The story of my life

This is an attempt at listing chronologically, books that have left an indelible mark on my life. I trust you won’t judge them by their authors or content but appreciate the fact that they, in their own way, completed the void I felt in my life, or steered me onto another path.

King Lear – Age 2
Now I never read this book at that age, but my grandfather used to tell me the story, as a kid. I can’t remember much of him now and almost nothing of what he told me remains in my memory. But yet, I can’t help being moved every time I read the play, or watch it staged. And though there are others of the bard’s plays I love more, there still remains a special place for this one.

Russian Folk Tales ages 3-6
Bought at an Indo-Russian Cultural fair, this book wrapped me up in its covers every night with stories of Vasilisa the Wise, the witch Baba Yaga and the hut that stood on chicken legs. I always wondered why all the heroes in the stories were called by the same name – Ivan.

The Magic Carpet ( or something to that effect. I really can’t remember the name) age 6-8
This was a Russian story book about two boys who find a carpet in their grandmother’s house and take it to use in their tree-house. They realize soon that it flies and have a series of adventures involving a machine gunner’s nest in a clock tower or something. I can’t seem to remember the plot but the feeling of awe is still there. Led to years of staring out of class windows playing out my own fantasies with magic carpets and machine guns.

The Three Investigators - age 7 onwards
I’m so happy I never met the Hardy boys first. After all, Jupiter Jones kicked ass, together with Pete Crenshaw and Bob Andrews. Much to the dismay of my mother, I ran around drawing question marks on walls with chalks and walking about with my dad’s magnifying glass looking for clues.

Tales of mystery and Imagination –Edgar Allen Poe age 8
It was not the original I read, but the abridged version. The book actually had some of Poe’s best short stories. The chief among them being “The fall of the house of Usher”, “The cask of Amontillado”, “The tell-tale Heart” and the “Gold Bug”. I was in love with Poe and his love for the morbid. I remember making my own crest with the words “Nemo me impune. Lacessit” Let him who provokes me die. Or something to that effect.

The Illustrated Weekly: age 10
Sinmply because of its last page with it’s famous semi-nude actresses. I vividly remember Sonam in a wrap-around that really didn’t wrap much of her anatomy (and what an anatomy it was), and Lisa Ray. I think I really fell in love with her. I was in love with the Bombay Dyeing towel ads. By now I had become aware of the other sex and what to do with mine. ☺

The complete Sherlock Holmes Age 11
Man did I become a fan. I nearly cried when Sherlock disappeared, and then suddenly realized there was still half of the book more to go. Obviously, you can’t fill the rest of the book with Watson’s memoirs, so I took heart and plunged ahead. Needless to say “Moriarty would remain a bad word in my dictionary for years to come.

Men In Love – Nancy Friday age 12
Was this a godsend or what. I had by now been linking my low grades and any misfortune that befell me, to my activities in the bathroom. And though I couldn’t desist, I felt guilty about what I was doing. And then during a transfer between towns, this book turns up in a crate of my father’s books. I tasted sexual freedom for the first time. I mean if so many people were doing it, and a book had been published about it, and my dad owned one, it can’t be wrong can it?

Roots – Age 13
This was a recommendation by a teacher who read my essay about slavery and gave me an A+. Thank you Mrs. Dhawan. I owe you lots.

Papillon – Age 13
A chance read in someone else’s house, it made me want to see the world. I loved the part where he spends time with the pearl divers. Refused to read the sequel cos I believed nothing could top the original.

East of Aden – Age 14
My first taste of American literature, kind courtesy an aunt. I loved it though was constantly chided by my father for reading ‘American Crap’. His foray into American Literature ended at Art Buchwald. (If you can call that literature)

Jude the Obscure – Age 15
In response to my reading American authors, my father gave me a course of the classics. And since he is a Tomas Hardy fan, I was flooded with his works. The mayor of Casterbridge, Return of the Native, Tess and many more. I loved Jude more though. Made perfect reading on cold foggy night in the remote towns of Haryana.

Zen and the art of Motorcycle maintenance – Age 18
Man did this book give me a dose of wanderlust. I’d take any opportunity to travel anywhere. Though I would get a motorcycle only a year later, this book made me look at the journey more than the destination.

On the road – Jack Kerouac age 21
I was primed and ready for this book to come along. In it I found a soul as restless as me. I longed for the road and a bunch of mad friends to take me away from my soulless existence. This was also when I began to experiment with substances and realized dope just wasn’t my sort of thing and travel really was the high I seeked.

I could add a couple of more books that I consider monumental in my literary pursuit but the 20s are an age when you stop letting books steer the course of your life the way they did before. You become suspicious and judge the books you read. Often with the benchmark of your peers. You no longer let the written word carry you away on a magic carpet ride, or seek clues in rosebushes and flowerbeds. And so I desist to list out any more.