I love sitting hidden between the doors of my wooden bookcase.
In fact, when I am too unsure about picking a new read or simply feeling worn out by the chores of a routine life, needing a deliberate escape, I do exactly that: pull up a chair in between; the doors hanging from the hinges by my sides forming impenetrable walls to the most private, quietest, thought-inducing space I can have to myself, and sit with my legs crossed on my lap, smelling the musky odour of its rain-fattened timber, pulling out titles – read, unread, half-read; and turning over to stray pages to catch the story midway, off guard, littered in passages of wordy brilliance. Like impishly walking in on your woman dressing at the mirror and running your cold fingertips down her moist, bare back, evoking a love that is to remain a secret between them, like the lost reader’s existence in a sea of books.
Just another 22-year-old, based out in Kolkata, living with my parents. Little confused, little concerned. I completed my bachelors in Computer Science Engineering very recently and as of now, carefully treading the tight rope of choices to wherever it is supposed to lead me to. About writing, let’s say, it is something more than just a hobby. Hobby is what people fall back to in leisure with interest and come out detoxed. Even though I am academically an engineer, writing is that one thing I wish to pursue every time, all the time, irrespective of the state of circumstances. It resolves me in a way, emotionally and mentally, adding a sense of purpose to my strides in life. Apart from that, as it is with every writer in the world, I love to read. In short, my bookshelf is all about the endlessness of hope. I am also an ardent nature worshipper and love Indian music.