I used to go to school in a yellow-green DTC bus that roared and wheezed as if it was seconds away from a breakdown. And many a time it did. But what I remember most from that time was the unadulterated joy I would get from reading on the 45-minute journey. The light breeze, muted chatters, and (mostly) sleeping kids made for an interesting reading environment. I would either read my textbooks or if I felt fancy, a novel that I’d take with me. It didn’t matter what others thought or said. If my eyes were in my book, chances were, my other senses were oblivious to the world outside.

For as long as I can recall, I’ve enjoyed reading. I was that kid who used to look forward to the day we would receive the books for the next academic year. Just the thought of being around a year’s worth of pending knowledge, coupled with the texture and smell of the new books excited me endlessly. I read not because I had to meet some target or achieve some goal. I read just because. To this date, I cannot walk past a bookstore or a roadside vendor without pausing to take stock of them. It’s a reflex.

As time went on, my reading evolved. I went from DC and Marvel comics to R.L Stine to Enid Blyton, to being scandalized by Sidney Sheldon, and then being fascinated with Dan Brown. I suppose the progression has been the same for most. But come class 11, everything changed. Suddenly, I was expected to put my habit on hold. It was no longer a fruitful hobby that offered joy. It was a distraction that ate time from my shot at running the fastest in a blindfolded rat-race. In a moment that has stuck with me, I was asked by the gentleman coaching us for JEE to quit reading newspapers because it shouldn’t matter for the upcoming 2 years what goes on in the world. Not only was I confused with this statement itself, I was bothered by the consensus among the nodding heads in the room. I don’t know if it counts, but I refused to adhere. But my reading frequency did take a massive hit.

I distinctly recall coming from my last board examination, relaxing with friends, and dramatically opening up ‘The Reluctant Fundamentalist’. It was my grand gesture to mark the occasion of my so-called freedom before the mania of college admissions started. FYI, I didn’t understand the book. Not. At. All. But it did make me question if the tonnes of PCM numericals had rusted my fiction-loving brain. And so I categorically set out to cover up on the time lost.

In college, reading became more than just a hobby or a point to strike up a conversation with people. I truly appreciated the emotional anchor it became for me and how I depended on it to cope with whatever drama was going on, which was insignificant in hindsight. But soon I was lured into the world of TV series and spent months and months religiously watching them so as to have something to talk about with friends. This year, I realized I wanted to read way more than I did in 2017. I valiantly announced the challenge on Goodreads and set off. I cut down on TV shows and I was able to reach my target well before time.

I believe reading, in general, has gone up. Reading for joy, unfortunately, hasn’t. We are so caught up in the web of productivity and projecting ourselves as constantly busy, so used to hearing others tell us how every moment has to lead to something or has to take you somewhere for your life to amount to something, that we are wary of the idea of doing it purely for joy. You can’t just read a book you found in some quaint shop, you have to read that one book that is suddenly the rage and is ‘cool’ to read. And before we realize, we have turned reading into a chore. A task that has to impact your career. It has to be a networking nugget. No wonder people aren’t investing that much time to physically/virtually flip through pages. Now that it’s just one of many mundane tasks, people rush to summaries and 10-minute videos that condense the book into the fundamentals to give them conversational material. And even worse, when you make it a 15 mark question in a Board examination, you take away the enjoyment of reading. It’s not wrong to read with the agenda of progressing your professional prospects. But it doesn’t have to be that exclusively.

At this stage in our lives, the depth and breadth of available reading material is expansive. Even on the Internet, you have Quora, Reddit, Medium, BrainPickings, Aeon, NYTimes, The Hindu and what not. You are spoilt for choice. But I wish people read more just because they want to. Not because they have to. Virginia Woolf said in the context of writing, but it applies to reading too –

“So long as you write what you wish to write, that is all that matters; and whether it matters for ages or for hours, nobody can say.”

Reconnecting with reading this year has allowed me to rediscover the joy of taking an entire day out to be with a book. To put a pause on the laundry list of issues that I have to deal with in life, even if it is just for a day. I didn’t realize how much I missed the comfort of a mug of coffee, a cozy nook in my bed, and the companionship of a fictional character. More so because I didn’t feel the need to Instagram the same.

What I realized from my years in books, and this year in particular, is the importance of having something for yourself that you can retreat to every now and then. And that lack of time is just an excuse we make for ourselves. We are all more than our professional accomplishments and titles. Your life and self beyond that has to be nurtured too. When was the last time you pursued your hobby or passion and didn’t give a hoot for deadlines or assignments or submissions? If it’s been too long, perhaps today can be that day. At least Virginia Woolf and I would concur.

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PS : You can view my Goodreads challenge here.