how i began to read?
I have read many books, since I was five or four I think. I loved reading a book more than anything, even TV at times. Though in the beginning these were the illustrated tales of Roald Dahl, my father brought from his school library, as time went on I was never content with the books because they were too short.
My father would get irritated and somewhat proud of the fact that I would ask him to get me new books every morning when he gets ready for school. Imagine carrying five books everyday to and fro as a teacher, in that messenger bag which is only supposed to carry tiffin and some sheets of paper. But still he would bring new books and and take them back the very next day.
It was when I was in second or third, I think that my father came home and declared, “The library does not have anymore books in the children’s section, so I have brought Charles Dickens’ Oliver Twist for you.”
I grabbed it happily and flipped the pages, hmmm no pictures, no inviting images of strange men and women and strange creatures by Quentin Blake to accompany, just words joining hands it seems waiting for the morning assembly to begin, like in school.
My parents thought I would give up too soon, because even they would not sit and read this; again the language was old English with huge words. With the limited vocabulary at my disposal at the age of 6, they knew I would not understand and will leave the book somewhere, and go out to play. They hoped I would go play.
I laid down on the bed and opened the book, and began reading.
Next morning, when my father was getting ready for school, and I was helping him pack his bag, he asked me, “No books to return?”; and I simply smiled at him.
I sat through the day, through the night and I finished the book. I did not understand most of the words, but I understood the story. I was amazed with the magic that these writers had (I believed they were wizards), of painting picture in every soul who reads mere words.
My father, the next day, was about to leave but I stopped and gave him the hardbound book and said, “Ache, can you bring more of Dickens?” He simply smiled and brought back more and more until another day, another time, he came home and started bringing books which I had read once.