I love books. I love physical books. I love cradling them in my hands. I love the smell of new books. I love to gift books. I love all kinds of good books; I show no bias.
Books are my umbilical cords. They are my surrogate mothers and fathers. They nurture me.
Books fill my room. They surround me. Embrace me. I feel comfortable in their presence. Books fill my emptiness.
Books nudge me. Books make me cry. Books make me laugh. Books lull me to sleep. Books keep me awake. Books ensconce me. Books expose me. Books shame me. Books motivate me. Books depress me. Books surprise me with their infinite variety.
Books kindle my curiosity. They open doors and windows to the outside world.
I read books for no benefit. I read for the joy of reading. When I read good books, I feel a personal connection between me and the author.
When I face fears, anguish, pains, dreams, joys, successes, failures, ideological struggles, unrestrained power, inadequacies, I reach out to books much like a baby reaching out to her mother.
Libraries and bookstores are my places of refuge.
Books are like rivers. As you age, the book grows with you. When you read a book again, it is not the same book you read when you were younger. You never read the same book twice.
I have had the good fortune of having great teachers through books—Thiruvalluvar, Socrates, Will Durant, Sujatha, Tolstoy, S. Ramakrishnan, Bertrand Russell, Puthumai Pithan—it is a long list.
Whenever I feel happy or depressed, books guide me. Books are my friends, philosophers, guides, and mentors.
Books remind me that I am not alone.
Books make my life purposeful.
April 23 – World Book Day
Happy Book Day.
