Really, why do we read? I can’t say how many times I’ve got the same advice: read. Some writers even say the best writing advice they’ve received is, “read as much as you can. Read anything and everything you can lay hands on.”
But I’ve also seen people who never read. People who are too lazy to pick up a paperback, or to drag a hardcover along. Think they’d rather prefer the kindle? Nope, they are tech junkies.
Come to think of it, in a world without traditional schooling, you don’t have to read at all. Except of course, the statuses on Facebook and the incessant chattering on Twitter. You just wake up, eat, go out with friends, earn some cash, spend more than you make (so you have something to regret later on in life), grab a drink with a friend while checking your phone every other minute, and then go home to bed.
Where would you be reading? Why would you be reading at all?
But then, days pass by. You’d grow tired of the same pitcher you’ve gotten from the same pub for years together, your burger would taste same o’l, same o’l and soda would just leave you bloated.
Friday evenings would become painful. You would slump on your couch all evening, uninspired to even switch on the television. Life would go on, in a straight road; no speed breakers, no potholes, no jerks, no jokes. Lifeless.
Suddenly it would all seem dry, plain and dull. Your world would become much smaller than it used to.
And then one day, someone would hand you a book. Nothing fancy, just The Jungle Book.
And life never is same.
Why else would we read?