reading in candle light

This is intended to be a post about why I like reading, but I have not thought this through and it could go just about anywhere. I can't remember when I first picked up a book, or when the reading bug bit me. My earliest memories of reading are sitting in the balcony in the chilly Delhi winter mornings reading nursery rhymes, or sitting on the staircase outside the house, waiting for mum to return from work, patiently toying with new words like 'elf' and 'gnomme' and 'enthusiasm'. And then, during the long summer nights when power cuts were more frequent than DTC buses, reading Champak in the glow of the candle and refusing to fan myself because the light would go off. Somewhere between rushing to school and lazily getting back home, between power cuts and summer holidays, Amma's stories and learning math tables 'by heart', somewhere in the middle of all that, I fell in love with reading.

It could also be explained as a fetish for the written word. I like the seemingly endless permutations and combinations that sets of words make, creating a written language. I also like the rules that have to be followed, to make some coherent sense out of what could easily be a jumble of ksjdhfiuhfsaIUhgssJKGH. Its sort of like music, but silent. Its also like knitting, but easier. Perhaps those who understand the language of numbers would feel the same way.

Of late, I have ceased to think of reading as a solitary activity. I read with my lamp just as I used to read with and in the light of the candle. Sometimes, on dreary winter afternoons, a hot cup of jasmine tea with a teaspoon of honey and a couple of drops of lemon, the chair by the tall window, a cosy shawl on my lap (I wish I could say one that I made myself!), with my lamp by my side, I embark upon the happy pursuit of the written word. It is an exceptionally cosy feeling. Sometimes I read words, the careful layout of sentences that stand out, or the odd ones carellessly strewn about. Sometimes the moment takes over and everything around contributes to a pleasant afternoon. At other times, the mind is restless and words merge into one another without making much sense. But the lamp and the chair are faithful friends, happy for me to come back later.

At times like these, when the written word fails to grip and console, I take refuge in the orderliness of knitting. Knitting soothes ruffled nerves like nothing I have experienced before. I am a beginner in the art and still discovering its vast potential. One activity I find extremely gripping, is reading stitches on the needle - trying to figure out what it means for the yarn to be going this way or that. I am in kindergarten where knitting is concerned, but very much loving the leisurely voyage of discovery. Who knows, this might just be another love affair in the making!