Tuesday, July 17, 2012

Read Instead

I fell in love with books. Some people find beauty in music, some in painting, some in landscape, but I find it in words. By beauty, I mean the feeling you have suddenly glimpsed another world, or looked into a portal that reveals a kind of magic or romance out of which the world has been constructed, a feeling there is something more than the mundane, and a reason for our plodding.
The thing about books is that they take me in a world I can only dream of – the fresh air, the coruscant sunlight, the devil-may-care environs.  I cannot feel all this even if I wish to – because firstly, I live in Mumbai and can only expect polluted air, abrasive sunlight and nerve-racking environment. While travelling in an overly crowded Virar train at the peak hour, the only thing that makes my 80 minutes journey not so cumbersome is Books.  

I respect writes the most. They have a God gifted talent to put words in such magical way that leaves me hypnotized. They somehow express my feelings in a way I can never even if I tried. When I don’t want to face reality, when I want to believe that the world is a better place, when I want the reassurance that I am not the only one with troubles, I turn to books. 

The sassy aroma, the crisp young pages and the words staring at me asking me to read them. That never-ending moment when I stare in the space thinking about what I read. People come and go, feelings change, life moves on but books stay and so does those moments and thoughts. I share my deepest secrets with them and they keep it.


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