A Tryst With Books And Reading
I’m no longer my father’s “2 on 10 daughter”!!
As a child, I hated reading. It was a chore, something my mum forced me to do. I couldn’t see any advantage in it at all. There were words that were spelt one way but pronounced another. Two words that are pronounced the same way; no continuity in how to pronounce even ‘–ut’ words. It was all a big mess. At school, we had a reading test. I passed, but only because I would learn the words in advance and pretend to read them!
Then came my 9th birthday, and I was gifted my first Enid Blyton. Such a thick book!! Yikes! But it seemed to have a few fun pictures in between. The blurb at the back asked me to go on an adventure with the Famous Five. One boring afternoon, I did just that, and I was hooked!! I got through that thick book in a week. Unbelievable!
And thus started my book-reading journey….. I went through all the Famous Five and Secret Seven books as if my life depended on it.
Once I conquered the Mallory Towers and Roald Dahl’s collections, I moved on to Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys; page after page, chapter after chapter, book after book. There was no turning back and no putting down either. I read on the way to school, under my blanket at night, and even during class hours, hiding my novel in the pages of the thick History textbook.
The stories consumed me. I began imagining myself as one of the characters — tied up in the boot of a car or running through the rolling hills; being locked in a cell in a prison or being cramped in a tent with four others.
I started having conversations with invisible people who shared these magical experiences with me. In short, my world changed.
The older I grew, the more vivid the stories got; greater suspense and longer sleepless nights followed. And another strange thing happened. My language grades started improving.
The essays that were scored out of thirty got nothing less than a 25. My vocabulary was exceptional for a teenager and my ability to extempore increased at an exponential rate. Reading had transformed my school life as well. In fact, my father could no longer call me his “two on ten” daughter which was the regular mark I received, before books entered my life. Till today “two on ten” is what my family uses to tease me… Well, I guess books can’t change everything… or can they?
Science fiction and mystery books were the most alluring to me. I had still not developed a taste for nonfiction, autobiographies, historical accounts, or current world trends. Newspapers and textbooks seemed boring and unappetizing. Where’s the fun in facts?
And then I grew up. Life happened. Mystery books and imagination seemed a lifetime away. There were hurdles to cross, people to please, college to attend and money to be earned. Books disappeared and what took their place were trivial day-to-day chores that added nothing but disillusionment to life. Everything was real and tangible and truly dismaying, as adulthood cropped up in my life. I dreamt of what to cook the next day or wondered whether to go to the library or not. I imagined being thrown out of the college for not doing well and worried whether I could save enough to travel back home.
Your mind is a funny thing. It takes whatever you are going through in life and exaggerates it. When life is good, your mind makes you feel great and when life is not so good, your mind has a funny way of making it worse. Notice, at this time there were no books or reading to fuel the ‘good’ in my mind and imagination.
And then I got married and had a child. Books re-entered, but this time almost as a chore. Reading to the little one; the same book again and again, with the same expressions and pauses, like I did a million times before. As a teacher too, there were books galore — textbooks and notebooks and planners and exam booklets. But sadly, nothing in them for me!! No imagination, no wonder, no thrill, and no life-altering experience. There were a few novels along the way, but too few to mention or to leave a lasting mark on me.
At the tender age of thirty-four, books re-entered but in a very different way. It was imperative to read to stay up-to-date and well-versed with everything related to AI. After all, I was part of a team creating something so unique, and so powerful that I couldn’t be left behind.
This time it was all about non-fiction, the future of mankind, and books on self-improvement. It started off as a task. Read a book — write a reflection — submit it for review and forget about it. Luckily I could still read fast, so this cycle didn’t take much time to complete.
The term deep reading was introduced, which was said to lend itself to deep thinking and then deep learning.
Deep reading begins with background information on the book and topic and a sense of empathy toward the author’s purpose. While one is reading, imagination and imagery take over, which leads to a critical analysis of the matter. Insights are gained through the process of reflection and the understanding of concepts. When the concept is applied in real life and either adopted or discarded as a personal belief, the cycle is completed in earnest and a new book takes its place.
This cycle, when put into practice, requires reading with focus and attention paid to the big idea, rather than the fluff on the page.
Thus began my journey with the idea of reading deeply. The quick reader in me had to deliberately slow down and take count of the words on the page. Annotations were made in the margins and sticky notes peeped out from within the pages, as a reminder of a great quote or thought that was etched into the book. Over time, the process became more enjoyable and less laborious. My speed increased and the number of sticky notes decreased, as I learned to extract only the very main concepts. I even put together my best reflections in a leather-bound diary for posterity.
