books would accompany me during some holidays and travels perhaps but would often only make for a pretty Instagram post or story, even if I may not have been able to finish the book.
The COVID pandemic years are a blur now. Work was busier, and well, in the midst of it all, we had the residency exit exams as well. I honestly do not recall reading much barring light, simple reads like the “The little book of Hygge”, a reflection probably of what one really craved for during those uncertain times.
Mid-2022, I was finally done with my emergency medicine residency and took a short break to attend the brother’s wedding and spend time with the family. I resolved then to get back to reading. As 2023 dawned, the new year resolution not surprisingly was to read more: a book a week, or 52 by the end of the year, to be precise. Was I being too naive and ambitious?
I read 65 by the end of the year.
Never in my wildest imagination had I thought I’d be able to pull something like this off. I read voraciously, at home, during transit, in the flights etc. I picked books — some off my own to-be-read bookshelf, some borrowed from friends and family; I even loaned e-books from the National Library which enhanced my access to books, significantly and so I could read on my ipad or phone, too.
Here’s what happened after:
> My screen time dropped.
I spent way lesser time on the phone and/or on OTT. I found thrill back in the pages of a crime thriller and sweet mush in a romcom book instead. I still do binge watch a good series, occasionally but the mindless scrolling has gone down a steep decline.
> I got to slow down, while getting a regular Dopamine fix.
For a dormant bookworm like me, getting back to reading felt like a gush of fresh air. My new work-life schedule allowed for more autonomy, in general in my life — which meant more time for me to prioritise myself and my holistic health. Reading books, was blissful me-time and it felt like I was filling my cup first, before pouring out, for near and dear ones.
> I had so many more conversation starters.
For one who read both fiction and non-fiction, the books I read had varied topics of course, which meant that there was so much more to be shared and discussed. So many different points of view, so many varied life perspectives. In fact the amount we’ve discussed health and longevity, after reading “Outlive”, one would think we’re brand ambassadors of the book.
> Others, including my kid followed suit.
As a parent, we are role models for our children. Reading with my boy, is one of my most favourite activities. I would even share my book recommendations with friends and family and so many others were inspired to hit the bookstore and find a literary companion, to cozy up with. Even if it was for a weekend, or a trip, something’s better than nothing no?
> I grew.
We think we stop growing once we hit 18. But that’s a lie. Over the last year, I’ve read books across different genres : historical fiction, non-fiction, light romcoms, murder mysteries, poetry to biographies. I’ve been moved to tears by some, inspired by others, been lost in war times and found laughs in light reads. And one could say, that after every book, we are all changed in some way. I am definitely a different person than the one who set out to read more books at the start of the year, a different person than the one who started her journey into the universe of pages, as a little girl.
Today, I look back and am extremely grateful for the privilege, to be able to carve out time, to be lost in the pages of a book. It is not a competition nor a race of any kind. But if you, like me were a reader as a child and wish to get back to a long lost hobby, or just, want to indulge in some self-care maybe, start today. A few pages a day. A book a month maybe. You’ll thank your younger self, in the months to come.
