All the time in the world....

My never-failing friends are they,
With whom I converse day by day.
With them I take delight in weal,
And seek relief in woe

Aniruddh and I are both reading Yuganta by Irawati Karwe. (I promise to post a review soon.) I read very fast and was taken aback when, the other day, Aniruddh claimed that I had all the time in the world to read, because I had finished a substantial bit more than him. All the time in the world…the phrase, all at the same time, filled me with anger, with shame, with regret and a sense of loss I cannot explain.

There was a time when I drove people around me crazy with my reading. My mother still recalls those days when I would return from the library (what happened to those quaint little places with dusty books on rickety shelves?), slip into the chair right next to the door, not leave till I finished the book in my hand and then, of course, complain incessantly that I was bored since I had finished reading and had to wait for the next evening for my beloved visit to the library.

During an extremely difficult year of transition- to womanhood, to a new school in a new city, to being comfortable in my skin- books were my only friends. In fact, as if it weren’t enough that I had already been ostracized for being a ‘city girl’ in a small town, I was further ridiculed for the company I kept, my wonderful bound paper mates, who gave me strength to be alone. My real friends were those from someone else’s imagination, sketched lovingly by the author’s untrammeled nib, some rounded, some flat, but faithful to me always.

My romance with the written word continued well into adulthood, when I discovered the magic of non fiction, philosophy and poetry. I chose to be educated to read better, to devour as many books as I could (and devour I did, tearing the corners of the pages to chew on, till I learnt to respect my books!!). For once nobody could rue the fact that my nose was buried deep in the pages of a book that was not ‘course work’. I never learnt to brag, quote or count. I read for my pleasure and not for competition. And it was the competition, the display, the quoting, the unnecessary and very fake internalization of philosophies that drove me away from literature as a career choice. Linguistics sent me back to the world of reading entirely for pleasure and I added a few more genres to my repertoire, including political commentary.

These days I am lucky if I manage to flip a few pages before getting into bed. My day is occupied with Manu and running a household. I consider my self pampered if I can sip a cup of tea and do the crossword, not for long, maybe just 10 minutes? But I have to finish cooking, cleaning and bathing by the time my maid leaves, so someone can watch Manu while I’m busy. And the day rushes by bathing and feeding Manu, playing with Manu, rocking Manu to sleep and then feeding him all over again. I enjoy every moment. I do get a couple of hours in the evening while Manu’s off to play with his grandparents, but that’s the time for me to check my mail, surf the internet and get dinner ready.

So when do I read? Sometimes when Manu’s on my lap, just drifting off, not yet with Mr. Sandman, but not requiring me to sing to him either, I read a few words by the light of a 10 watt night lamp. Sometimes if my chores after Manu’s off to sleep are done early enough, I read just before I doze off. Sometimes, if I reach a deadlock with the crossword or better still, finish it; I flip through some pages on the pot. Sometimes I don’t read for days on end. Sometimes I am blessed with time to finish an entire book in a day.

All in all, the state of my reading is not optimal. Neither is the quality. When one manages only a few pages at a time, it makes very little sense to pick up something serious. I like to be completely involved when I am reading works of substance. So my recent conquests are no better than all of Dan Brown’s works and some Jeffery Archer. Potboilers and sensational fiction, nothing intelligent, nothing stimulating or thought provoking!! Kiran Desai remains unopened and the desire to open several others remains unfulfilled.

But maybe I should just consider this a break from my usual reading. There is no guilt or shame associated with not reading for a bit and it’s not like I don’t try. Fortunately for me, I have never judged those who do not read harshly or rated them unworthy of my friendship and association, so I hope fervently that I am meted the same allowance by my erudite friends.

I certainly do not have all the time in the world!!