I remember, from the very early days of my childhood, right up to this day, I have been a bibliophile in every sense. Even when it was not for reading a good book, the mere possession, care, discussion or even recommendation of books gave me immense intellectual satisfaction. Just like there are movies that leave you with a hangover, I truly believe hat a good book is equally capable of leaving you with an intense, all consuming hangover, for a few days at least. As a young boy at ten to twelve years of age, I was initiated into reading by my mother and our school librarian, a nun named Victrine. She was one woman who fitted her job like no one. She had a penchant for all kinds of books be it fiction novels, sci fi thrillers, serious writing or Victorian tales. I may have been in 5th standard when one day during the library period, spotting me gazing at the new arrivals stand, she gave me a copy of the illustrated, simplified version of "Swiss family Robinson" by Johann Wyss.
I spent that whole evening till late in the night reading the book, marveling at its pictures that went along with the story every alternate pages. For a beginner, I was pretty quick in finishing the book in just two days.
And there was I, even before the next library period, standing in front of the lady to get another book issued to me. “Son, you are too quick, I hope you are reading your subjects as well?”, she inquired to which I gave her the usual smile leaving her to figure whether the answer was a yes or no.
My journey into the world of books had begun.
At least a thousand books and twenty five years later, I still find myself as the same inquisitive, excited young boy I was then, in the matters related to books.
Like I said earlier, I have suffered (or may be enjoyed) hangovers of every good book I’ve read so far. While the “Swiss Family” stayed with me for two to three days back then, soon it was replaced by the story of the beautiful Mercedes and her ill fated lover in “The Count of Monte Cristo”- another children’s version that I had gobbled up. But back in those days, it was only the stories and the characters that remained playing in my mind after I finished a book. As I progressed into my pre-adolescent years, and into y early adulthood, these hangovers started getting longer and consumed my thoughts, dreams and moods in stronger ways. Probably because the kind of books I started reading were way different- mainly Dickens (I wrote a thesis on his works in NDA), Hugo, Maugham, Hemingway etc with occasional commercial literature like Uris, Segal in between. Now that the hangovers were longer, the books that caused them were getting fewer. Along with the writers, probably even the readers keep maturing.
I had become a great fan of Dickens’ work which happened after I read “David Copperfield” the first time. I have now read it over ten times at least. So enthralled was I with the protagonist that I even started identifying with him in almost every walk of life:- financial, professional, interpersonal and everything else. This led to my reading of all Dickens’ works including “Oliver Twist”, “Tale of Two Cities” “Nicholas Nickleby”, “Great Expectations”, “Pickwick Papers” etc though “Great Expectations” stood out for me in all the books and may be “Oliver Twist”. By the time I was in VIIIth standard, I had read nearly all of his works there is to read for a young boy. Even though I was into “Nancy Drew” and “Hardy Boys” too, just for the adrenaline and “Asterix” for the humour, it was Charles Dickens who actually is responsible for initializing me into good old serious writing.
There were many other books in the future hat caused similar hangovers. When I read “Of Human Bondage” by Maugham, I kept imagining myself as the arduous young boy in the story, going through the difficult and eventful life as narrated with resilience and tenacity. I again kept identifying with the main characters of many subsequent books by somehow finding similarities in our lives, loves and dreams. Another time, when I read “A Fine Balance” by Rohinton Mistry, I kept thinking for days together on how would have I adjusted to the situations in the story in place of the hero, living with Ms Dina Mehta and the tailors and how would’ve I taken the way the life progressed towards the end in the troubled times of the emergency rule in India.
But no other writers had greater impact on me than Gabriel GarciaMarquez and Joseph Heller. I was in NDA when I read “Catch 22” the first time and kept laughing for minutes incessantly…….only to be soon conjured by the underlying satire and poignancy of the absurd situations of the book. I would later keep coming back to this book repeatedly and by that time Heller had proved to be the next Dickens for me. I finished almost all his works in a short span and experienced similar hangovers yet again. “Something Happened” left me partly irritated, partly sad and pessimistic for a few days. An hen “God Knows” left behind a lingering feeling of melancholy (which someone has rightly defined as feeling good about being sad) and abandonment.
On the contrary it were the works of Marquez that offered great literary joys, filling my mundane life with the charms, magic, mystique ….call it whatever, that nearly transported you in a different era and a different world for sometime. All the while I was reading “One Hundred Years of Solitude”, it kept me in awe of that wonderland where the story is set and I remained there till sometime after I finished the book. I would start transforming myself into the ubiquitous Colonel Aureliano, destined to face the firing squad and all the misadventures and loves of his life right up to that moment and……….later. His next book “Love in the Time of Cholera” was so enchanting that I had to read it twice in succession for the sheer tenacity, perseverance and emotional resilience of the protagonist Constantino Ariza, the undying charm of his love Fermina Daza and of course the usual humor in Marquez’s works. Even though I later enjoyed the movie as well (may be for Javier Bardem), it was the book that had a rather long hangover on me. I would relate to the things and events thathad occurred in my life similar to Ariza, less the promiscuity…….loss, longing and hope, which eventually prevailed.
I had started wondering, why on earth do I have to go around trying to identify with the hero in every book I lay my hands on? Why do I always imagine myself going through the same as the protagonist and try and decipher as to how would have I reacted and felt in their place to the situations in the story. It’s a time consuming (or may be time killing) activity, you bet. Is it not surprising that every time the reader tries and imagines himself in the hero’s place and finds similarities with the hero’s life and no other character in the story? Even if one is a happy go lucky bachelor, bereft of the toils and turmoil of many lives, he still starts identifying with the sad, defeated character of the hero of a book he reads say a book like “Grapes of Wrath” or “Of Mice and Men”. You start feeling sorry initially for the character in the story that has nothing in common with you, but then gradually the pity, sadness and the dereliction permeates into your own moods and you start wondering why on earth are you feeling lost, defeated and sad with the way things are around you (while everything may have been hunky dory, actually)? You find ways and means to remain unhappy till this condition lasts and till you keep thinking about the story, just to identify with the character because deep inside you are forced to do so, or may be you want to. If this is not a hangover, what is it?
But the good news is that no sooner you pick up that other book on sci fi space war or the humorous exploits of a gigolo, you are off to some other world and then again into another mood and another hangover.
So I guess, we become the characters we read (and like) for the period we are reading them and a till a short time after, which I chose to call the hangover of the book.
I am not sure how many of you eel the same way as I do, but something tells me that all the book lovers suffer (or may be enjoy, as I said earlier) with hangovers of a really good book. It transports us temporarily from our routine and mundane lives to some other world where we forget our present and run our imaginations as we wish. At times we start giving different turns and ends to a story we read, once we start imagining ourselves in it. This may also explain why at times we are not happy with a story’s ending.
It is said that the love of food is the only true and sincere love in the world. Not much of a gourmet, I would think that for me it is the love of books.
Any which way, wish you all a happy reading!
