It is one of my favourite memories. Amma [mother] and I walking down a darkened market street. All of five, this was the moment I longed for every day -- Amma was home from work and we were out together! Quality time was an unarticulated concept back then, but Amma saw to it we spent at least an hour together daily: hanging out, eating, walking or simply running up and down the stairs. Veggie-shopping done, we'd walk to the raddiwalla. I'd pick up a comic or two. Showing marked signs of being a skinflint later in life, I would look up at Amma and say in my most politic voice, "We don't have to buy it, Amma, if it costs too much." Well, Rs 2 was the standard rate for comics and little books those days, and it didn't pinch too much, I guess. Amma was chatting with her sister once when she looked towards me, smiled, and said, "... I don't mind buying her the books, you know, it's just that everything has to be read and read and reread and explained!" It must have bored her to death, but I don't recall one harsh word or impatient gesture as we gobbled up storybooks and comics by the cart. And she continued to answer every impossible question and supply every inconsequential detail, till one day, she caught me staring fixedly at a comic, my lips moving as the letters began to nudge themselves into words. It was, she says, possibly the happiest moment of her life. She's older now and the fatigue of bringing up two kids as a widow is beginning to catch up. Along the way, reading became a luxury she simply had to let go. Not enough mind-space for it between a new-born son, a teenaged daughter, her job as an engineer, and the business her husband had left behind. When I was about 25, we were chatting once, and she seemed excited about a new writer -- a Malayalee girl. In an unusual flash of parochialism, she spoke of Arundhati Roy with much pride, recounting for me bits of [Arundhati's mother] Mary Roy's rebellious history. So I decided to buy Amma her first book in many, many years. It was a hardback that cost Rs 400; for me, a starving hosteller struggling to cope with an MA in another city, not a small sum. But it didn't hurt too much, and I still remember her joy on getting it in the mail. As soon as she finished the book, she passed it on to other cousins and friends, all of who were, by then, exulting in the Malayalee girl's success. That started a rash of book-buying. I'd save and buy Amma at least one book every two or three months. Even today, I can identify each part-time job during those two MA years by the books I scrimped to buy! Four years and many more books down the line, my husband and I (noted book-hoarders) have hit upon books as the best gift to our parents. After all, the most wonderful gift they ever gave us was reading. It also helps to know that all the books we give them -- the Ruskin Bonds, the R K Narayans, and the occasional Roald Dahls -- will invariably find their way back to our shelves in near-pristine condition! Anita Nair still visits raddiwallas for second-hand books. Illustration: Uttam Ghosh ALSO READ: Bookhouse! Tell us what you think of this diary Be part of an exciting venture! Write a Diary!
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