A few years ago, I had a book soulmate.
I connected with this person in a way I never had with anyone else over books. Words.
We wrote long emails over books. Read together. Mused over words. Fell in love with melancholy.
The person wasn’t to stay in my life, however. She didn’t just carry the scars but took the stars of our reading with her when she left.
For the longest time, long after that friendship was over, I missed our conversations over books the most.
Yes, I have friends who are book-readers. But we don’t talk about books often. I have a long-time friend who was my constant book-shopping companion when she was in Bangalore. She’s the one I book-talk the most, although we do that less these days, given all the other things we have to pack into the few minutes we get to speak long-distance.
It has never been the same since I lost that book soulmate.
I will always miss that extraordinary connection over books. I may never find it again, but I know the warmth of pages, the dust of words, and the joy of stories.
When I struggled, books held me afloat.
When I wanted to drown, books sent me a raft.
When I wandered lost, lonely as a cloud, books gave me companionship.
When I lost myself in the labyrinth of mental health, books found me. Again and again.
In their timeless magic hides an eternal truth: words sustain us.
Which is why we launched The Mynd Readers, a podcast hosted by my book-reading friend, Swati Nair, and Srividya Sivakumar.
Together, they discuss books. Their healing power.
The podcast is new. I would like your feedback to help us make it better. In this episode, they discuss how classics show us the path to healing.
And wouldn’t you want to listen to The Voice as I call Srividya recite Emily Dickinson’s ‘I Felt A Funeral In My Brain?’