When Mommy (Reads) Knows Best!

-


Sliding into that comfy chair,
That felt like a warm embrace.
Bathed in the golden glow from
A lamp towering above,
Lighting up the corner
By the tall French window.
Whiffing and relishing
The rich aroma of hot coffee
With every sip,
From your favorite mug,


Dousing in those lovely lines,
Filling those pages. 
That rustle with every flip,
Emanating a sweet scent
That reminds you of
An old world,
As you find yourself
Stuck at the crossroads between two worlds,
Not quite knowing which to choose.
Ufff!
This is bliss, isn't it?
If you say so, then we are kin, my love.
The love for reading runs in our blood.
Read on...


______________________________________

When Mommy (Reads) Knows Best!

I still remember quite clearly the day when my mom handed me an Enid Blyton book to read when I was around 9 years old.  


'This used to be my favorite. I really hope you like it too,' she said with a twinkle in her eye as she smiled at me.  

With a puzzled look on my face, I nodded and started reading the book. Page after page, one novel after another, I found myself drifting into this beautiful world of fantasy created by this genius author.

The Famous Five, The Five Find-Outers, The Secret Seven, Children of the Cherry Tree Farm, the amazing fairytales, and bedtime stories—Wow!  What a treat! What an amazing collection!



I had such great company and started adoring the fictional characters in every book. It was like knowing them personally, and like they knew me too.  

Such bliss!  

Then, as I grew up, my taste for books evolved as well. Nancy Drew & Hardy Boys, J.K. Rowling, R.K. Narayan, Agatha Christie, Georgette Heyer (purely for the love of the 17th-century English world), and a few classics followed to recollect a few.  

Those days were priceless, especially the late nights when I could hardly bring myself to put the book down and turn off the lights.  



Throughout my shy teenage years, books were my family, my world, and my escape into a world of imagination that was so close to my heart.  

Being a romantic at heart, there was a season dedicated to M&B and Nicholas Sparks, books that left me longing for such crazy love stories.  

Then there was Dan Brown for the thrill and excitement that each book created.  
Speaking of Indian authors, next, there were Amish and Chetan Bhagat (for mainly the first two books).  

I loved them all.  

To name a book that impacted me greatly, I would say 'Eat, Pray, Love' by Elizabeth Gilbert.  (Nope! Not the movie, though I loved Julia Roberts in it. I meant the book.)  


I read it during a period of lows, and trust me, it worked like magic. Every word, every phrase was so relatable and healed me in a very special way.  

Since then, it has been ages since I picked up a book to read.
  
Truth be told,  
It's sad... but true.  

I somehow haven't been able to read as I did before, or finish a book like I used to.  

Call it mental roadblock, or Mommy brain, or whatever!  But yes, I miss reading, and I still love the habit.  

It’s no surprise, though, given that both my parents were avid readers themselves. My brother and I naturally caught up on the same habit. 

Ironically, after all these years, today I stand as a writer, who loves writing to my heart's content but also keeps wondering why the habit of reading is slowly diminishing among people!  

Haha, hoping to end my streak soon and get back to reading.  

Fiction has always had my heart, for the sheer love of imagination and for the virtual world one gets to create.
  
Though in recent days, my interest has been drawn toward a lot of non-fiction books and writing. 

Haha, I hope it's the wisdom and not my age catching up with my preferences, though.  



The legacy of reading should go on. I would love to introduce this lovely habit to my children as they grow up and ensure they don't miss out on the joy of reading in the future. What better way to set an example than by being one myself? 
 
On a closing note, I would like to dedicate this write-up on reading to the woman who cultivated that habit in me, my mother, Mrs. Malathi Ragupathy.

A devoted wife, my lovely mother, and a darling grandmother to my 'littles,' turns 59 today. She still skillfully manages to get away unnoticed with those age-defying genes, deceiving the world around her with her timeless beauty and grace. 😂

This wonderful woman was everything I wanted to be when I grew up—a perfectionist in her ways, a relentless giver, an endearingly kind soul with a tender and innocent heart, who stands tall, defending her loved ones and protecting them with all that she has.

I'm dedicating this article to her on her special day, letting her know that I celebrate her existence every single day of my life, and I’m truly blessed to have her by my side always.

Thank you, Maa. 

I owe this to you—my love for reading and my role as a writer.  

Happy Birthday! ❤️












Comments

  1. RockyJanuary 9, 2025 at 9:08 PM

    You conveyed what I felt too. It's a very cool write up. Closing note is the Highlight.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

From Dusk Till Dawn

-
Image
It was just another night at Westin’s Colony, a residential area comprising around fifty houses, nestled away from the hustle and bustle of the town. People lay awake on their beds, some reading, some watching television, some tucking their little ones in bed and shushing them to sleep, and some casting occasional glances at the bedroom window that faced the street. In some time, a sharp noise, accompanied by a shrilly voice, was heard all over the neighbourhood, “Clang! Clang! Clang! Ayo Goka!” And strangely, like clockwork, the lights went out, the sounds died down, and a blanket of silence descended over the locality. Sebu’s footsteps echoed softly on the pavement as he moved through the colony. The chilly night air wrapped around him like a familiar blanket, and the rhythmic tap of his bamboo stick against the metal gates became the neighborhood’s lullaby. A tall, lanky figure, clad in a beige uniform and a heavy jacket, strolled the streets with a bamboo stick in hand....
Read more

Not a Pleaser!

-
Image
Oh, please! Stop.   I'm done—   I’m done with your empty words.   Your praises,   I shan't sing,   Your petty ego,   I shan't fuel.   Let’s face it—   The truth,   The bitter, hard truth.   No more sweeping   Under the carpet.   You’re not even half the person   You claim to be.   Narcissistic, pompous,   Retarded and cold,   Self-centered, self-obsessed.   Through your eyes,   I will no longer look—   Not at myself,   But at the shadow you tried to cast.   For I am ME.   My self-image is no longer dictated   By your toxic beliefs.   That’s enough of your gaslighting, mate.   Let’s call it quits.   Your relentless gloating,   I won’t hear it—   You’re an empty vessel, ...
Read more

The Wayfarer Lamps

-
Image
To all the heroes every child’s first, yet so often unsung here’s to celebrating YOU. For all that you’ve done, for all that you do, for simply being there... for just being you. Quietly staying in the shadows, away from the limelight, away from the noise being the silver lining behind every dark cloud, holding back tears, spreading warmth, and reminding us of the light when all we see is dark. Here’s to celebrating this incredible human we’re lucky enough to call, DAD. Happy Father’s Day! — AeVey J ________________________________________ Author's Note: The Wayfarer Lamps  - A Father’s Day Tribute by AeVey J Fatherhood is often the quieter story, the one without grand declarations, but filled with steady love and silent sacrifices. This piece is for those men who don’t seek applause, yet shape our worlds with quiet grace. If you’re reading this and thinking of someone - your father, a mentor, a father figure - share it with them. Let them know they’...
Read more