Both my parents went out to work and although I
was not their only child, the embryonic stages of my life passed by as a lone
wolf - coy and demure. The books made me quarantined from a normal childhood.
Books reinvented me - I felt unalone intellectually, emotionally and
spiritually. However I had no hands on experience with the practical life. The
invaluable social resource was never there in me and the building blocks of
relationships came tumbling down for me. This has never left me feeling blue
though.
I was more than ecstatic, soaking in the solace
of volumes of 'lettered' knowledge that appealed to me more, was readily
accessible (both my parents maintain a library that is to be gaped at - maybe I
had it in my genes!), and the most patient of teachers I knew not. Many would
gag at the knowledge that, even now, I draw the musty smell of the old ones and the inky
smell of the new ones that wafts to me everytime I open a book to read - making my
head swim with delight. Embracing the regular reading habit in the initial years
of my growing up helped me find a confidante while soul searching serious
answers in life and calmed my frayed nerves.
Still and going on - I nurture and polish this gem of a friendship in my austere life for the unpredictable days ahead - impregnating my life's slips with wisdom. I can never recollect a single day till date when I woke up to the chaos of the world without my fingers laced on this "rare gem".
I'm presently reading the Cairo Trilogy by Naguib Mahfouz (Palace Walk; Palace of Desire; Sugar Street).
