Reading

A Manifesto for Reading Beyond Reading

As you enter Mumbai’s Terminal 2’s domestic departure area after the security check, and head towards gates 40-45, there was a favourite bookstore of mine.

Yes. Was.

Because it closed recently. I am usually early for my flights. Sometimes just to get to some books and power my reading. At other times, to see what book catches people’s attention!

I have a sense of loss. I don’t know what will replace it. The frenzy with which eateries pop up everywhere, probably one more eating joint. Maybe a clothing store. Or bags. Always bags. (Sigh).

It makes me think of reading itself. And what we miss.

The Shrinking Discipline of Reading

We’re not just losing the habit of reading books.
We’re losing the discipline of reading anything that asks for more than a glance.

As Stowe Boyd writes, “For millennia, people have offloaded aspects of cognition — such as memory — to written materials. But people still had to do the initial cognitive work of understanding and transposition. And, on the other side, people had to read and comprehend what was written by others, to gain a reflection of the understanding of the author.”

From Written Thought to AI Summaries

Today, that chain is breaking. Reports became memos. Memos became emails. Emails became Slack messages. And now, “people are using AI to read and write even these fragmentary comments.”

Boyd quotes Tom White: “Most books should be articles, most articles should be paragraphs, most paragraphs should be sentences, and most sentences should be silence.”

Here’s the kicker: people won’t read emails beyond eight lines — even from their bosses. God help bosses, did I hear you say? They’re fine. AI is summarising for them.

The problem is assimilation. And, reading is more than just receiving words; it’s processing them. Making connections in your own head. If AI does all the summarising, it’s like outsourcing your gym workout — convenient, but you lose the muscle.

The Unfair Fight for Attention

And let’s be honest — this isn’t going to reverse. The future will bring more screens, shorter bursts of content, and ever‑smarter AI eager to do your reading for you. The reading muscle will only get less exercise.

Kids today grow up in a tilted contest: screens arrive first, books much later. By the time reading is formally taught, the screen has already claimed prime territory in their attention span. Erik Hoel calls this literacy lag.

Which is why the habit of reading has to be seeded early and guarded fiercely. If the tide keeps pulling us toward shallower, faster content, the ability to read deeply will become one of the rarest — and most quietly powerful — skills you can have.

Which brings me to Schopenhauer. Who said, “A precondition for reading good books is not reading bad ones: for life is short.”

These days, the search for what to read is as important as reading itself. For there are more recommendations than reasons. Bestseller badges. Must‑read lists. Reviews that can be bought. And so on.

So, how do you find good stuff to read? Thats the challenge. Only, It doesn’t stop with that.

The Collapse of Common Sense

The other day, I was reading a newsletter by Lauren Razavi. She writes about Frank Furedi’s call to revive ‘common sense’.

Furedi says common sense used to come from slow rhythms and shared streets. We moved through the same places. Worked on the same schedules. Spoke the same language. Words meant the same thing to everyone.

These days, the feed never stops.

The same event can be a conspiracy, a tragedy, or a non‑event — depending on who your algorithm thinks you are. Truth bends to the angle of your timeline. And if truth bends, so does taste. The book that trends in your feed may never appear in mine.

We no longer inherit a set of books, ideas, and references by simply living in the same world. The shared shelf has collapsed. The common understanding has evaporated right under our fingers.

Furedi’s warning is that when those shared cultural anchors disappear, what we once took for granted as common sense no longer comes ready‑made. We have to construct it ourselves — piece by piece.

And that changes reading entirely.

Why Reading Well Matters More Than Ever

When there’s no “everyone” anymore, your sense of what’s worth reading can’t just follow the crowd — because the crowd you see isn’t the same crowd I see.

That makes reading well, harder. It also makes it more important. The choice of books becomes less about taste and more about survival — a way to anchor yourself when the cultural map falls apart.

There’s a Jain proverb: When the student is ready, the master will appear. I think books work the same way.

When I’m ready, the book will appear. In a conversation. In an email. Leap out of a newsletter. Or yes, even from an algorithm that gets it right by accident.

The real work, then, is not just to find books. But to ready myself so the right books can find me.

Reading Beyond Reading

Most people read to get to the last page. I read to explore what the book does to me along the way. Because reading isn’t just about finishing. It’s about what sticks. What shifts. What makes you look at something differently the next morning.

So, here is a manifesto Manifesto for Reading Beyond Reading — for letting the book live on in how you think, speak, and act.

