Of Books and Authors - I

I always believed reading is my hobby. Of course I will agree that from the vast sea of books that exist, what I have tasted probably does not constitute even one drop. But does that matter? I wonder. Then the usual question comes up, "Who is my favourite author". For various reasons I always stumble upon this question. Although I do manage to answer, but the question continues linger in my sub-conscious.

My earliest memories are of the "Champaks" and "Tinkles" that used to occupy most of my reading. Then came "Tintin", "Asterisks" and all. With the introduction to my mother tongue I came in touch with bengali works including compositions of my father. All these were very prized possessions of mine. And I still remember the feel of the warm fresh tears that streamed down my eyes when I was returned one of my prized possessions in tattered conditions. It was as if someone very close to me was returned to me in near-death condition after being brutally tortured. That was when I was in class 1st.

My change of school in 4th standard brought me to the magical world of library. And with that I was introduced to Enid Blyton and the like. I actually do not remember the various authors whose work I read then because at that time, the characters were more important. Some of the characters were Mr Pickwick, Amelia Jane, and how can I forget Alice and Peter Pan. Then came the adventures. My first step was Famous Five, then I ascended to Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys. But none of these made much of an impact.

It was then that I came across Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes. All previous books gave a feeling of imagination but this one was different. I used to get so engrossed while reading it that I thought I was a part of the team too. I started admiring Holmes. His deductions, calculated moves, acumen, penetrating mind, flawless logic, the calmness with which he dealt with the situations - all used to take away my breath. Each time I found him in some danger, my heart used to skip a beat. Everywhere I went, be it school or travel the almost 5 cm thick book was to be with me. For me he was a like a living legend and I denied to believe that he was a work of fiction. I still remember after I read a story in which he couldn't catch the culprit (the culprit was a lady) I remained heartbroken for quite sometime. That was in standard 7th - 8th.

I am sorry the constraint of time does not permit me to continue. So I will take a break today but I will return soon with the rest of the journey.