Stories for Memories; Trading Stories for Memories!

At age 40, you don’t expect someone to pick up an Enid Blyton. Surely, I am too old for that?!? But as much as books mean stories, they also mean memories. Memories: lively, painful, colourful, haunting, bittersweet; memories that open the door to a time you feel you’ve left far behind, but is actually just one thought away.

I have memories of being introduced to my first ever library – the collection of books my aunt and my cousins had in their house. Stacked one on top of the other, the books were placed pell-mell in that disorganised, yet loving, manner that most book lovers (and hoarders) are so familiar with. Read More

2018: One Book Down, So Many More to Go

There you go … the first book I finished reading in 2018. Although, having read the book, I am not really sure it’s that great an achievement at all. I mean, this detective Vish Puri is average at best, and downright insipid if I am not feeling generous. And for a story that sells itself as a thriller, it isn’t all that exciting either exciting at all. Read More