I am reading a book. I
am struck by its nuances, by its finer depth. The more I get engrossed in the
reading, the more the outside world feels like a blur.
Certain books manage
to touch my soul, in a way they transform me. The same happens to me after I
watch a good movie. The visual artistry of the movie keeps taking me back to
the scenes as they unfold in front of my eyes.
But, with reading it
is different. There are no pictures. Only narratives
A good book is like
bumping into a stranger and forging an instant connection. So much so that I
get invited over to her place. Once there, I am taken
in by the beauty of how each artefact in the house is carefully treasured and
has found its rightful place in tiny little alcoves. I notice the intricate
blue of the carpet laid out, over which stands a magnificent coffee table.
Nothing stops me from running my hands over the deep mahogany of the polished
teakwood which speaks of class and style. I start speaking to the lady of the
house and before I realise, I am drawn into a full blown conversation with her.
There is an immense joy felt with this newfound friendship
I am exposed to a
feeling so similar while reading a good book. An undefined force pulls me into
the throes of reading. Each word unfurling in front of me- so poignant, so
elusive. At times, I pause at a certain word; foreign to me. I look it up and I
roll my tongue over it; savouring it. The source is always the writing, which
inspires me, wanting me to take chances, pushing me closer to my goal.
As I am nearing the
last few pages of the book, I feel a certain kind of heaviness in my heart. I
don’t wish it to end. The feeling is akin to finding reluctance in my approach
while leaving my friend’s home.
My feet feel heavy- as
if laden with sand bags. The thought that the lovely afternoon has come to an
end leaves me feeling sad.
At a distance I can
see the birds are homeward-bound. I get up to leave. The images of the house,
the wonderful hostess whom I can now rightfully call my friend, travels with me
as I sit in the red bus that takes me home.
The book has had a
lasting impact on me.
