Why do you read?

I usually associate free time with logging on to the internet to find something to read. I derive immense pleasure from labouring through a lengthy essay or feature, ruminating on its import, talking to someone about the contents of the piece, which often leads to a healthy debate, eventually allowing me to concretise my thoughts.

I have a few standard web sites I visit and often I stumble upon a few pieces through my facebook and twitter streams. I don't know when and how I developed this habit - maybe journalists subconsciously think reading is good, maybe this was one of the ways I got better as a cricket writer - and it gradually turned from habit to addiction.

A friend, who has been observing this trait of mine, recently asked me a perplexing question. "Why do you read?" This I was unprepared for. I had grown up surrounded by books and was always admonished for "not reading enough". I often look back on my school days and wish I had read more instead of spending my free time overdosing on cricket.

A few days ago I had answered a related question - what makes a good piece? Since I had thought of that one in far more detail, it wasn't too difficult to answer: something that either provokes new thought or something that moves. If a writer satisfies either of these, I feel I've spent my time productively.

But this was a far more complex question, philosophical almost. And I could only resort to cliche - "to shape my thoughts and opinion", "to become a better writer", "to be globally aware" - but struggled to nail it.

After grappling for a few hours, I finally realised I was complicating matters. I liked reading for the same reason I liked movies - I loved stories. I kept tab of the news because, as a journalist, I feel I have to. But what I really enjoyed was reading stories - finely crafted narratives that held my attention. Nothing more, nothing less.

And on that note, here's the wonderful story of Olga Gurshin, the first student from the Soviet Union to take a four-year course in the U.S. At the end of it, I was as happy with my reading addiction as with my answer to the intriguing question.

Innocent adults

How many ever times I watch Majid Majidi's Children of Heaven, there's always something new that provokes thought. Today, in what was possibly my fourth screening, I focussed on Zahra, the little girl with an angelic smile and a wonderfully-expressive face.

Through her, Majidi shows us how several poor children are forced to grow up in a hurry - washing dishes, baby-sitting the new-born, assisting in the kitchen - but continue to retain a large part of their innocence.

Zahra, a six year old, leads the life of a working professional - attending school in the morning and handling household chores for the rest of the day. There isn't a single shot of her playing with her friends or being pampered, activities that are a norm in more privileged six-year-olds' lives.

Yet there's a unsullied innocence about her, the kind that hasn't succumbed to the cynicism and world-weariness - traits that a 35-year old with her background, schedule and challenges would have been expected to have.

Zahra shows us the kinds of challenges that many children face - we understand how the frustration of losing a shoe can really mess with daily rhythms. We understand that poor children can take nothing for granted and yet, deep down, they cannot afford to give up hope.