As a kid, I never knew I love words so much, I love languages so much. Neither of my parents write and none of them are too much into creating a web of words as well. My mother reads a lot or rather I should put it in a different matter, she used to read a lot. Though nothing comes in comparison for my craziness for books, words or languages.
They say a skill (Actually, not a skill but the talent) can skip a generation. Well for me, my grand mother (Dadi) was (To some extent my grand father too, atleast in creation of a small library) was a soul of the bookish world. The small library kind of a set up at my old home (Old, yeah old), full of books with yellow old pages is a biggest gift from them, I feel. Another interest managed to skip two generations - My grand grand father was a Sanskrit, English and Gujarati literature professor with a brilliant career track of guiding many many students for PhD in languages-history related subjects and the creator of one of its kind Sanskrit -English-Sanskrit dictionary. There is a bag of articles written by him some where in that library, some pages are so so so old that I fear holding them might destroy their existence only. I have them with myself as a heritage of my family, which is a matter of immense proud for me. I am not even near by what he was when it comes to him talent/career/fame , but I guess the joy of creating a string of words make me much more warm and I love the cozy world of words, may be like him?
Words I feel, are warm. There is this soothing feelings when words sputter out of my mind/heart and I script them down on the screen of a laptop. The empty space in that mind then, is nothing but peace. The burden goes off and even when the value of the particular paragraph is nothing than a big zero literature wise or even language wise, it gives me calmness which is priceless.
They say a skill (Actually, not a skill but the talent) can skip a generation. Well for me, my grand mother (Dadi) was (To some extent my grand father too, atleast in creation of a small library) was a soul of the bookish world. The small library kind of a set up at my old home (Old, yeah old), full of books with yellow old pages is a biggest gift from them, I feel. Another interest managed to skip two generations - My grand grand father was a Sanskrit, English and Gujarati literature professor with a brilliant career track of guiding many many students for PhD in languages-history related subjects and the creator of one of its kind Sanskrit -English-Sanskrit dictionary. There is a bag of articles written by him some where in that library, some pages are so so so old that I fear holding them might destroy their existence only. I have them with myself as a heritage of my family, which is a matter of immense proud for me. I am not even near by what he was when it comes to him talent/career/fame , but I guess the joy of creating a string of words make me much more warm and I love the cozy world of words, may be like him?
Words I feel, are warm. There is this soothing feelings when words sputter out of my mind/heart and I script them down on the screen of a laptop. The empty space in that mind then, is nothing but peace. The burden goes off and even when the value of the particular paragraph is nothing than a big zero literature wise or even language wise, it gives me calmness which is priceless.
After retirement, I have built up a small personal library at home, which includes some books which I had purchased earlier. I love the fragrance of new books. During the 36 years of my Banking career, I was surrounded by the music of coins and now I feel attracted by the fragrance of new books. We get 4 newspapers - 2 in Odia and 2 in English- at home. We also get a few literary magazines. After my morning tryst with my garden, my engagement with reading starts and continues for the whole day. I read almost all the articles in the newspapers. A newspaper does not become 'old' for me unless I have finished reading it.
ReplyDelete:-) Newspapers are 'my books' for my dad as well!
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