Reading | An Art Form

I wonder sometimes, why I read? Not too much, but still, sometimes during boring books this idea crops up. I never really had any use of The Murder of Roger Ackroyd so far and I doubt that Good Omens is going to be become pertinent anytime soon. Why then do I carry them around everywhere I go? I think I have an answer, but listen to this first.

I have always loved second hand books and I am not sure why. Probably it is because that is the closest way to time travel that I have my hands on until I get the time machine working. There are memories of hands on those pages, and caresses and of nights slept snuggling with the book that I now have in my hand. As I look out of the window of the second hand bookshop I am in, I wonder what the world looked like when this book was first picked up from a bookshop. It is a pretty thought to be had and it is something I have often indulged in. Standing there in the middle of a bookshop, doing nothing. Just thinking.

A Picture is worth a thousand words. This aphorism has a corollary. A thousand words do make up a picture and it’s up to the reader to paint it as he reads. Reading, to me, will always be an art, or so I think: you conjure images and dreams and put them together to form realities stranger than fictions. Imagine you have a memory of gold and Imagine that you have a memory of a mountain. Somewhere down in time, you will dream of gold mountains, and I don’t kid you on that.

When I put these together, I realize I am what I am read. Murder of Roger Ackroyd and Good Omens are as much a part of me as the 46 chromosomes that made me. I have seen people read for strange reasons these days: some read because they want to increase their vocabulary, some read to be seen reading, some read because someone else was reading. I think I read in a continuous effort to make myself, me. I realize that I am never going to read it all. I am never going to finish myself, this me I am carving. But then I remember what a character I wrote sometime said:

“The destiny of a written word is not to be read. It is to be understood. To be inculcated. To be a part of a sentience. You can be read by a thousand people and still be just words on paper. And it may happen that you may never be read. But someone may dream of you, of reading you, and that dream of you can alter their lives. Don’t worry too much kiddo, if you are not read. But make sure they dream of reading you. Because the desire to read is more potent than reading can ever be.”

For today, a new find by Safdar Hashmi, a well known street theater performer in India. The poem talks about the allure of the world of books, and what reading entails. Hope you enjoy.

किताबें
सफदार हाशमी

करती हैं बातें
बीते ज़माने की
दुनिया की इंसानों की
आज की, कल की
एक — एक पल की
खुशियों की, ग़मों की
फूलों की, बमों की
जीत की, हार की
प्यार की, मार की !
क्या तुम नहीं सुनोगे
इन किताबों की बातें ?
किताबें कुछ कहना चाहती हैं
तुम्हारे पास रहना चाहती हैं |
किताबों में चिड़ियां चहचहाती हैं
किताबों में खेतियां लहलहाती हैं
किताबों में झरने गुनगुनाते हैं
परियों के किस्से सुनाते हैं |
किताबों में रोकेट का राज है
किताबों में साइंस की आवाज़ है
किताबों का कितना बड़ा संसार है
किताबों में ज्ञान का भंडार है |
क्या तुम इस संसार में
नहीं जाना चाहोगे ?
किताबें कुछ कहना चाहती हैं
तुम्हारे पास रहना चाहती हैं |

Transliteration

Books,
Are talking,
Of times that have been,
Of the world, Of humans,
Of today, Of tomorrow,
Of each and every moment,
Of happiness, of Sorrow,
Of flowers, of bombs,
Of victories, of defeats,
Will you not listen,
to these words of the books?
These books want to talk,
They want to stay with you.
There are birds chirping within these books,
There are flowing fields within these books,
Within these books rivers are flowing,
that tell you tales of fairies.
There are secrets of rockets within these books,
There is a voice of reason within these books.
There is a wealth of knowledge within these books.
Will you not come to this world?
These books want to talk,
They want to stay with you.