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Confessions of a Bookasur
Oct 13, 2007 05:04 PM 5689 Views
(Updated Oct 15, 2007 12:02 AM)

I love reading books by the dozens Sounds like a much flogged cliché, isn’t it?  But, for me, the irony of this statement stands out in its stark nudity for one simple reason… I haven’t read much, of late.  It is a most inopportune time to come out uttering something like this when I have only read a book or two during the whole year.


Back in those balmy days I was regarded by my friends more as a ‘Book’asur than a bookworm.   I devoured books non stop sixteen hours a day, seven days a week.  The urge to read was so compelling that I even managed to gobble up some of the worst books ever written on some of the worst topics ever chosen, giving me serious bouts of indigestion and constipation. But that didn’t deter me from reading further, because I knew that there will always be a book round the corner that would do the job of a bowels shaking laxative.  Even today, my hobby of reading hasn’t diminished, only that I now read more information based articles.  Because of time constraints I am not able to indulge in my favourite hobby of chewing books.


Francis Bacon once remarked… "Some books are to be tasted, others swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested."  But, what he forgot to allude is that some books need you to sleep upon for weeks.  You may be lucky to get away with minor digestive problems, but there is no guarantee you won’t develop symptoms of insomnia, coupled with amnesia.  At least, it has been so in my case as I have lately developed this annoying habit of working on my PC late into the night seldom getting more than a few winks.


When I happened to stumble upon this rather exotic topic on MS… “Book Habits To Confess, ” I couldn’t help but wonder… now, who in MouthShut would want to know what my uninspiring book habits are.  Who has the time and patience to read something like this without yielding to a contemptuous mouth stretching yawn, or murmuring a choice curse or two?  You, my dear reader, are free to have a go.


Confessions of a ‘Book’asur:


Never paid attention to syllabus books.  To me, books meant only one thing… Novels.  I read novels with the earnestness associated with text books, and read text books in a superfluous way one would read novels.


It’s said ‘Never judge a book by its cover.” It was a sound advice but I never followed it.  I always thought books were as mystical and mysterious as women.  If they looked beautiful from outside they would probably be lovely inside too, and I was always eager to unravel them.  Of course, I confess, this theory of mine did give me a few nightmares too.


A lot of people carry books while traveling by flight, train, or bus.  I thought this was more a fashion statement like… “look you morons, I am reading this new book by Jonathan Kellerman, so show me some respect… okay!”  I always read books in the solitary confinement of my room.  Life is interesting if you have a window; I never passed off a chance of looking through the window while traveling, so reading a book was a strict no-no.


I avoided reading horror books in the night.  My strong imagination would play tricks on me by conjuring up vivid images before my eyes.  One night, I read Bram stokers’ Dracula, Prince of Darkness when I was 13.  After that, I never slept for the next seven days.  Every tiny sound, every shadow(I could vouch it was a vampire), the rustling of the dry leaves in the night, the barking of dogs in the eerie moonlight, the creaking(why do they always creak in the night?) of the doors, the seemingly endless strikes of the clock announcing midnight, all played havoc with my nerves.  Until I grew up, I always finished horror books before sunset.  But, once I joined college the fear faded away dramatically. Exorcist was much nastier than Dracula but I was glued to it the whole night, and then went and watched the movie the next day.


Despite reading tons and tons of books I found myself missing out on a lot of books by Indian authors.  I enjoyed reading books by Indian authors in Hindi.  But books by Indian authors in English didn’t exactly appeal to me.  Maybe, I suffered from a colonial hangover and books in Indian English weren’t all that tempting.  I am trying to correct my slanted view about Indian authors.


“A book is a success when people who haven’t read it pretend they have, ” when I was a kid it always bugged me when friends in my circle proudly proclaimed they had already read the new best seller which I hadn’t read yet.  So, I too pretended I had read it but acted like I wasn’t too impressed with the story(not to expose my ignorance) thereby, ensuring no major query was directed at me.  Yes, that was devious little ‘me.’  Revisiting my childhood, I feel like laughing at how naïve I was.


Fortunately, I developed the habit of reading because I wasn’t too drawn towards movies or television.  ‘K’ekta Kapoor’s mind numbing serials were yet to take over Planet S, and some of the TV channels weren’t as revealing and vulgar as they are today.  Otherwise, I might have ended up as a couch potato boasting excellent channel surfing credentials.


Though I have downloaded some very interesting e-books to my Desktop computer and Pocket Pc, I just can’t bring myself to read them.  I belong to the old school of book readers who enjoy their reading by turning and digging into the next page with anticipation, and not flicking the screen.  I don’t enjoy listening to audio-books too… for me, it’s definitely a case of book readers’ labour lost.


Good books are better than friends… they can give you company for hours, if not days, at a stretch without robbing you of your solitude.  They don’t crack stupid jokes at your expense and they certainly don’t hit you back.  They also impart more wisdom than your average cheeky friend.  But they do come at a price.


“Books are like embalmed minds, ” when we read a book we look into the mind of the author.  It is almost like carrying out a one-sided conversation, that is, if conversation can be one-sided.


I had a fascination for mysteries, old westerns, romance, war classics, and thrillers.  To me, the best of the lot were westerns.  There was a rustic old world charm about these Wild West stories where life had no value but sometimes death had a price.  I was seriously into Max Brand, Sudden, Louis L’Amour, Joe Millard, JT Edson, and a lot of other ‘western’ writers.  Some of the all time block buster movies were based on these stories like the “For a Few Dollars More”, “The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly”,  “Django”, “The Magnificent Seven”, “McKenna’s Gold”, “The Lone Ranger”, “Buffalo Bill”, “A Fistful of Dollars”, “Five Man Army”, ‘The Professionals”, and “The Quick and The Dead, ” the John Wayne classics, just to name a few.


Book’asur might have devoured a lot of books, and it must be admitted that books gnawed away at his precious time.  But, the truth is books gave him the kind of pleasure not even a woman could.


mbfarookh


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