My Journey of Rediscovering the Joy of Reading Books
The Magic in Old Books: A Journey Through Time
Ah, books! Those quiet friends, filled with stories from faraway lands and secrets whispered on the breeze. My friend recently moved from London to Chennai, and his story sparked a memory as bright as a fresh cup of chai. We were at his farewell dinner, a quiet sadness hanging in the air. He talked about the luggage he’d be sending back, his voice hinting at the pain of leaving some things behind, especially his books.
It wasn’t just about the stories, you see. Each book held a whole universe of memories, a shared journey with his wife, a thread tying them back to their college days. They weren’t just things he bought; they were like boxes overflowing with shared laughter, quiet evenings turning pages, and echoes of young dreams.
This hit me deep. Books have a way of becoming more than just stories. They become bookmarks in the big story of our lives. I remember snuggling into the old armchair on our verandah, sunlight dappling through the window. My grandma, a master storyteller, would weave tales of our family and ancestors, her voice a soothing melody that took me to another time.
Bookshelves are like memory maps, each book a doorway to a certain time. As a kid, I gobbled up colorful storybooks…
