Why I Read
An important question to answer as I spend a lot of time on this activity.
The Question
Today, I was reading the last few pages of the book ‘Sakina’s Kiss’. Some lines struck me hard. I was forced to write this post because of these lines.
I get up and stand in front of the showcase. I am astonished by just how many books I have acquired over the years. Some are even stuffed horizontally above other books. It has been ages since I looked at them. There are books that are over twenty years old. What purpose can there be in keeping them? At one point, I tried to eliminate the word ‘purpose’ from my vocabulary after reading a book. Beware of Purpose must be here somewhere. Fight Smarter too.
Now the books feel like a desperate attempt to cover up defects within me, to compensate for something inside that was broken.
Vivek Shanbhag, Sakina’s Kiss
“Do I use books to cover up defects in me?”
That was the question that popped up in my head.
When I attended a book club meeting, the moderator asked everyone to explain why they read after introducing themselves. I had not thought about this earlier. I just loved to read.
Or, so I thought.
I break down my reading journey into three parts.
Childhood
Sometimes, I used to read for the sake of teachers’ appreciation or score a point against some friend who had read more.
Bishak had read more Harry Potter and Famous Five books than me. A kid named Savya Sachi Gupta was allowed to borrow books from a section of the library that was inaccessible to other lesser mortals. At a certain level, I wanted to compete.
And most of the time, I did not have deep friendships or classmates with common interests beyond reading. I became an introvert who was shy to speak to others, especially girls. This tied me to the only other source of companionship, i.e. books.
Post-College
Circumstances in my childhood made me afraid of being vulnerable. This carried on till the end of my NITK days. One of my classmates Srinidhi Govind called me expression-less-nan-maga (loosely translates to one who can’t emote).
My inability to connect with real people forced me towards books. Only now do I realise that my failure to emote has been associated with my core childhood wounds.
Being brought up by a narcissistic mother has forced me to absorb all my feelings and numb my emotional impulses. One of my coping mechanisms was to bury myself in a book.
There were years when I read a lot to complete my Goodreads challenge. Finishing 50 books per year was a useful statistic during a book club meeting conversation. It was like hitting targets at the office.
But in the process, I read great stuff. So, I don’t regret it. Broadly, the goal was to be smart and look smart. Reading served both purposes. But now, I feel reading was more of showmanship during this era.
However, I must say that my association with reading has been evolving over the years. And I have finally ended up in a healthy place.
Self-Aware Adult
Now, I have a more meaningful purpose or framework regarding the reading habit.
It allows me to explore emotions that I will never be able to experience myself—for example, motherhood.
Reading in some ways helps me to get better at my job. These are either newsletters or tech-related books.
Sheer pleasure. Some people can write beautiful prose. This gives me sheer joy. Scott Fitzerald, Julian Barnes and Dostoevsky come to my mind instantly.
The Answer
I still keep a modest Goodreads challenge (12-24 books per year). But, I no longer read to fill a void or impress others.
It has become an integral part of my personality. To admit that I did it for praise in the past is probably one of the most courageous things I’ve done. But that was possible only because the question was asked in the first place.
Now, to answer the question in the first part, in my current avatar, I don’t believe I use books to cover up my defects.
But I did use books to cover up my perceived defects in the past. I used them to fill a void I felt as a neglected child. I didn’t have to read to make up for the lack of attention or love I deserved as a child. At least, not anymore.