Growing Up Between the Pages

At first, school felt a little lonely. I have always been an introvert, and actively making friends never came easily to me. Over time, I did have a few good friends, really good friends, but for the most part, I kept to myself.

I was chubby as a child, and some classmates would often call me moti. I remember scoffing it away, pretending they were just joking. Somewhere deep inside, it did sting, but I never quite realised then that it was a form of bullying. I simply accepted it as part of school life and moved on.

Little did I know then that something unexpected was about to change everything.

I don’t remember exactly which class I was in, perhaps fourth, but I remember the incident and the feeling so vividly, as if it happened yesterday.

One day, our teacher took us to the school library and announced that from now on, there would be a library period. We were to choose any book and read quietly for the rest of the class.

For many children, it was just another period. Some even hated it. But for me, it felt like a discovery.

The idea that I could spend an entire period reading peacefully, without worrying about fitting in, about conversations, about belonging, was overwhelming in the most comforting way. I started looking forward to that hour more than anything else in the timetable.

That was when I first discovered the magic of books through the stories of Enid Blyton, Hardy Boys, and Nancy Drew. I would issue one book after another, devouring them with a quiet excitement that only readers understand.

At home, my father had a large collection of Bengali books. I would always look at those shelves with a strange sense of admiration and longing. Somewhere in my mind, a small dream began to form—that someday I too would have a library of my own. Books have a way of doing that to you, don’t they?

Once you are introduced to them, they quietly open a path of exploration. Along the way, you discover rare gems, diamonds, treasures—and sometimes just ordinary stones. But every find becomes part of your journey. Every story teaches you something, sometimes in ways you do not even realise at that moment.

“Books are your best friends.” I must’ve read it somewhere as a child, but over time, I didn’t just read it, I lived it. Books turned into my little sanctuary, my safe bubble, my escape hatch when the world outside grew too loud, too fast, or simply too much.

They opened a world for me where I could escape without moving an inch. A world full of magic, possibilities, and endless imagination.

When you read, you step into a universe created by someone else. Slowly, almost without noticing, you begin to feel like one of them—laughing, grieving, or even solving mysteries alongside the characters. And sometimes that universe holds you so tightly that even after finishing the book, it takes days or even months to return fully to reality.

As I grew older, my relationship with books evolved, just as life itself did. Like many young readers, I went through a phase of devouring romance and contemporary fiction. Authors like Chetan Bhagat and Durjoy Datta became my regular companions. Their stories were simple, emotional, and relatable, and at that stage of life, that was exactly what I wanted from books.

But one book changed the way I looked at literature altogether.

When I first picked up The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy, it felt like a mountain to climb. The language was dense, the descriptions stretched endlessly, and more than once I found myself on the verge of giving up. I remember telling my brother one day that I was bored reading pages describing something as simple as a room.

He smiled and said something that stayed with me.

“Look at the literary acumen required to describe a simple room in so much detail. Maybe the metaphors are hiding something. Isn’t that fascinating?”

Those words changed something in me.

After that conversation, I returned to the book with a different mindset. I wasn’t just reading the story anymore; I was observing the craft, the rhythm of language, the way words could paint a scene so vividly that even emptiness could feel alive. From that moment, reading became more than just entertainment—it became an exploration.

Soon after, I read The Hungry Tide by Amitav Ghosh, and it remains one of my favourite books to this day. The haunting beauty of the Sundarbans, the fragile lives intertwined with nature, and the unforgettable characters have always stayed with me. Even today, whenever I see a boat rowing slowly across the calm waters of the Ganges, I cannot help but think of Fokir and Piyali Roy.

There was also a phase when I believed that reading classics would somehow make me look more intellectual. I would pick up books with the secret hope that they would make me appear more “well-read.” But growing up—and reading more—taught me something important.

Books are not meant to impress others; they are meant to expand you.

Now I find myself drawn to a wide range of voices—Indian authors, translated works, contemporary fiction, memoirs, and sometimes even the lightest of reads. Each genre opens a new window, a new landscape of thought.

And that is the beauty of reading.

Over time, you realise there is a book for every mood, every phase, every question life throws at you. Some books comfort you, some challenge you, and some simply sit beside you quietly when you need company. But each one leaves you a little different from the person who first opened its pages.

I remember reading The Shiva Trilogy by Amish Tripathi when I was preparing for the West Bengal Civil Services examination. It was probably the worst time to start a gripping trilogy. My exams were approaching, and I should have been buried in textbooks.

But once I started the series, I simply couldn’t stop.

I would hide the novel inside my study books and read whenever I got the chance. A page between chapters of polity, a few lines before sleeping, and sometimes entire hours disappearing into Shiva’s world.

That is the strange power of books.

They demand nothing from you except your attention—yet they give you companionship, escape, adventure, and sometimes even courage.

And perhaps that is what books truly are for me, not just stories bound in pages, but doors to worlds that are fascinating and awe-inspiring.

---

PS: This post is a part of ‘Plot Twist Blog Hop’ hosted by Manali Desai and Sukaina Majeed under #EveryConversationMatters blog hop series

PS: This blog post is part of ‘Blogaberry Dazzle’ hosted by Cindy D’Silva and Noor Anand Chawla.