From the Journal of a self-confessed bookworm...

This piece was published in my college's annual magazine in 2012 (yep, that same year I served as the Student Editor. How awesome were those days! ^_^)

They stood in a colourful row, some with gleaming titles shining in the suffused light in the room, some with dark covers, but equally loved, adored and well-maintained. The shorter shelf held varying combinations and designs in the way I had stacked them; after all space was sparse and the books too many. For years I had dreamt of owning a huge room with wall to wall bookshelves stacked with volumes of a variety of books. This one was just 1/20^th of the dream fulfilled and I was proud at the achievement.

Looking back, I saw myself as a tiny kid fascinated by all the colors and beautiful characters smiling out of story books I got from Mom. She was a teacher in the kindergarten wing of a public school and regularly brought those treats for me. I would pore over the books and force myself into trying to understand the written words. I sometimes wonder I could have easily been an autodidact, a self-read person, though I know that could never have happened. My parents not sending me to school, I mean. I knew all about Cinderella, Snow White and Ariel long before they started calling them ‘Disney princesses’ and when kids in my class referred to them as cartoon characters. I loved the cartoons too, but for reasons I still cannot decipher. It gave a weird kind of satisfaction, knowing I’ve read about them before and a personal sense of victory that I knew more than the ignorant kids! Lion King, Panchtantra stories, Akbar and Birbal, The Cat in the Hat, 101 Dalmitions were my friends and it didn’t seem fair that kids who only loved to play all the time would know about them too, with all those funny movies made about them; movies that sometimes frustrated me, for not keeping in sync with the books and tweaking the stories to suit fickle-minded audiences, like the Harry Potter series. They’re good movies, but not good enough! They’re not like the books and I develop a dislike to the people who say it’s a bore when they don’t even read the books!

All through the years, I lived in stories- about little orphans or wizards, about pixies or nymphs, about people who found magical places or people who found magic in their own selves. The written word fascinated me and it wasn’t long before I looked forward to the library time in school. While students gossiped behind magazines, I took out books carefully by their spines and read through them. Charles Dickens became a favourite, followed by other classics that swept me through their vivid descriptions of beautiful places and equally enchanting stories. Mark Twain, Charlotte Bronte, F.H. Burnett continued to inspire me to read more classics and Enid Blyton and Carolyn Keene sparked my interest in reading mystery. But I was a picky bookworm. I didn’t like books with violence, with sad endings or with gruesome stories. I still don’t.

That's one shelf I have! 8|

Always being a bookworm came with its share of troubles. I would frustrate kids when I openly preferred books over them, hurting their blown up ego. I didn’t like to socialize and preferred to be alone. I would lose thread of the chats because my mind sub-consciously drifted to the story that was in a crucial stage and I didn’t know what would happen, since I hadn’t read the whole of it. But it gave me much more than I had lost, if I had lost anything, that is. I had a place where I could immerse myself in when I wanted to get away from the boring life and its troubles, emerging a happier person. I knew better than my peers and didn’t need to study for the English subject, knowing I would do well. I wasn’t a victim of embarrassment that many people faced because of their big mouths. I knew things and that gave me a wicked sense of pleasure. I was superior.

If there’s anything I’m sure of, it’s the fact that Indian system of education is hopeless, especially the schools. As higher studies took a toll, I was gently reminded by concerned parents and ridicule-loving-relatives that novels and ‘other’ books weren’t important. Though I was grateful that they’ve always encouraged my habit of reading, learning from teachers that it’s a rare quality, I felt betrayed when my time with those books was cut short as ‘important-exams-that-would-decide-my-future’ came into being. Seasons changed and soon it were whole months before I read those ‘other’ books; but my love for them remained steadfast as I graduated school into college.

I was free, at least metaphorically. I regained my lost time by reading volumes of books that interested me. I spent my pocket money on them, while my peers thought it’s a waste but I didn’t care. Books had been my saviour in all kinds of situations possible and I loved them. Soon I discovered something about myself- that I liked collecting books, a fact evident since I had refused to give away a single book, including the magazines collected over the years. I had graduated to harder-to-uncover mysteries, chick-lit and Young Adult genres. I visited the annual Book Fair in Delhi every year and asked for specific books on birthdays. I got them all and I’ve always been happy and grateful about it.

The only thing that’s kept me sad about all of it is the pathetically small number of people with the same interest. I have always got a group of friends who weren’t interested in books, or at least not as much as I have been. Maybe it’s just a coincidence, but I’ve always felt gloomy at the dearth of like-minded people. This is no longer true! I mean, yes, the number is a handful but ever since I have been blogging about books and reviewing, I have found friends who share this fascination. And it has been exceedingly amazing! I always felt the need to have at least one person who would understand why I like the unique smell of paperbacks or would argue why I oppose the idea of e-books. I feel depressed seeing kids glued to their iPads, some saying they like to read virtual versions of the traditional stories, some tapping away at some App that’s supposed to make “Alice” of ‘Alice in Wonderland’ small enough to get through the door. Maybe they’re right in their own context. Maybe I’m too ‘traditional’ to accept the new changes.