A Manifesto for Reading Beyond Reading

1. Read and reread.
Each book speaks to you differently at different points in your life. Your context shifts. The lines may be the same, but the meaning changes. The book hasn’t changed — you have. I first chanced upon Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance in my father’s stash of books. Something he tossed at me with a smile. As a high‑schooler, I read the words. Much later in life, it changed my worldview completely.

2. Choose your curators, choose your context.
Curators are sharing their perspective. It’s up to you to make sense of it in yours. If you know a curator’s taste, you won’t be sold — you’ll be choosing. There are the experts and bibliophiles like Shiv Shivakumar, Mal Warwick. There are friends like Manu and Krishna who bring such fabulous richness. And then newsletters, like Founding Fuel‘s, that have been life‑changing in pointing me to books that have altered mental models of life and living.

3. Don’t read in straight lines.
Don’t stick to one subject, style, or form. Travel writing gives you more than geography. Biographies give you timelines woven into events. Business writing offers you frameworks for thinking about work. Fiction often gives you reality checks. Read history, science, memoir, essays, and newsletters. Step into other people’s heads and see how they think — that’s more valuable than any tidy summary of their thoughts wrapped between covers.

4. Slow down.
Buying. Reading. This can be your one rebellion against speed. Some read to finish. I read to open my mind. Joy comes not from “The End” but from the journey and the connections it sparks.

5. Make reading your calling card.
Slip it into your hello: “I’m in the middle of…”. Ask others:

  • What are you reading now?
  • Which book surprised you most?
  • Which book do you keep giving away?
  • If you could reread one for the first time, which would it be?

6. Work your reading.
Scribble in the margins. Fold pages. Argue with the author. Tell a friend about it. Link it to your work. Gift it to someone who’ll love it. A book isn’t finished when you close it — it’s finished when you’ve done something with it. In fact, it’s never truly finished.

7. Let the right books find you.
Stay ready. Be curious. The most important books often appear when you’re ready for them, not when you schedule them.

That’s where I stand. For now.
Tomorrow I may find a new book, and it will smuggle in a new rule.
Until then — what would you weave into this manifesto?

The Many Pleasures Of Reading

Last month a dear friend gifted me a book. A physical one. With smells, sounds and good old paper. It has pages that I can dog-ear. And write my notes. Circle. Underline. Etc.  And so, have revisited the pleasures of reading a physical book. It has done wonders to my reading. 

It didn’t quite start that way. When I unwrapped the gift to see books, the first thought was, where do I keep them? Skirmishes at home about my books and the space they occupy have been persistent. Peace has been wrought by sticking to the kindle. Until these books arrived.  

So, I left these books on a side table. I had to figure out how to get back to caressing a book while devouring what it held. Perhaps in the hesitating was a fear of falling in love with the physical book again. 

One of the books seemed to tug at me.  Chandrahas Choudhury’s “My Country Is Literature”.

 The back cover had this.

“A book is only one text, but it is many books. It is a different book for each of its readers. My Anna Kareninais not your Anna Karenina; your A House for Mr Biswas is not the one on my shelf. When we think of a favourite book, we recall not only the shape of the story, the characters who touched our hearts, the rhythm and texture of the sentences. We recall our own circumstances when we read it: where we bought it (and for how much), what kind of joy or solace it provided, how scenes from the story began to intermingle with scenes from our life, how it roused us to anger or indignation or allowed us to make our peace with some great private discord. This is the second life of the book: its life in our life.”

Those lines were enough to shed my romance and dive into experiencing the sensuous pleasures that only a book can kindle. Sorry about the stupid pun.

Anyway, I have read been devouring with great relish. This book is a collection of literary criticisms on the works of an esoteric set of writers. Perumal Murugan. Orhan Pamuk. Sadat Hasan Manto. Nehru. Junichiro Tanizaki. Manu Joseph. And several others.

I have been slow reading. Rereading. Fast reading. Beginning all over again. There is no bar at the bottom of the page that tells me I have finished 43% of the book. The volume of fresh pages on my right palm are inviting by their weight and crisp edges. So I go slow. 

A Library Of Emotions For The Pleasures Of Reading

In the middle of all this, another dear friend sent this message on whatsapp.

“I think Emerson wrote somewhere that a library is a kind of magic cavern which is full of dead men. And those dead men can be reborn, can be brought to life when you open their pages.

Speaking about Bishop Berkeley (who, may I remind you, was a prophet of the greatness of America), I remember he wrote that the taste of the apple is neither in the apple itself—the apple cannot taste it- self—nor in the mouth of the eater. It requires a contact between them.

