Is there anything more gratifying for a bibliophile mom than to watch her kids grow up with books? I introduced M to books at the tender age of one month. Lying down on the cot with her, I would flip through magazines with colorful pictures. Her eyes would flit like bumble bees to catch the fleeting colors in the book as I thumbed the pages.
As eager, excited, and over-ambitious as a mother can get with her first-born, I bought M her first set of picture books when she was just 3 months old. And she was barely 14 months when I got her the entire set of Tamil poems for children by Azha.Valliappa. By the time M learnt to sit without support, I was acting out the poems for her, along with the regular English nursery rhymes.
Soon, I started reading out stories for her, not just during bedtime, but whenever either of us felt so. I read out the story using a different voice for each character. Then, I’ll explain things to her in my voice. M would look on, mesmerized by my ‘performance’.
When M was nearly two-and-a-half years old, I took her to Landmark, the famous bookstore in Chennai. I can never forget the day. She toddled up to a rack, picked up a picture book, plunked onto the floor and started 'reading' the book. I looked at her with swelling pride and admiration, which only a book-lover mother can experience.
From picture books, M moved on to Tinkle, a staple among her friends. She picked up issue after issue from our neighbourhood library and soon exhausted them all. I decided it was high time to initiate her to proper books.
The first book I picked up for M was by Roald Dahl. I had read a couple of his books before and was enamored by his humour. So, I trusted that M would enjoy it, too. M didn’t just like the stories. She fell in love with Roald Dahl’s style of writing. Today, nearly after 7 or 8 months, she has read almost all his titles.
Whenever she enjoyed reading a particular passage, she would share it with me. Several times, she would beg me to read a particular book that she had enjoyed very much. Sometimes, I have to turn down her suggestion for want of time. Disappointed, M would pull a long face and retreat to her favourite couch. I would feel terrible for spoiling her mood. But M’s a sweet kid and understands that life is all about Amma being busy, even when M is blissfully free. And I do know that a time will come when M will get busy, and I’ll be free with all the time in the world in my hands.
That’s the perpetual irony of a working mom’s life, right?
Will blog about C's book-reading habits in another post.
