The Pleasures of Reading and Re-reading

Reading, being such a personal activity, appeals to a wide assortment of people- each in quest of a different kind of gratification through books.

There are those who experiment with books belonging to diverse genres and authors. Then, there are those who stick to their favourite authors and eagerly await any new books by them to hit the stands. Chetan Bhagat enthusiasts, perhaps, best describe this lot. Also, there are a few who dig a particular genre; for instance, many take a keen interest in self-help books (though I personally find most of them too idealistic, and their claims to have changed the lives of millions seem too far-fetched).

Lately, I have progressed (for want of a better word) to a new level altogether: I experience a new-found pleasure in re-reading the books I haven’t read in years. And, the fact that I’m reading the same book again doesn’t really dampen the novelty factor. Having matured considerably since the last time I read the book, I can appreciate the same things from an entirely new perspective, and almost always discover some finer details that I missed out earlier. Many a times, the old stories conjure a faint feeling of familiarity, if not a complete recall of the plot. Then, there are also times when they do not ring a bell at all, having got jumbled up with a lot of other things. In case of the latter, even old mysteries and suspense thrillers can be visited time and again without any loss of interest since it is still a mystery each time you revisit the book!

Sometimes, it’s not so much about the plot of a story as about escaping to a different world. Reading an old classic transports you to a much simpler world; it is reminiscent of a bygone era - a less hurried time when life moved at a slow pace. Also, it triggers many happy memories of the time last spent with the book.

Occasionally, I read an old favourite and wonder why I found it so gripping back then. On the other hand, a novel that I found just passable years ago seems quite absorbing now, making me realise how preferences change as we grow up.

Monsoon Woes

Increasingly, I’m discovering that the rains are causing more inconvenience than the initial euphoria that marked the arrival of the monsoon. While it is nice to have a light drizzle for hours, heavy incessant rains cause more botheration than relief.

It begins with the sound of raindrops pitter-pattering against the window glass, which is followed by the rush to bring the clothes in from the line. But the rain stops as suddenly as it had begun, rendering the effort pointless. Then there is the tedious exercise of closing all the doors and windows if the rain is accompanied by a storm, which is usually the case these days. Often, the water still seeps in through some opening and spoils the adjoining walls, besides other things placed in proximity.

Further, with the first monsoon showers arrive a swarm of clumsy winged insects, making their way to any light source they find. It is such an ugly sight to have them congregate in large numbers and to have them strewn all over the place subsequently.

And this is just the scene indoors. Outside, the streets get clogged and the dug up roads fill up with water, leaving no choice but to waddle across after several futile attempts of high jumps over the murky pools of water. Add to this the considerable humidity when the sun shines just after a heavy downpour, making the weather muggy and sticky.

How much would I prefer just a light drizzle and a faint breeze laden with the scent of wet earth- an ideal setting for reading a good book sitting by the window!