Random Scribbles: Reading
Late to the Reading Party
Many of you are so well-read that I often feel like a preschooler at a university. Although I’ve been a lifelong reader, I haven’t delved into the classics. My early literary discoveries were the works of Simon Templar and Perry Mason. I found my grandfather’s books from the 1940s and 1950s tucked away in a dark corner of the attic. My grandmother had kept them as souvenirs of their past.
I was the odd one in the family until my brother followed suit; he also reads voraciously. I read Sherlock Holmes and a range of American novels — authors like Arthur Hailey, John Grisham, and Ken Follett. During college, reading erotica became a trend, especially with the advent of sensational late-night television shows. It’s interesting how television can influence reading habits.
As I grew older, my reading preferences shifted toward technical topics, particularly electronics and communication. My time in Joka and several years in Kolkata deepened my appreciation for Hindustani music. Listening to Rafi, Kishore, Mukesh, Lata, and Asha during those years was truly wonderful. I would often have an Arthur Hailey novel in one hand, playing Kishore Kumar songs on my Sony Walkman while taking the 22 or 25 trams to Tollygunge or Esplanade from my home in Ballygunge. Those were some of the best days of my life.
A few years later, as I traveled the world, I revisited American pulp fiction, although I can’t recall much of it. Robert Ludlum’s work stands out in my memory, featuring heroes who are often rogue agents from the CIA or FBI, dedicated to solving crimes or saving Uncle Sam. I lost my reading habits during my days in Mumbai, but I began writing poetry. Gradually, especially during the COVID period, my reading, writing, and publishing habits returned. It’s not something I’m particularly proud of, but I felt it was worth sharing.
~Random Scribbles, Ashok Subramanian © 2025
The Large-Hearted Reader
An evening flight is a perfect opportunity to take a short nap and then settle in for some reading. Most passengers tend to doze off after a long, tiring day, while the more energetic ones watch downloaded videos, whether it be movies, podcasts, or TV shows, plugging in their earphones to fully immerse themselves. Very few passengers choose to read. To my surprise, one person in my row was engrossed in “Thinking, Fast and Slow.” Judging by his seriousness, he was already past the halfway mark in the book.
My neighbor was a wealthy woman in her 40s. She talked about something precious and fragile that she had in her handbag and placed her bag on my suitcase in the overhead cabin. Once the flight reached cruising altitude, she closed her eyes and began to doze off while sitting between two men. She slept quite heavily, with her legs spread apart and her arms thrust into the armrests. The other passenger, who was reading “Thinking, Fast and Slow,” and I exchanged glances before returning to our reading.
I opened Fyodor Dostoevsky’s *White Nights* (Penguin Pocket Classics), which I had received as part of the Secret Santa gift exchange conducted by the book club, Book Gobblers (those who are particularly literate can read my earlier post). I switched on the overhead reading lamp, directed it towards myself, and began reading. Five minutes into it, the lady next to me woke up, glanced at me and my book, then switched off my reading light before going back to sleep.
As I weighed my options, I chose to read in the dim light of the plane rather than turn the reading light back on. The plane lurched and jerked (the sky highways can be bumpy too), making it difficult to read — the printed words shook, and the low light wasn’t sufficient. I attempted to use my mobile phone’s flashlight to read a couple of pages, but it was an awkward setup; the pocket-sized book felt unwieldy, and my hand ached from holding the light. I decided to revert to reading in the dim light, abandoning the flashlight approach.
As I continued reading in the dim light and amidst the plane wobble, Dostoevsky’s writing was captivating, and I found myself engrossed. However, his sentences tend to be long and meandering, though the language is lucid and flowing, so I kept reading — until a child began crying in the back. I immediately closed the book and shut my eyes, glancing at the lady next to me, who was still sleeping peacefully.
I took pride in letting her sleep, but I couldn’t help but think it would have been nicer if she had been more considerate. I could have opted for a more obvious solution, but I felt either too tired or too kind for some reason. It seems Fyodor will have to wait for another day.
~Random Scribbles, Ashok Subramanian © 2025
Snoring Dragon, Reading Tiger
I’ve come to realize that I can only read in peace. When my hyperactive mind is preoccupied with work-related problems or uncertainties, I find it difficult to immerse myself in a book.
Reading is an engaging activity for me; I take it seriously. As an author, I want my readers to fully appreciate my writing, so I feel a responsibility to do the same for the authors whose books I read. One day, I found a moment of tranquility in Dubai.
It was a rare time when I wasn’t caught up in the adrenaline of back-to-back meetings, and nothing was pressing on my mind. I switched on the bedside lamp with excitement and turned to the last page I had read, only to be interrupted by the repetitive, harsh sound of my partner’s snoring. We share a bedroom with separate beds to save costs.
As I turned the page and reflected on what I’d just read, the rhythmic yet disruptive sound cut into the world I was trying to build with the characters. To find a solution, I put on some soft reading music through my headphones, which I usually use for video calls. That did the trick. I won’t let the snoring dragon interfere with my experience as a reading tiger.
~Random Scribbles, Ashok Subramanian © 2025
A Life Time is Not Enough
When do you feel that your life is too short? I’ll tell you. It’s when I buy a lot of books and then realize that I won’t be able to read them all in a lifetime. I want to write endlessly and aspire to win a Nobel Prize, but to write well and truly enjoy my craft, I need to read. More importantly, I want to read for the sake of reading. I exist to read and to write.
Yet, I have to pay the bills, so I work. I love my job, but I need to set boundaries, and all these responsibilities compete for my time. I read to find peace, and that comes at a cost. Life isn’t fair, you know. In my fear of losing precious years to death, I feel the urgency to prolong my existence — to read and to write.
Let’s focus on reading. If I want to live long enough, I need to be healthy. Still, the end could come at any moment. But I must do what I can. So, I hit the gym, changed my diet, and tried to get enough sleep.
I am a bundle of contradictions. But you see my point — I want to read, so I have to live. If I want to live longer, I need to be healthy. However, the fear of mortality lingers inside me. I just want to live longer, perhaps even forever, to read and savor all the great literature the world has to offer. But deep down, I know that’s not possible. Hence this morbid fear of losing even a single day.
You will never see me complain about my days because I am too busy trying to make time for everything I need to do: work, work out, read, and write. Still, one lifetime is not enough.
~Random Scribbles, Ashok Subramanian © 2025
“I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of any thing than of a book! — When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I have not an excellent library.”
― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
