Bookworm No More

Harry wanders around with the sword of Gryffindor, while Celaena and Chaol voyage through underground passageways with me. My dreams reflect the parts of the books that I felt most connected with. Like you, I reminisce over childhood days of being a bookworm. We say: ‘I’m an avid reader’ out of habit, but there’s a frown immediately after, and a fervent hope that no one asks us what we’re reading right now. In reality, I’m in the middle of four books right now, and have been for a few months. Where are the days of me devouring book after book in an afternoon? 

When I think of my childhood, memories of two bookstores come to mind. One was a two-minute walk from my grandparents’ place where I’d spend my summer. We were allowed a limit of three books at a time for which we had to pay a deposit and had a reading charge. I would be their first customer at 10 a.m., and would select three Enid Blyton mysteries to take home. At 4 p.m., I would be back there to return the three adventures I’d just lived and to select another two that I would return at 8 p.m. and pick up a final one for the night. My cousin would sometimes accompany me but eventually favoured spending time with real people over fictional ones. Meanwhile, I couldn’t get enough of the worlds that I was pulled into. I never noticed how time flew by while I was on Kirrin Island or in Peterswood village.  

The other store was near home. On the way to my Maths tuition classes, I would stop by and borrow a few books. Maths never entered my head that much, so I’d hide the book under my notebook and read during class. The teacher had eight students to tutor, so my indiscretion escaped his notice. I’d hope that by the end of my class, I could return at least one book and borrow another. 

This voracious appetite for reading is something that many of us grew up with. We chose to dive into worlds that promised adventure and acceptance. We would feel proud when our parents introduced us to others as a reader. It was (a part of) our identity, and out of habit, we continue to say it. Yet, now there’s guilt that seeps in instantly. Usually, I can barely make it through three pages without checking my notifications or scrolling through some social media platform. Am I really worthy of calling myself a reader when I don’t really read that way anymore? 

I have come to realise that it is different for us as readers now. The standards that we set for ourselves earlier were where we had two options: interact in our imagination with fictional characters, or interact with actual people. Today, we have a multitude of options in varying degrees: Socialize on screen (passively through likes and comments; actively through texting, more actively through calls and video texts); take in more content (scrolling through videos, reels, photos, articles, news updates); live interaction with people around us. The paradox of choice is pretty overwhelming, and all these options are constantly present. How are we supposed to choose one and stick to it when we can shuffle between all? Why should we make that commitment at all? 

I have addressed my dilemma of reading in this way: I’m a reader, yes. I’m constantly evolving and rediscovering the art of reading, and my identity as a reader adapts accordingly. The last series that took me back to childhood reading standards was Throne of Glass in Jan 2020. Before that were bouts of  Harry Potter fanfiction that I descended into, to resurface in a week or so. I constantly plan and hope that I’ll find the perfect series that’ll transport me back to my childhood reading and attention state. In doing that, I’m depriving myself of the organic reading experience that ‘little me’ had. I’m coming to terms with being a reader in this age: a part-time one, or an occasional one, or even a “sort-of” reader. I’m relieved that even now, there are stories that captivate me, but my happiest resolution is this: In a world with so many choices, I choose to read as and when I want – and THAT makes me a reader. The rest? Well, I suppose I’ll see it in my dreams.

This article has been written by Nandita Seshadri, Therapist.