“For someone like me, it is a very strange habit to write in a diary. Not only that I have never written before, but it strikes me that later neither I, nor anyone else, will care for the musings of a thirteen-year-old schoolgirl” – Anne Frank
My love for books is fairly recent, but my love for reading isn’t. What drew me wasn’t reading itself, but curiosity. I’ve never been good at watching explanatory videos or lectures for long. Even a ten-minute video feels endless; my thoughts, doubts, and imagination drift away too quickly. But reading is different. I can read for hours and still remember the essence of what I read years later. I suspect this might be true for many readers, that written words stay longer with us. There’s probably a scientific reason behind this phenomenon, though I’ve never learned what it is. The quality we find in books is remarkable. Of course, explanatory videos, especially on YouTube, have improved a lot in recent years. For subjects like Physics or Mathematics, I still prefer video lectures because of their diagrams and clarity. But reading offers something beyond knowledge. It connects us emotionally and intellectually in ways that no other medium can. Many books, especially those written by historical figures, exist not just to inform but to heal. They carry the emotional weight of the people who wrote them. The writings of Anne Frank and Virginia Woolf are among the most powerful examples.
What moves me most about reading is this invisible connection between reader and author. Carl Sagan once expressed it beautifully: “What an astonishing thing a book is. It’s a flat object made from a tree with flexible parts on which are imprinted lots of funny dark squiggles. But one glance at it and you’re inside the mind of another person, maybe somebody dead for thousands of years… Books break the shackles of time. A book is proof that humans are capable of working magic.”
This is especially true for nonfiction or autobiographical works, when the author’s thoughts align with our own, or when we feel their legacy reaching into our lives. Their honesty, insecurities, and self-revelation leave us with deep admiration and empathy. When I first read the autobiographies of Mahatma Gandhi and Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru, and the writings of Anne Frank and Virginia Woolf, I was astonished by the pain and vulnerability they had endured. I never imagined that people of such stature carried insecurities so similar to ours. This kind of intimacy, this openness between human beings, can hardly exist in everyday conversation. Sagan’s words capture it perfectly: “You’re inside the mind of another person, maybe somebody dead for thousands of years.” Most of the time, the author never knows who is reading their words or where they are being read. Sometimes, the author has already left this world, leaving behind a legacy of thought that continues to breathe through readers. I won’t reveal here the insecurities they shared, you’ll have to read their autobiographies yourself to discover them. These are treasures you won’t find on the internet; they’ve been buried in old books for decades, quietly waiting for someone curious enough to care. Books reveal the private self, the version of a person that hides behind the public mask. When we glimpse the private life of a great figure, it feels strangely comforting, almost like coming home. Their imperfections become their greatest beauty. We begin to see our own flaws with compassion instead of shame. This realization gave me a deeper sense of confidence, one grounded in humility and acceptance. I’ve been arrogant, angry, hopeless, lustful, greedy, egoistic, and ill-mannered at different times. I’m sure everyone has. I used to punish myself for these things, but now I forgive myself quickly for small mistakes.
Swami Sri Yukteswar once wrote: “Forget the past. The vanished lives of all men and women are dark with many shames. Human conduct is ever unreliable until anchored in the divine. Everything in the future will improve if you are making a spiritual effort now.” Those words changed how I saw myself. Swami Sri Yukteswar Giri was the guru of Paramhansa Yogananda, the author of Autobiography of a Yogi, the first book I ever read. It was a cold January in 2023, about three years ago. I noticed the book lying beside our television and asked my mother whose it was. She said it belonged to my father, gifted by my uncle, who, coincidentally, had given him the same book twice. So, I kept the second copy for myself. Books made me more idealistic, perhaps overly so, because they make it hard to accept the suffering and misery of humankind. There are moments when life feels unfair, when we can’t help ourselves or when fate doesn’t favour us. Yet, in those same moments, books become a source of comfort, inspiration, hope, and dreams. Reading doesn’t confine us to words. Readers often grow into writers, continuing the chain of expression. That’s what I’m doing now, and I encourage you to do the same.
Carl Sagan’s words echo again in my mind: “Writing is perhaps the greatest of human inventions, binding together people who never knew each other, citizens of distant epochs. Books break the shackles of time.” I’ve memorized that line. Every time I repeat it, I get goosebumps. Writing, whether seen as a scientific invention or a mystical gift, feels like one of humanity’s greatest privileges. This gift carries both power and responsibility. Those who used writing to uplift humanity were blessings on Earth. Once, our parents and grandparents communicated through handwritten letters. Then came emails. Now, we live in a world of instant text messages. I sometimes wonder how communication will evolve. Maybe one day, even animals and plants will find a way to talk with us, to share thoughts and feelings. Perhaps we’ll see animal and plant representatives in schools or parliaments, speaking for their own rights in education, voting, marriage, and everything else. If that day ever comes, I promise we’ll cherish it, the same way we cherish the magic of books today.
Notice – This article is a chapter from Glimpses of My Worldview (2025). It is being republished here on my blog as part of a complete serialization of the work.