Books v. Cigarettes

Until recently, I hadn’t quite given thought on the cost of books and cigarettes that I am used to buying nonchalantly. I have quite a possession of books since I began reading voraciously seven years ago when the college threw me out of science department and placed me with students of humanities steam. It was due to lack of any aptitude or attitude from my part which led me to first, being suspended from college and then being reinstated in another stream, of course conditionally. I was one of those rotten tomato which the education system in Nepal detests. I was reticent, observant and a brute at heart; dispatching inquiries of rather derisive nature to the administration, revolting against any sort of authoritative rules and bonking classes whenever I fancied. I was a libertine and the college was my transit to a chaotic vision of teenage glory.

It was truly in college, when I began reading rather voraciously. I had a rather spirited English literature teacher who appeared comical. He was almost five foot and had snubbed nose, puffed cheek and adenoidal voice. For teenage students, he was gold mine for back bench banter. I may have ridiculed him too, back in the days, but I had great respect for a man who had no interest in the banking concept of education.

Since my introduction to literature, reading books has been my favorite pass time. I read everything. From Dostoevsky to Kerouac to Devkota, I read whatever my eyes behold; newspapers, magazines, flyers, political manifestos to Facebook statuses. I even read a lot of phrases which are painted thoughtfully in the rear end of trucks and public buses. I like alphabets and how it reels into words and the words prance around into sentences which in turn become prose, verses, poems, novels and essays. My favorite alphabet is ‘x’ because it looks really cool.

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