A Lifetime of Journeys Through Books

From the moment I learned to read, books have been my steadfast companions. What began with simple cartoon strips in newspapers and colorful storybooks soon blossomed into a lifelong passion for literature—spanning grand novels and insightful non-fiction. Reading has never been just a pastime for me; it has been an immersive journey, allowing my mind to create entire worlds of its own. Through the pages of books, I have traveled to unknown lands, encountered countless characters, and lived a thousand lives—all without ever leaving my room.  

Books, to me, are more than just ink and paper; they are like people. Some have broken my heart, while others have tested my patience. Some have moved me to tears, made me laugh uncontrollably, or sent shivers down my spine. And yes, a few have even betrayed my trust, leaving me questioning everything I thought I knew.  

But why do I read? Many assume that reading is merely a form of entertainment or a hobby to pass the time. For me, however, books are lived experiences—stories that allow me to understand emotions, cultures, and perspectives I may never encounter in my own life. They offer a glimpse into diverse worlds, introducing me to people of different ethnicities, languages, and lifestyles.  

For instance, I may never cross paths with someone who struggles with social anxiety. Yet, through books, I have come to understand their world. While they might experience emotions as deeply as anyone else, their heightened sensitivity to their surroundings can make it difficult for them to express their thoughts. Books have taught me to perceive the unspoken—to recognize emotions that words often fail to convey.  

Fantasy novels have expanded my imagination, showing me that words have the power to create entire universes. On the other hand, literature grounded in reality has shaped my perspective, making me more empathetic and less judgmental.  

Through historical fiction, I have walked through centuries of human civilization, witnessing the hopes and fears of those who lived before me. Through memoirs, I have stepped into the shoes of people whose realities are vastly different from mine, yet whose emotions feel strikingly familiar.

I still find immense joy in reading children's novels, and they never fail to remind me of life's simple yet profound pleasures—love, kindness, innocence, and the beauty of sharing. These stories, though often crafted for young minds, hold timeless wisdom that resonates across all ages. They transport me back to a world where friendships are pure, dreams are limitless, and even the smallest gestures carry great meaning. In a fast-paced world filled with complexities, children's books serve as a gentle reminder that sometimes, the simplest values are the most important ones.

Books have not just been a source of knowledge or escape; they have shaped the way I see the world. They have taught me patience, broadened my understanding, and made me a better observer of life itself. With every book I read, I add another layer to my perception, another story to my soul.

Faith Through My Lens

My belief in God has changed and continues to evolve over the years, shaped by my experiences, the people I meet, the books I read, and the things I see. As a child, my prayers were simple and transactional—I prayed for good marks or to get out of a difficult situation. I believed that if I prayed sincerely, things would change. But over time, I realized that my prayers had no direct effect on the outcomes I wished for. This led me to conclude that last-minute prayers do not create miracles.

As I grew older, my prayers became simpler. Whenever I was in a temple or during a pooja at home, I found myself saying just one sentence: 'May all be well.' After that, my mind would go blank. I do not believe in rituals or specific forms of prayer, nor do I adhere to any religion in a strict sense. Yet, I continue to follow the practices of my family—not out of faith, but out of habit.

I am often conflicted by many religious practices. I do not fast, nor do I engage in transactional prayers. I do not believe that God expects anything in return for devotion. More importantly, I do not fully understand what God is. Why do we need to please God? If God is all-powerful, why does good and bad exist? If God is testing us, does that mean He lacks control over what we do? The idea of a God who punishes and rewards like a teacher grading an exam seems at odds with the concept of a supreme, all-knowing being.

Instead of a deity with human-like emotions, I believe in a supreme force or a law of nature that governs involuntary cycles of life. I have never experienced divine intervention that punished my wrongdoings or rewarded my good deeds. But I do see a larger rhythm to life, an order beyond human understanding. Perhaps that is what I perceive as God—a force that moves, not with expectation or judgment, but simply as it is.

Growing up with Tamil traditions, I have often observed practices like 'venduthal' and 'nerthi kadan,' where people make vows to God and fulfill them upon their wishes being granted. I have never understood the idea of negotiating with the divine. If God is all-knowing, why would He require offerings or fulfilled vows? I wonder if these practices arise more from human emotions of gratitude and fear rather than any divine expectation. They seem to be a way for people to seek control over uncertainty, a reassurance that their faith is being acknowledged.

Similarly, Tamil customs include elaborate temple visits, processions, and rituals that are deeply woven into cultural identity. While I participate in them, I do so as an observer rather than a true believer. I appreciate the sense of community and continuity these traditions bring, yet I remain uncertain about their spiritual significance. If faith is meant to be personal, why does it often feel like an obligation to follow inherited customs? Perhaps faith is less about structured belief and more about finding peace in whatever form resonates with us individually.

So, I no longer seek miracles in grand gestures; I see the divine in the simplest things. In doing so, I realize that my journey of understanding God is ongoing—fluid, changing, and deeply personal.