It was then that I realized that the cold from the marble floor was getting harder to bear. I let my hand hover over the colourful row, deciding which one to pick for the night. I chose a gleaming hardcover, pulled off its dust jacket and curled myself into the bed with the book.

The realm of stories...

If there's anything I never get bored of, it's a story. You know how much I love books, but this love was cultivated because of my love for stories. Or maybe vice versa, I don't know, because I am still not too much into movies. I am interested, but in those guaranteed to make me cry, the emotional ones. I find the written ones more satisfying, more solid, more permanent. Stories have led me to believe in worlds different than mine, even when I was a kid. I was curious, always wanting to know 'what happened?' which only fueled the thirst for more stories. Why did Ariel have such a strict father? Why was Cinderella treated badly? What happened to the golden stallion who left the castle? Why do people die? And when they do, where do they go? How long is 'never'? Can you get anything you want? Why do people love their cars so much? What's all this about money? Why does an impulsive person behave like that? 

There have always been questions, questions and questions and you know how there's no one to answer those, so when you read/hear stories that seem to answer some of the quirky questions, how can you not be fascinated? Of course I needed to know. All my life I've lived in stories and I don't see it as anything wrong. Some have expressed their concerns, and I understand your worries, but you needn't. I'm as much "practical" as I'm a dreamer and you may not see it. I'm not perfect. I don't feel one particular way for most things. It's not an either this or that for me. I would say something, but I'd believe in the opposite too. Except when it's immoral or unethical or just a sin, I believe each point of view is right. Many of us are the kind who are strongly opinionated and I sort of feel sorry for them, because they're missing the whole point. When you read stories, you understand reasons. Why is Ariel's father strict? Because he's seen the bad side of humans and doesn't want his precious daughter to suffer. Why was Cinderella treated badly? Because of jealousy. Why do impulsive people behave the way they do? Because maybe, once their inaction caused a 'catastrophe' and since then they try to act, all the time. They're clouded with this sense of dread, the need to "do something". 

See? If it weren't for stories, how else would you know? Those aren't even unreal, by the way. Every story has a meaning behind it, a thought, a life experience, an understanding, a lesson, a mistake. If it's fantasy, it's like attaching meanings to things that supposedly, don't exist, in a form of personification or symbolization. Like in dreams. It's all real somewhere and you better believe it. See it as a mystery. When you read enough or read carefully, you see how it all 'connects'. Be it the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon, or the way how some words connect you to stories. For example, whenever I come across "swan", I can link it back to The Ugly Duckling, when I read/hear the word "gazelle", I remember The Gazelle Boy, a story about a boy raised by gazelles in some mountain place, read in an English class in school and I really liked it. Similarly, "Frankfurt" takes me to Heidi, "Vienna" to The Star of Kazan, "Princess" to Mia Thermopolis in The Princess Diaries, "dreams" to The Leap and so on. I love this connected-ness. It's like everything has an origin, nothing is aloof, everything has its own place, its own home. I like this sense of security.

I started reading Looking for Alaska by John Green yesterday. I put it down this afternoon, right after some crazily catastrophic scene that made me hyperventilate. Or feel an intense emotion which I can't understand. I'll pick it up for the rest, later. That book is so different from any other that I've read. I knew it would be good, because this same author's other book was profound and lovely too. I don't even want to start with the awesome reviews. I was however, very much confused because I was not liking one of the main characters. I thought, 'God! This is one spoilt brat. How can anyone be like this?' I also disapproved of those kids' behavior. The book even then, has a certain pull to it. However those kids might be, they're smart. And I love smart kids. As you read along, you understand so many things on your own. The book doesn't even need words to make you understand. You figure out things on your own, you get to know why Alaska Young was the way she was, what everything means. And it's philosophical, too, like The Fault in Our Stars. I was reading both these on my Kindle, but just ordered paperback copies for both! 

Here are some great lines from Looking for Alaska:

“Imagining the future is a kind of nostalgia. (...) You spend your whole life stuck in the labyrinth, thinking about how you'll escape it one day, and how awesome it will be, and imagining that future keeps you going, but you never do it. You just use the future to escape the present.” 

“People, I thought, wanted security. They couldn't bear the idea of death being a big black nothing, couldn't bear the thought of their loved ones not existing, and couldn't even imagine themselves not existing. I finally decided that people believed in an afterlife because they couldn't bear not to.” 

“What the hell is instant? Nothing is instant. Instant rice takes five minutes, instant pudding an hour. I doubt that an instant of blinding pain feels particularly instantaneous.” 

*cute one*

“When you're walking home at night, do you even get creeped out and even though it's silly and embarrassing you just want to run home?"

It seemed too secret and personal to admit to virtual stranger, but I told her, "Yeah, totally."