The same thing happens to a book or to a collection of books, to a library. For what is a book in itself? A book is a physical object in a world of physical objects. It is a set of dead symbols. And then the right reader comes along, and the words—or rather the poetry behind the words, for the words themselves are mere symbols—spring to life, and we have a resurrection of the word.”

Borges, Jorge Luis, from his book This craft of verse

My mind right now is like a meadow sprouting all kinds of green after a luxurious spell of afternoon rain. And as dusk falls, birds and insects chirp away. Strange calls and uncommon sounds seem to festoon the night ahead as I look at the pages ahead. A strange set of emotions that are beyond the stuff in the common library of emotions.

That’s what reading a book does to me. How I love “what have you been reading lately?” to bibliophiles like Manu!

The many pleasures of reading are best left unexplained. For explanation does it more harm than good. I can say that with certainty after writing all this.

Chipmunks and me

Alvin and the chipmunks, the movie series, brought alive a different world! the world of chipmunks. Chipmunks are from the squirrel family and have impish energy to themselves that is an easy allure. The movie brought them more sheen. I like them for a different reason. There is something that is common between the chipmunks and me. 

Chipmunks hibernate. Or so I thought. They shut down and conserve energy. Then I learnt that they don’t actually hibernate. They get into ‘torpor’. There is a difference between hibernation and torpor. Let’s leave it at, torpor is ‘hibernation-lite’. Heres an excerpt from an interesting essay that I read. “torpor is a survival tactic used by animals to survive the winter months. It also involves a lower body temperature, breathing rate, heart rate, and metabolic rate.”

First, torpor is a survival tactic. It lasts for brief spells. Chipmunks and me share torpor. My version of torpor has been to go silent on social platforms. Twitter. Instagram. Facebook and such else. 

A nightmare as a trigger.

It started with a nightmare I had one night, a few months back.  My recollections of the nightmare are blurred and brief. All I know is that I woke up with a start. In that nightmare, friends appeared. They sported bright red straw hats marching to a tune from a horror movie. A horror movie that was badly made too.  There was venom in their tongue and they kept dipping into a bucket full of poison and smearing it on people. They told me it is a game and invited me to play while jiving to a wicked war dance number. 

I remember waking up with a start and don’t remember other parts of the nightmare. 

Over the next few weeks, there were other pressing demands placed on my calendar.  The intensity of my work and some waves of hospital visits due to family requirements made it apparent that I had to work things differently.  Logging out of most social media and reorganising my time was easy picking.

This isn’t the first time. For the past couple of years, I take 2-3 weeks that I shut down and maintain some level of silence online. It is far from something grand and sexy like a ‘detox’. Closer to being weary, accompanied by a sense of loss and nostalgia of the good old early days of social media and the internet. 

This year, my silence was more pronounced. I would barely surface to write The OWL Despatchthe newsletter for Founding Fuel and a clutch of other commitments like this one. This so happens to be the times of the Coronavirus and the recommendation of social distancing. I am clear that social distancing in the real world does not merit a universal embracing of everything in the social media world. In fact, the social media world has to be handled with even more care now.

Noticing my noticing. 

Looking back, I have wrested peace from the jaws of ceaseless online noise. Vainglory with a veneer of humility. Shameless bigotry, bias and bile. Fake news. All worn with pride. Medal worthy epaulettes if you will. 

When the apps are off the phone and the phone is off my palms there are other things that I am more present to. The love of colour and fear of the that keeps my daughter company. The extra wrinkle in an elder’s face. Kids of neighbours who suddenly seemed taller when I see them in elevators. I have been noticing that I have been noticing far more!  Including the receding sounds of chatter in my mind. 

As I resurface this time, the terms I have set for myself are stiffer. There is an abundant realisation that what gets into my stream of attention should not be only stuff of use, but stuff that keeps me sane. Twitter. Facebook. Instagram. Linkedin. WhatsApp. All the same. So I have been on a hacking spree. Unfollow. Mute. Exit. Reorganise WhatsApp presence in groups. A few are fun. Some are useful. I have lost count of the useless. 

I resurface yet again from torpor. There is a feeling of greater peace and a sense of what it means to live.

The quiet time has also given me a sense of peace and added to layers of depth to writing and reading. I have plans to read more books than last year and indulge in better conversations face to face. So what if it they are mediated by technology. More writing too!  

For all the lovely folks who reached out and checked if everything was alright, well, thank you. Your mails, texts and calls meant a lot. These days, I am ever so lighter in the mind and wish I could transfer this lightness to the body as well. That is a different story! 

