Friday, 26 August 2011

On Reading

The lonely soul's companion and pillow-friend since adoloscence, reading often is a more desired choice than people themselves. But I suppose that's more so because the characters are what you interpret them to be. In case of people, they are what they interpret themselves to be, and the choosy human mind can't always adjust with the inadjustments. Of course, such is only one of the cases and not the only one. Appropriate disclaimers always have their roles.

As we aspire to study more and become worldly wise, we try to grow into an intellectual level that is distinctly different, nay, loftier than the general mass. There are the austere readers who not only chide those who do not read, but also those who read books that the aforementioned strict fellows does not themselves like. There are the readers who believe that one who doesn't read isn't made the proverbial man. They say books are supposed to broaden our minds. But often, contempt for anything less intellectual does a wonderful counter-productive job of narrowing it.

The walls are adorned with the Kafkas, Camus and Doestovoskys. One is often proud of their knowledge of all the big names of letters. often the more obscurely famous, the better. But it takes a lot more than reading, to broaden one's mind with the fodder of ones intellectually stimulating textual pleasures

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