For a moment, she was quiet. Then she grabbed my hand, whispered, "Run run run run run," and took off, pulling me behind her.” 

And there are a lot more. Click here to read more on Goodreads.

You know, I don't hate people who don't read, because I believe maybe they get their own share of stories from other sources (like I got a lot many from grandma), maybe movies and such. And those who're blissfully ignorant of either, I feel sorry for them. They don't get it and I make little efforts with lost causes. But I do like to introduce people to this world and I can safely say I have been able to affect at least a handful. Every one counts. That, I think would be my biggest achievement till date. What do you think of stories? Agree with me? ;)

Unquoting Quotes!

What's that you do when you're suddenly going through an emotional overflow? I thought I'd write it out, because that's how I'd feel better and weird thoughts must always be discarded as soon as possible. You can't afford to let them germinate inside you, because they'd just grow, feeding on your anxiousness and sadness. That's a simple philosophy I have, keep in the good thoughts, discard the bad. I've just realized that how you discard them, is something you have to think about. I spent about half an hour in total, thinking about exactly what to write on. Should it be on happiness, or friendship or another Mixed Signals something, but honestly, it's hard to point at one single thing when you have thoughts about so many inter-related stuff. I don't think I want to write about friendship. I'm totally confused about it. Maybe I should let it rest, it's not really necessary to understand everything, right? 

Then I thought I'd just log on to goodreads and read some quotes from the books I've read. I love goodreads, by the way, that wonderfully bookish website! As always, it managed to steer my thoughts in what I hope is the right direction. For one, I looked up quotes by Frances Hodgson Burnett, an author whose wonderful children's classics, The Secret Garden and A Little Princess are books that I think, are absolute treasures. I don't know why I love children's books most and those that have kids as protagonists. It seems more in sync with the real world than the other fiction books I read. Honestly, it's like children look at things from a far deeper perspective than adults can and personally, I find those books more satisfying than anything else. For instance, consider these lines from The Secret Garden:

“One of the new things people began to find out in the last century was that thoughts—just mere thoughts—are as powerful as electric batteries—as good for one as sunlight is, or as bad for one as poison. To let a sad thought or a bad one get into your mind is as dangerous as letting a scarlet fever germ get into your body. If you let it stay there after it has got in you may never get over it as long as you live... Much more surprising things can happen to anyone who, when a disagreeable or discouraged thought comes into his mind, just has the sense to remember in time and push it out by putting in an agreeable, determinedly courageous one. Two things cannot be in one place. Where you tend a rose, my lad, A thistle cannot grow.”  

See? This is precisely what I had been meaning to tell someone, but I couldn't form the right words, in the right sense. This is also the reason why I love books! You read and you find your own feelings reflected in some lines, somewhere in between, in just the right manner. Read these lines again and again if you must, just remember to discard the disagreeable thoughts and immediately fill up that void with a courageous one, because one small thought that upsets you, if allowed to wallow inside, will create a mountain of negative things disturbing you and the people around, even those who're trying to help and those you're blind towards. 

This second one is from A Little Princess. 

“When people are insulting you, there is nothing so good for them as not to say a word -- just to look at them and think. When you will not fly into a passion people know you are stronger than they are, because you are strong enough to hold in your rage, and they are not, and they say stupid things they wished they hadn't said afterward. There's nothing so strong as rage, except what makes you hold it in -- that's stronger. It's a good thing not to answer your enemies.” 

Rage, anger, jealousy, all breed discontent, for nothing in return. If you're letting yourself get 'carried away' because you can't control your rage, maybe you're not strong enough. When I say "ignore" is my mantra for all the things that upset me, sometimes you silently disagree, because you think it's being weak. Sorry, it doesn't. It just means I don't have enough time to focus on non-sense stuff. I'd rather focus on what's important to me. 

The third and final quote in this post is again, from A Little Princess and among the best lines I've read in a long time. It's quite simple, childishly innocent, but something I believe might be true, after all. I'm a believer in fairy tales.  

“Perhaps you can feel if you can’t hear,” was her fancy. “Perhaps kind thoughts reach people somehow, even through windows and doors and walls. Perhaps you feel a little warm and comforted, and don’t know why, when I am standing here in the cold and hoping you will get well and happy again.” 

Well, this is for all those I care about, or have cared about at some point. I may not be too verbal, but I do always wish when you're sad, that you'd be happy again. These lines just beautifully shaped my thoughts, in a way, something I hadn't been able to think before. 

This is why I love reading, love stories and fairy tales and fantasy and fiction. These have amazing truths in them that you can't help wonder how they manage it. They have this amazing sense of power, so that you feel light and happy and second, you come to know that it's not just your life that's having problems. You're still much better off than many others and it would do you well to understand it. Enjoy your life to the fullest, while you still can! :) 

PS- First week of college (which won't be over till tomorrow) was hectic and boring. Just the tiniest bit okay, but maybe not.