Image Credit : Steve Orlowski from Pixabay 

An Open Window, A World of Calm

An open window behind, a simple bench beckoning you to sit, a loyal plant keeping you company, and soft grass beneath your feet. There’s even a shade nearby, waiting for you to decide if you need it. Above you, the open sky stretches endlessly—a perfect invitation to pause and just be.

Now, imagine tossing in a book, a bottle of water, and a steaming cup of hot coffee. Sounds idyllic, doesn’t it? There’s just one catch: throw away the watch. This is not a moment for time to meddle.

This little setup isn’t just about comfort; it’s a rebellion. A rebellion against hurried calendars, buzzing phones, and endless to-do lists. It’s a reminder that life isn’t a race; it’s more like an unscripted performance under a limitless sky.

What happens when you sink into that bench? You’ll notice things—the subtle rustle of leaves, the changing hues of the sky, or the way sunlight dances on your coffee cup. Perhaps the book you brought along finally gets the attention it deserves, its pages flipping lazily in the breeze.

And if you’re lucky, you’ll discover the joy of doing absolutely nothing. Yes, nothing! It’s underrated, often mistaken for laziness, but oh, the freedom it holds. No notifications, no deadlines—just you, your thoughts, and maybe that sneaky plant that’s somehow photobombing your serene moment.

The best part? This isn’t a luxury reserved for sprawling gardens or countryside retreats. It could be your balcony, your backyard, or even a park bench nearby. What matters isn’t the setting but the mindset.

So, take the plunge. Open that window, grab your coffee, and let the sky remind you how vast your world really is—if only you’d stop to notice.

The written word moves !

That’s the vehicle that i spot often. Near home. A mobile book store, which for some reason, i thought of as a library. For English & Marathi books. It has a generator, a computer, a young boy and of course, some books.

Plus, they advertise a number. A Toll Free number. You need a book, well, you just dial a book and it would be home delivered.

Now, that was a first.

For all the years of metro living, everything used to get home delivered. From grocery to DVDs, to letters, credit card statements to Chicken Curry. But books…. Well, perhaps the magazines from the corner store. But books ?!?

I didn’t see them being home delivered. And that included the ones that went out of the door, borrowed by friends and other visitors, exploiting my inability of saying http://healthsavy.com/product/cialis/ ‘no’ ! And i used to awaken with hope each day, that perhaps that day, i would see a book coming back home ! But thats another story.

To spot this mobile book store was heartening. And to actually spot people frequenting the van was even more !

With TV, Internet, audio books and such other ‘advancements’, there is a strange impasse in the world. I think. An impasse that’s big enough to obscure the joy of smelling fresh pages, of curling in a corner with a book, of looking up a dictionary, of debating a point with a friend and just soak up thoughts & adore styles !

This mobile book store seemed to bring a whiff of fresh air ! Mobility takes a new meaning ! The written word moves ! On wheels !

“A dead giveaway”

I was on a flight from Delhi when i read the Hindustan Times and its editorial page. This piece was interesting enough for me to do a cut and paste job. So am keying this in. Courtesy, HT.
“The dead usualy throw up more interesting points for debate than the living. Take the ongoing quible about whether Mahatma Gandhi’s dying words uttered after being shot by Nathuram Godse were ‘Ram, Ram’ – as recorder by the FIR registered after the assassination or ‘Hey Ram’ as made iconic and cast in stone at Rajghat.
It is a fact that sometimes, a public figure’s last words are tweaked or cooked up to fit the popular image of the person. It would have been rather banal, for insance, if Bapu had uttered a single ‘Oh!” or no word at all when he died. But that would have hardly satisfied us.
Can you imagine Humphrey Bogart not having said, “I should have never switched from scotch to martinis,” on his deathbed ? Or the ironic, Byronic last lines of Lord Buron not being, “Now i shall go to sleep. Goodnight”?
There have been official disappointments though. Winston Churchill was expected to make a herioc ‘blood, sweat and tears’ kind of last speech before going into a coma that would find him resting Adolf Hitler nine days later. But Churchill said, “I am bored with it all,” a punk credo that would have suited Sex Pistols’ Sid Vicious much better.
Some dying lines are downright boring. Charles Darwin should have come up with something more evolutionary instead of teh slightly maudlin: “I am not the least afraid to die.” Far better – dying up to expectations – was Oscar Wilde: “Either that wallpaper goes, or i do”
Considering that not too many people are always taking notes and cross checking even when a famous person posps it, its rather remarkable thatt we have so many last lines to savour. As for Gandhiji, we are puttin gour bets on ‘hey Ram’. Why change something that works?”