The forgotten art of reading a real book
We seem to have forgotten about the joy of reading a real book.
Being the tech geek that I am, a few years ago, I got addicted to reading books on my iPad.
I had downloaded the Kindle app for iPad and realized that it was a lot easier, cheaper and convenient to carry a library of books with me, wherever I was.
Add to that the numerous customizations that it offers by way of the layout, color, font and font size, and I fell in love with the idea of reading off an electronic device.
Over the last two years, all my reading has been through the Kindle app and I have been at the forefront in my circle in recommending it to everyone who’s willing to listen.
To prove my point, I reached for the hard-bound book that I had purchased over 16 years ago.
What followed was a heady dose of nostalgia and rediscovery of a forgotten joy.
The intoxicating smell of paper.
The solid weight of a ‘trilogy in five parts’.
The rough but alluring feel of an old book’s leaves.
The glaring inconsistencies in printing.
The flipping through of pages, to find a particular line or phrase, instead of clicking on ‘search’.
The joy of getting waylaid and ending up reading something else.
It is like reminiscing about the first time you met your spouse or lover.
Like meeting with a close friend after decades.
Like finding a little treasure you hid away when you were a kid.
Like stumbling upon a photo album from your childhood.
Technology has brought us many advantages. But nothing can beat the joy of reading a real book.
I am in love… all over again.