A warm hello to all my blogger friends. This is my 8th post here, with you all following my blog and liking my posts i am overwhelmed with the response i received in the span of a week. I express my gratitude to all of you. Thank you, this really encourages people like me to write more. And i swear to this, to update a blog on regular basis is toughest job till date. To come with ingenious ideas on a daily basis is the work of a true genius. And i applaud all the bloggers here for the same.
When i was young, i found words close to my heart than friends. Children after school found social life exciting. Not me. Unlike others i found the dreamy land more close. My life, heart and soul were in sync with the words i read. Fiction was what i admired a lot. It was the time when i was stuck with the writings of ENID BLYTON. The mystery series had me at the edge of my couch. Famous five and secret seven brought out the detective in me to the fore. How much i loved their investigations on islands, in caves, in castle, on the beach, in the forest. Almost everything. For me everyone existed- Mr. Goon, fatty, buster, peter, Janet, Susan and the list goes on. As these three series found a culmination in my list i turned towards the fantasies of The Faraway Tree and The Wishing Chair again by enid blyton. The lands on the tree changed every time. There was moon head, there was the lady who simply washed the clothes. The water would come wid the sound of wisssshhhhhh wooooossshhhh. The woods had their own beauty. The lands changed at the top of the tree. There were spells, there were good people, there were bad people. And the two kids struggled with everything. How much i visualised myself with them. Fighting the spells, enjoying new people and new encounters. The wishing chair took them where they wished. Their wish fulfilled within seconds. And i found myself floating with them.
The time flew by, i grew up, the kiddos story was replaced by THE LITTLE WOMEN. How much i thank my friend to give me this book from our school library. I had tissues in my hand. My heart ached with the grief of the sisters. Their story moved me to the core.
These books were then replaced by THE HARRY POTTER series. Wow!!!! I suddenly found the dark side intriguing. There was magic surrounding me. I visualized every stick to be the magical wand that made the feather to fly, that changed ones appearance. Every photo frame had moving pictures, every mirror reflected my deepest desires. Harry, Ron, Hermione found a special place in my heart. Every cloak for me was an invisibility cloak, every staircase a moving staircase. There was a time machine from which i went into my past. Every giant person had to be a replica of Hagrid. Every second person with a long white beard and white moustache had to be Dumbledore. Every bald person had to be Voldemort. Every broken bone was cured just wid a wand. Every special person had to be gifted with a scar. Every broom was suppose to be Nimbus 2000 on which i would mount and play quidditch. This was the world i lived in. Everything was a fantasy.
The Harry potter craze died down as The Twilight series hit the market. If Rowling made me dwell in the magical world, Meyer made it a point me experience the power of unusual love. Every fair guy with dark eyes seemed to be a vampire for me. The idea of fire and ice intrigued me. The world was very different from that of Hogwarts. The Cullens made me gush. Edward and Bella were the flavor of love story.
What next found a room in my heart was the Indian fiction. Chetan bhagat began ruling my heart with his regular yet unconventional works of Five Point Someone, Two States, Half Girlfriend, A Night @ The Call Centre, Revolution 2020. His books being made as movies had this total phangurl effect on me. Simple language, attractive presentation, well entwined with the surroundings his works made me gasp in sheer admiration. The recent in my kitty is Because Every Raindrop Is A HOPE…. by Sankalp Kohli and Mansi Sharma. The journey of love and infatuation. Two emotions which cannot be described in mere words.
Reading is simple as compared to writing. Its a therapy because you can definitely relate with what you experience. The emotions are universal. The way you feel, others also. The journey may not be same as others but is very similar in many aspects.
If reading makes you to conceptualize and relate with others, writing gives you a chance to encompass all of them around you in your words, in your experiences, in your world. Both are the ways to express your emotions. You may use them as regression techniques. They relieve you of the pain you suffer, they make a way out for your frustrations.
Books are your friends,
They will never leave you,
Not even in your dreams
Coz they leave with you
A world of imagination
A world where you too
have a place.
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