Words of wonder...

I’ve always been fascinated by words and the picture they are able to create when strung in a particular order. Rudyard Kipling referred to words as the most powerful drug used by mankind. Ever since I was able to string together the alphabets to form words and then to join them and form sentences, it was always a thrill to unravel a new world or see the same one through the eyes of different authors. I’ve travelled the length and breadth of some places thanks to the picture the words have painted.

Tom Sawyer always brings to my mind a picture of a small naughty boy with a pail of whitewash in hand and paintbrush in the other, slowly moving on to how he eventually makes dimes out of his task. I’ve almost felt the breath of the Swiss Alps and tasted goat’s milk in Heidi through the description of the author. I’ve sailed the whale ship Pequod along with Ishmael and almost felt the terror Captain Ahab put us through to get his personal vendetta against Moby Dick. Like Matilda I went on olden-day sailing ships with Joseph Conrad, went to Africa with Ernest Hemingway and travelled India with Rudyard Kipling. I travelled all over the world while sitting in my little room at home. There are many a times I’ve felt suspense and thrill and not put the book down till I got to the end of a Famous Five, Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys or The Secret Seven as if I was almost helping them solve the mystery myself.

I’m sure there are a lot of books which have been just narratives of things as they were or mere explanations of things as they should be. However, nothing brought alive the war and its consequences as ‘The Diary of a Young Girl’ by Anne Frank or ‘The Book Thief’ by Markus Zusak or ‘Désirée’ by Annemarie Selinko. The characters tell a story and the authors have weaved the tales around how the war was affecting the lives of people like no other history book I had read when in school. Although I guess, it might have been a task getting a bunch of kids to read heavy literature when reading curriculum books itself was considered a chore!

There are many a evenings when with my head stacked with pillows and feet tucked in my favourite blanket, with my mother’s incessant nagging in the background that I would one day spoil my eyes, I’ve peeked along with Alice in Wonderland or slept off to the tales of talking animals by Enid Blyton or relived the life of Black Beauty. I’ve dreamt of mythical beings and the magic of the land of Narnia as C. S. Lewis painted it for us and have joined in the movement with the inmates of George Orwell’s The Animal Farm. These stories left open doors to multiple interpretations with my mind being the only barrier to how far I could stretch the boundaries.

Food was often the victim of abandonment and so were academics and friends as I was engrossed in the lives that I was unveiling through the author’s eyes. Times have changed. Different genres of literature have held me captivated at various stages of interest. The more I read, the more I want to continue reading and explore. I could be lost in the beauty of a sunset as seen on a beach or be enthralled by the beauty of nature as seen from the top of a mountain. However, even when my eyes are not reading the printed letters, I find myself writing notes in my mind to go along with the picture to capture the essence of the moment. That is what adds flavour to the memory when I pick it out of my memoirs someday to reminisce. Like Helen Keller said, Literature is my Utopia!