In 2015, when life was unkind to me in many ways, I found solace in reading. Besides going to work and spending time with my family, I read and read and read. I read Literary Fiction and Picture Books and Young Adult Fiction and Memoirs and Graphic Novels… I read by the flattering light of candles when Chennai witnessed the worst deluge that year. I read to shoo away the past. I read to embrace the present. I read to forget the future. I read to dodge the sharp claws of depression, I read to cushion myself in anxiety, I read to feel again the warmth of happiness, I read to live.
It was the only way to live.
I was not a reader till 2015, but since then, I haven’t stopped. If books move me, if they give me sleepless nights because of its sheer beauty, if its words illuminate the dark chambers of my heart, I gush about them here. I don’t expend my energy to write about books which don’t agree with me. So, I abuse nice adjectives, and shamelessly arm-twist you into reading my favourites.
Besides reading and writing, I love Zen-Doodling, collecting quotes, and bicycling. I live with my parents in Chennai, India, I share my room and riches with a badass of a dog called Anu Boo, and I am in love with a man who carries a pebble in his pocket.
In this tiny space, I look forward to sharing all things bookish and sometimes, not-so-bookish. Thank you for reading!
PS: This blog’s name is borrowed from Cheryl Strayed’s Tiny Beautiful Things.
“The story of human intimacy is one of constantly allowing ourselves to see those we love most deeply in a new, more fractured light. Look hard. Risk that.”