DEAR Me

*Drop Everything And Read*

Ever since childhood I read stuff. I can not claim any credit for that reading because all around me there always were plenty of books. The 'right' books. No 'trash' was allowed to us at home and somehow it never seemed to matter that I was reading Arthur Miller when I was 8 and Freud while I was 14 (pretty irrelevant was how much of it I could understand and assimilate!). I was still in school in pigtails and scruffy shoes when I read The Second Sex (my first Bible). There never was any time for me to read frivolous stuff which my contemporaries were surreptitiously deciphering. I could read Sons and Lovers and Women in Love before I ever was permitted to read a vapid romance(Lady C. came later though). Georgette Heyer was on, Danielle Steele wasn't. Shaw was on but James Hadley Chase & Harold Robbins weren't (back then!)

School was a lark with a wonderful library and a delightfully charming librarian. I have yet to come across anyone as dignified and graceful and yet so firmly in control over the legions of louts who used to fidget through the mandatory Library period every week. Library was really a place where I could sit (very quietly) and forget the whole world and read. Whether it was a classic or a reference text, the library was always well-stocked and yet we would often complain about a missing book- and wondrously, it would appear on the shelves, with its fresh scent, within weeks. A favourite haunt of mine, when I was bunking classes in school, was the library (more often than the streets of Sunder Nagar!) and far more difficult to be in because, unlike being in Sweets Corner, one had to come up with valid excuses to justify one's presence at the Library. But then, like most of my teachers, Mrs. Jalil was rather kind to me and did not interrupt my education!

College was where I came into my own. One had absolute and total freedom within those all girls gates- may be a bit stultifying but it was a haven. There were so many nooks and corners one could curl up in and spend hours- the most favourite being the library with its low divans and bolster pillows in the little favoured musty upstairs reading room. I was not too interested in poring over the text books, which would be hidden among the non-related reference books racks by the girls who not only wanted to do well academically but also wished to seal their success by ensuring others' failure. The reference library was a delight. I would wait for the gaggle of giggly girls to leave by their 1.30, or latest by the 2.30 Specials, and stay on till late evening, till finally hunger would drive me home. In between would be the ambles across to other colleges in the campus and a few beyond too. There would be slide shows, discussions, seminars, demonstrations, movie screenings (docu-edu-tainment only!), walks in the Ridge and much discussion and debate of ideas and thoughts- all of which would push me back to Drop Everything And Read.

I would read everywhere- at home- in bed, at the table, in the loo, in the buses (which were NOT Specials and therefore were adrenaline surcharged ideal 'eve-teasing' environment), in libraries, in parks, under trees, in coffee-houses, over hot steaming chai, just about everywhere. It helped that there were others around me who paced me, because try as I might, I could never compete with my Sis in either the width or depth of reading. I read nearly all I could lay my hands on and with the passage ot time became increasingly inclusive in reading much more than I read - BUT there were limitations. I could never read 'trash', however hard I tried to break the childhood hex. I could never go past the initial unease with sci-fi which I developed an aversion to early in life - whether it be Wells or Kingsley I shunned them even while I loved Verne. After the initial unfortunate exposure to Bunyan, I could never pick up a preachy Christian tale, however fantastically well-written.

And there was the limitation of language. English and Hindi were, and remain to this day, the only languages which I can read and write in. I could not read as much of Hindi as I wanted. I regret that I haven't read as much of the modern Hindi literature as I could have.

And now, off for some DEAR time, dearies.

NOTE: The term DEAR was introduced to me by a school in which ds was fortunate enough to enrol but could not study beyond one month as we moved to Bangalore.