Love of Reading

 

How Books, a Mother’s Gift, and a Lifetime of Stories Shaped My World

Reading has always been my second passion, and I vividly recall my first introduction to fiction. Educational reading had begun much earlier, but my journey into stories truly started when I was about eight years old. At the time, my family lived in the suburbs of Andheri in what was then Bombay.

One evening, as we returned from a local outing and crossed a railway bridge, we came across a book vendor. My mother, bless her soul, stopped to browse. Holding two books in her hand, she said softly: “Kids, I am going to introduce you to something that will change your lives and help improve your English. I am buying these books for you to read. But you can only read them on your Sunday holiday.”

My sister and I nodded dutifully, not realizing the enormity of the positive change this decision would bring — especially to my life. I will never forget the title of my first book: The Secret of Killimooin Castle by Enid Blyton, the beloved English author of children’s books. From then on, my interest in reading grew steadily, and I became a voracious reader of anything I could get my hands on — comics, novels, newspapers. My mother even encouraged us to read the Times of India, delivered to our home each morning, and would sometimes ask us to discuss what we had read over dinner.

Early Adventures in Reading

Soon, I was happiest staying home with a book borrowed from the school library, the Ansari Circulating Library near Sion Koliwada, or a friend. Ansari Uncle — heartfelt thanks to you, wherever you are, and apologies for the late returns that surely tested your patience. You were a big reason I was exposed to so many genres, cultures, and faraway lands through reading.

As a child, apart from Enid Blyton, I devoured The Hardy Boys by Franklin W. Dixon and Nancy Drew by Carolyn Keene. Much later, I discovered that both names were pseudonyms used by ghostwriters, and that the creator of these characters was Edward Stratemeyer.

Discovering New Authors

One day, utterly bored and restless without reading material, I stumbled upon a book left behind by my uncle: The Golden Gate Bridge by Alistair MacLean. With nothing else to do, I began reading — and was soon completely absorbed. The story of the U.S. President, his cabinet members, and Saudi royals kidnapped on San Francisco’s Golden Gate Bridge was thrilling. I had found a new favourite author.

Soon I was devouring MacLean’s other works: When Eight Bells Toll, Fear Is the Key, The Guns of Navarone, Where Eagles Dare. Many of his novels were adapted into films, with Navarone and Where Eagles Dare remaining classics to this day.

I was so into reading that I would even sneak into my sister’s book bag and read her romances by Barbara Cartland and Mills & Boon. Later, I would tease her with lines like, “He kissed her, and she saw stars. She slapped him, and he saw stars!” She would immediately realize I had been reading her books and go complaining to my mom.

Crime, Thrills, and Sharing Stories

Reading became my escape from the dreary world. I also discovered James Hadley Chase, whose gripping crime novels were often packaged with sensational covers in the 1970s and ’80s. Only recently did I learn that “James Hadley Chase” was a pseudonym — his real name was René Lodge Brabazon Raymond. His books, such as Tiger by the Tail, The World Is Not Enough, Knock Knock, Who’s There?, and The Vulture Is a Patient Bird, were a delight. Long before I saw James Bond films, I was fascinated by Chase’s character Mark Girland, an ex-CIA officer portrayed as a charming rogue yet a patriot.

One thing about me: if I enjoy a book or film, I want to share it. I often loaned books to a dear friend, who remains close to this day. To my embarrassment, his mother once caught him reading a Chase novel with a provocative cover and demanded to know where he got it. He blurted out my name, and thus my “bad boy” image was formed in her mind. Thankfully, that friend — now an aspiring writer and scriptwriting professor in Mumbai — credits me with introducing him to the love of reading. I feel proud to have made a positive difference in someone’s life.

Together, we explored countless genres, from crime and action to westerns. We admired Oliver Strange’s Sudden series, featuring Jim Green, and I also loved Sidney Sheldon’s novels. Though he still teases me about another raunchy character I once read about — Nick Carter.

Expanding Horizons

In the mid-1980s, the girl I was dating — also an avid reader — broadened my horizons further. Through her, I discovered Ken Follett, Frederick Forsyth, Mario Puzo, Robert Ludlum, and more. These authors transported me to new lands, characters, and worlds of adventure, espionage, politics, crime, and romance.

Wilbur Smith’s novels immersed me in South Africa’s history, tribal conflicts, and the lives of the Courtneys and Ballantynes. His ancient Egyptian sagas introduced me to the sorcerer Taita. I followed Jason Bourne, Robert Ludlum’s unforgettable spy; Howard Roark, Ayn Rand’s uncompromising architect in The Fountainhead; and Leon Uris’s Exodus, which illuminated the Israeli–Arab conflict. The knowledge I gained from these fictional works was immense.

Reading as Refuge

Reading was my refuge during difficult times. For hours, I could forget my troubles and lose myself in distant lands and characters’ lives. While I love movies, books, and music equally, if I had to choose one, it would be reading.

Today, I no longer buy physical books but rely on my Kindle, which has been a blessing. As I grew older, I added more authors to my reading list: Arthur Hailey, David Baldacci, Harold Robbins, Irving Wallace, John Grisham, James Clavell, Steve Martini, Scott Turow, among others. The reason I mention all these names is to pay homage to these writers for having brought so much cheer, joy, and knowledge to my life.

It saddens me that today’s generation reads less. Reading nurtures imagination and strengthens vocabulary. In my own small way, I try to encourage them. Recently, I gifted some children their first Nancy Drew book, and I was delighted to see their excitement. I hope they develop the same lifelong habit and inspire others to read.

A Mother’s Gift

Thank you, Mom. I will always be grateful to you for introducing me to this wonderful passion.