In the early years of my childhood, I saw reading and writing as limited to school and studies. I was completely unaware of the entertainment factor in books and mostly spend those carefree days playing outdoors with cousins. My cousins from my father's side lived near my paternal grandparents' house and our monthly visits there were the highlight of our life.
We cousins comprised of five of us - me, my elder brother, two cousin brothers and one cousin sister. Our sister was the eldest among us and 10 years apart from me, who was the youngest. Because of our age gap and the fact that she was away for studies most of the time, my memories of her was vague. So I used to play with my brothers and pretended to be one of the boys.
All was well until my brothers started going out to play cricket with the boys from the neighbourhood. I would have tagged along if my grandmother and the others hadn't convinced me that I would feel out of place in a group of boys. Plus, like all brothers, mine protested against taking me along. He didn't want to "babysit" me. Finally, even I started feeling a bit hesitant and decided to stay home.
In the initial days, I used to watch the game from outside our house. The ground was on the opposite side of the road that ran beside our compound wall. I was extra careful not to be detected by my brothers, since I was pretending to be uninterested in the game...Well, I had my pride! My brother would gloat over it if he knew that I wanted to come but couldn't. Such was our loving relationship back then.
It was during those solitary hours that the big, glass-covered shelf of books on the first floor caught my attention. On further enquiry, I found that the collection of books belonged to my cousin sister and uncle. With my aunt's permission (yep, I was a well-mannered kid) I went through the books. What piqued my interest the most was the Harry Potter series. I was used to reading short stories from comparatively thin books and the thickness of novels was something that both attracted and intimidated me. Still, I took one out and started reading. After a paragraph, I stopped...I couldn't understand anything. What the hell was "Private Drive" ? Feeling a bit disappointed, I kept the book back and left.
A few years later, my cousin sister came into my life. I don't remember what occasion it was, but she gifted me and my brothers a book each. It included The Life of Pi by Yann Martel, Grimms' Fairy Tales and one other book which I don't remember. The one I got was Heidi by Johanna Spyri. The book was my gateway to reading. It was just what I needed. Though not completely devoid of pictures, it was unlike the illustrated ones I was used to reading. The language was not too challenging for a beginner, but it introduced me to a new level.
Reading the book again and again gave me the courage and confidence to go back to that bookshelf. I took out Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone and gave it a try. Though I didn't understand the paragraph any better than my first attempt, I kept at it till I finished a few pages. Then things started making sense and I understood what Private Drive was! I was finally able to connect the place mentioned in the book with fragmented scenes from the movie (which i hadn't watched back then except for some clips). I felt ecstatic! My imagination effortlessly translated the words to images in my mind. I fell in love.
When I went to my sister to check if I was on the right track in my understanding of the novel, she was delighted to see my interest in books. She encouraged me and let me borrow books from her library whenever I wanted. The love for books was the first thread of connection that brought us close and our bond only grew stronger from then on.
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