Notes from a Bookworm

I am a sick person… I am a wicked person.

I am a bookworm.

But talk to any bookworm and you will never realize it. That is because we might very well be in an alternate reality. A literary one most probably. An immersive reality that lets us converse with dead people, expounding ideas not caring if we understand, agree or oppose. All the while keeping up the partial facade of social semblance with a gentle smile and timely nod in tune with the conversation that is intruding into our wandering consciousness.

I borrowed Fyodor Dostoevsky’s opening lines from his amazing work Notes from Underground for my first post, because like almost anyone who has had a chance to read him, he inspires and frightens. Maybe I shall get to write about some of his works but right now it seems almost monumental to even start such an undertaking. (update: got to it finally).

All this is possible only because I have a camera, the internet and time on my hands. Hopefully along the way I will get to know more books, bookstores and book lovers. Because we are too well hidden under everyday travails of ,studenthood, parenthood, public service, corporate citizenship and other pursuits.

We might be a dying breed. In the future there might end the age of books and humankind will be glued to screens designed to hold our flitting attention for as long as possible before surfacing up the next snippet of information to consume and share and trash. So while the going is good I thought I might start recording what little I could of independent bookstores, perspectives of readers and in general anything to do with books.

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