When I first saw Bangalore, in the spring of 1960, it was a town of wide streets, bungalows, gardens, parks and small waterbodies.
Confessions of a Book Lover
I had recently quit my job in Delhi; the job I wanted so bad that I had left no stone unturned to get it—the ideal job. In about a year, however, a deep disillusionment had begun to set in. When I finally quit, I decided to stay back in Delhi. I needed to figure out my life—again.
Around the same time, I was offered a role in a movie. The director had seen me in a video I had acted in, and thought I was a natural in front of the camera. I was thrilled, and decided to go with it. I packed my bags and left—for Bangalore.
It was the best decision I made at the time.
Recently, when I read Confessions of a Book Lover by Ruskin Bond, I was reminded of everything I felt when I landed at Kempegowda Airport in Bangalore for the first time. Trepidation, uncertainty, self-doubt—all at once. As I got into the red pick-up truck that was my ride, I was seized by a sudden excitement of everything I was going to discover in this unfamiliar city. ‘The Select Bookshop of Mr Rao and Mr Murthy’, an essay in the book, reminded me of everything I did eventually discover.
Strolling along M.G.Road I discovered an ‘old curiosity shop’ full of books, pictures, collections of postcards, curios, relics of colonial times.
confessions of a book lover
A renewed interest in good cinema, John Cassavetes et al; Arthur Miller’s plays; a surprisingly authentic adaptation of Sherlock Holmes (Elementary)—these were but a few of my many discoveries.
Reading Confessions of a Book Lover is like browsing Ruskin Bond’s bookshelf, and witnessing the development of his eclectic reading. From hospital libraries to deserted bookshops; to a room that leaked from all corners, and one in which Bond rediscovered his love for Joseph Conrad. A set of ten essays, followed by excerpts from his favourite works, evokes nostalgia. When did you pick up your first book? Was it from the school library? Did somebody lend it to you or was it a gift? Why did you start reading?
In that winter of 1948-49 I was just fourteen years old, but I was doing a tremendous amount of reading, as I had no friends and my feelings towards my mother and stepfather were not exactly affectionate. I read whatever literature came my way, and this included The Complete Works of Shakespeare and bound copies of the Daily Mirror (several months old), which were available from the newsagents.
confessions of a book lover
Ruskin Bond’s anecdotal account of his reading journey adds an air of sentimentality to the recommendations. I might go as far as to call this an ode to reading and discovery.