On Reading – II

Do you believe in coincidences? The next title I picked up gave me a feeling of déjà vu. Once again I travelled the corridors of corruption in our country’s capital. (When I was very little, I always stated with aplomb that I was born ‘in the Capital of India’ – it sounded so much more important than, ‘I was born in New Delhi’!)

I was told by a friend, whose opinion I respect, that I would find Aravind Adiga’s ‘White Tiger’ very readable. And indeed it was. This was a re-acquaintance with all that is familiar; I was enticed by the first person narrative that was so authentic in language, setting and context that I found myself reading way into the night, only to pick up as early as possible the next day. A day spent in the life of India’s teeming underbelly. This book is not for those who prefer fairy tales. It is, however, an excellent read for those who are inured to reality as represented by the daily news.

A fresh scan of the bookshelf showed me the ‘heavier’ reading which was on my ‘when I have the time and inclination’ list. My head was a little clearer, so I hefted the tomes and decided that a few pages at a time should do no harm. Umberto Eco had stimulated interest in the medieval, and the historical Church has always held its own special fascination, so I picked up the intriguingly titled ‘Holy Bones, Holy Dust’ - a scholarly work on how relics shaped medieval Europe. A few pages at a time? Perish the thought. As each chapter concluded, I would venture a few pages further. Here was history unfolding: a link to the past, and a slice of my own heritage reaching right back to the time of Christ. There was also irony, suspended belief and humour – all ingredients for an excellent read. Now, why wasn’t history taught this way when we were in school? To think that I avoided this fascinating subject for so many years all because of tutoring with tunnel vision! Even when done, I turned back to chapters that held some appealing tidbit or the other, just so that I could savour them again.

More history. Elizabeth I belongs to everyone, even though she was England’s queen. Her life holds a unique fascination not least because of her parentage but also because of her authoritative reign. For me, the definitive Elizabeth is the one described by Jean Plaidy. ‘Legacy’ by Susan Kay was leant to me by a friend; it came to me strongly recommended, but I was skeptical of what it could offer. But offer it did. Fact was fleshed out by description and conversation, attitudes and actions which could only have been imagined and yet sounded unquestionably sincere. Walls can hear but not speak. Perhaps the author gleaned something from the ghosts of London’s bloodied Tower? It certainly seemed as if she had been there on the spot. Another ‘unputdownable’ (my word for it!) read.

After this, there was one more treat in store: Orhan Pamuk’s ‘Other Colours’. I had read bits and pieces in other places, and I was hooked. This was an author whose deeper acquaintance I looked forward to. And I was delighted when I eventually got the chance. The books is a collection of essays: Pamuk has written about his beloved Turkey, his youth, his family, his daughter, his thoughts and aspirations, his writing and in every piece, he has invested himself so completely that the sincerity in the writing lends it a rare integrity. There are books which once read are read; there are others which you are loath to let go. This book belongs to the latter category - a book that will be a cherished companion.

Several titles down the line, I am, as you can see, firmly back in my favourite groove – the world of the printed page. It is a world that I had to leave for a while, and I am really glad to have found my way back.