“What are some of the things you cannot live without?” Saqib, our son, asked me.
I didn’t have to think twice.
It’s not my T.V.
It’s not my comfy memory-foam mattress, although nothing tops a good night’s sleep.
It’s not the A/C in humid summers of NYC, although it’s a close fourth.
It’s not my laptop, although a close third.
It’s not my cell phone—lost as I would be without it—but a close second.
It’s my books.
O.K. so I sound holier than thou, trying to impress. But it’s the truth. Stop reading if I turned you off. But if you give me a chance, I will explain.
After a decades-long hiatus, I got back into reading books. As a child the British Council library in Rawalpindi on Mall Road was my go-to. By 7th grade, I read all the Enid Blyton books I could get my hands on, courtesy of the military Staff College library in Quetta. As an undergrad I had no time for books other than required reading. Once I enrolled in the master’s program for English Literature, I was back to reading classics and consumed Tolstoy’s War and Peace. The first book I read in coming to the U.S. was—believe it or not—The Godfather. That was before I had Saqib. After that, raising two boys, going back to school, a career with a long commute, books were something I could only dream about.
It was in the late 1990s that my friend Loulou invited me to join a book club, which her friend Ilene had started. I guess I can make time for a book a month. What struck me was I was reading books I never would have selected, and I would walk into the discussion with ‘my take’ on the book, only to learn that each of us had our own take. Our experiences and where we came from shaped our perspective and what we got out of the book. Margaret was the product of a very Italian family and married to a Turk; Ilene was Jewish, once married to a Sikh, Jyothi was Hindu, originally from India, Loulou, a Muslim from Sri Lanka, and Maria, white Christian born, married then to an African American. I still recall the spirited discussion on House of Mirth and Dancing Girls of Lahore; we were just not seeing eye-to-eye. The book talks stretched our minds and challenged our thinking. We still meet, once a month, every month. Our spouses know one another, we get together at Chautauqua, and I cannot imagine my life without them. That is where books have taken me.
My friend Toni and I had gone to a book reading by Reza Aslan—The Zealot. Two friends, Muslim and Jewish, listening to a Muslim author talk about Jesus. It’s no surprise that the first thing that came out of Toni’s mouth after the session was: “What do you think about starting an interfaith book club?” Picture this: two Christian ministers, a rabbi, and a bunch of lay Muslims, Christians and Jews trying to make sense out of Living Judaism, The Power and the Glory, and Islamic Jesus. We would invite authors to join our book talks and bring yet another perspective. What a treat! Not only were we expanding our understanding of one another’s faith traditions, we were learning to listen and to dialogue respectfully. That is where books have taken me.
In 2014, I decided to write a memoir. Having never written a book, I had to educate myself. Every memoir writing book was telling me: To be a good writer, you have to be a good reader. In his book On Writing, Stephen King writes: I read 75 books a year, and I am a slow reader. Now I had a benchmark. I set a goal for myself for 2015, a New Year resolution of sorts: I will read 50 books this year. Translated: a book a week—almost. I didn’t make it. But I came close.
2016: 60 books
2017: 75 books
2018: 80 books. That has been my upper limit.
It was hard at first and slow going. I had to change my lifestyle. Over time, my comprehension and speed improved, and once I got into a groove, I was on autopilot reading 100 pages a day. My vocabulary grew, I learned how to evoke the senses, and construct a dialogue. I started seeing what worked in a good book and what didn’t work in a book I couldn’t wait to put down. All this was organic and not deliberate i.e. I wasn’t making a list of new vocabulary words or saying: now that is how one describes a feeling of betrayal. It somehow settled in my subconscious and when I would sit down to write, it would surface. That is where books have taken me.
I don’t have to tell you what you already know, that:
fiction takes you to places you can only dream of, or have nightmares about;
into cultures and people you couldn’t possibly know;
you experience feelings and emotions that you never encounter;
know how murder feels, or deep hate;
what it is like to feel the first stirrings of love;
you can be young again or know what it is like to feel old and frail;
shed tears and feel good;
experience addiction.
fiction stirs empathy;
biographies inspire;
memoirs validate: ‘I am not the only one’;
science-fiction transports you beyond the limits of imagination;
and self-help feeds your soul.
This is where books have taken me. Where would I be without them!
PS: If you like reading, do read my new book (below) and be surprised.
Order here:
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Indiebound Books-a-Million
Order from:
A bookstore near you
and
Amazon (hardcover) Amazon (Kindle) Bookshop.org Barnes & Noble Indiebound
Books-A-Million Target.com Walmart.com
Order here on Amazon for your:
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Kindle
Hardcover
Audio, narrated by Yours Truly
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