I love books. Period.
I adore them. I go crazy over them.
I stopped reading them six years back. The addiction. I stopped the addiction.
Because it did a lot to me.
It restrung me. It remade me. The books just washed out my insides and filled up my blank canvas with a world no one can fathom.
So I was lonely after all my best friends left the Kingdom back to home country India. Even while in school, I had a gang of friends. But nobody was like “there for me all the time”. Nobody knew what I did, how I felt. I myself was a lost teen.
Until I found the world of books.
Now this is what happened. My parents were happy that I was interested into reading. They knew my grammar was getting better and my English grades were soaring high. They were proud. My creativity levels hit the roof.
What actually happened each time, was as soon as I began reading, right from the first chapter, my mind and my soul left this world. Literally. I had a whole movie running in my head. The whole novel would lay out infront of my eyes. I would be transported. Out of this damn boring teen and tween life. Out of the monotony, the loneliness. Everything. It gave me a whole wide perspective to this world.
I was also sane and single. So this idea of true love, forever-ness and stuff got into me. I picked up qualities and fancy ideas of how I would love only one person on this planet. Give him all I have. Love him to the moon and back. Would never let him shed even a slight tear or worry because of me.
All was well even after I met the man of my dreams. That’s when my book addiction when downhill. I had everything. I was in love. I was lost. In love.
I never believed of something known as honeymoon period in love. I only knew it was same and increased each day. But it apparently did not.
I abhorred my novels then. They taught me everything false about love. That was the only fluid feeling that I synced to in every book. And that was destroyed. Agree that I enjoyed the thrill, the mystery, the heartbeat fastening plot twists. But it was never a loner. Never a lone person. They always had someone they loved dearly who loved them back the same way. The one person they never wanted to lose. And it would shatter their world to lose them.
That’s when all the lines of various movies jeered at me relentlessly. True love exists only in novels.
It took me six long years to figure out why. Its because of the writer’s mind. In the mind of the writer, every body has love. Always. They may or may not have it in real life. But the best characters in the books are always loved people.
If I write my novel today, I too would have the protagonist with one person whom they could always fall back to. That feeling of having home base is priceless.
That’s when I told God. If I can’t get true love on this earth, I do not want it in heaven too. I just want a small piece of heaven filled with an eternal supply of novels written by great minds and an endless spread of all the food I craved to eat on earth but couldn’t for whatever reasons…