This blog post is a walk down the memory lane reminiscing my relationship with stories and books.

The small library in my dad’s village celebrated its diamond anniversary (75 years of existence) a couple of years ago. I remember mentioning it a couple of months ago while talking about how the accessibility of books changed so many lives around the world. ( When I wrote a review of the book – The Giver Of Stars by Jojo Moyes.) Many people gathered for the celebration. There were people from different walks of life, young and old (mostly old). These people credited the library for playing a role in their success in life. As they gathered, they spoke about their memories of spending time in the small library and the books they read there. 

The entire village decked up for the event and it looked like a picture straight out of a book. Possibly one of the books that sat on a shelf of the same library. 

My introduction to stories and the imaginary world that stories take us to, was through my grandparents. I remember lying next to my grandmother and listening to her stories. She told stories about animals, birds, and people. Some of her stories were from books like The Panchatantra, or from The Religious Texts.  Panchatantra is an ancient Indian collection of interrelated animal fables which were initially written in Sanskrit. She also narrated stories of her life, right from when she was a little girl, and the ordeals she faced growing up. 

While listening to the mesmerizing stories, I used to wonder if animals and birds actually spoke the human language! 

The stories, her soothing voice, and the gentle running of her fingers through my hair were the highlights of my trips to my granny’s home. 

Grandpa told us stories about all of the above and about the people he met during his work life. He could narrate incidents in a first-person narrative even if he was nowhere near the incident when it occurred. I still remember laughing at the silly jokes he cracked during those narrations. I consider myself lucky to have lived through these priceless experiences. 

Even as a child, I remember feeling empowered through these stories, ready to take on the world. The kind and honest characters were always rewarded. I felt, by being righteous, I could overcome any obstacles. The stories spoke about the hardships that the righteous had to face. But no matter how powerful the evil initially was, it always lost in the end. The story ended only when the evil fell. 

The good characters in the stories never gave up. They worked hard for their families and communities. I now realize that the tales instilled values and morals in my life. Frankly, I still stand by the lessons that the stories taught me.

I drifted away from this imaginary world during my teen years. As I grew older (and wiser!), I rekindled my love for stories and books. My little book shelf became my most precious possession. I developed a consistent reading habit which is an extremely rewarding and life-changing habit.

When I moved continents and settled down in a new place, the city library became my second home. I looked forward to borrowing books and reading them. The whole experience of sitting inside the temple of books was like a warm hug.

A hug that felt like my grandmother’s!

What is your story and relationship with stories and books? Would love to hear all about it.

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