Amar Ekushey Granthamela (book fair) is on and the people of Dhaka have a new addition to their list of must-visit places. The book fair is the perfect end to a winter season though winter seems to play a hide and seek game with us. As we take the mela to be an inevitable end to the season, we often do not ask if it’s inspiring us to read more as a nation. With this question a lot of other queries also come up. But let’ come to the first one.
   The book fair, at the fag end of winter, with the afternoon sky turning romantically orange and the chirping of the birds creating a soothing symphony, is unquestionably a place to escape the smoke belching city and its concomitant stresses. But is the objective limited to that? People are obviously buying books but how much are we reading?
   To trace the answer to that, we come face to face with a grim picture. In truth, we are not reading enough. The habit of reading as a pastime is no longer regarded as a priority and much of the blame lies on the modern day parents for whom life seems to be defined by monetary and material success. In the past, a teenager’s best way to spend free time was to read books – classics, romantic novels and the lot. Since there were very few distractions and because of peer pressure, even the ones who did not love reading had to develop the habit. Parents encouraged the habit too as the general belief was that acquiring knowledge could never be a mistake. Regrettably, today’s fathers and mothers hardly encourage their children to read because they themselves have lost the habit altogether. The social equation is done on a plateau of loss and profit which can be weighed through material gains and as reading does not translate into something tangible, it is unceremoniously relegated. Parents set the trend for children and when a child sees that a father or a mother is only after money, it’s unlikely that s/he will be looking forward to a cosy afternoon with a book.
   The schools and the colleges should share the blame too because they exert so much academic pressure on the pupils that a student hardly gets time to read material outside their curriculum. Hence, the habit of bringing home books from the school or college library is such a dying trend.
   However, amidst all this robotic living there are efforts like the one by Bishwa Sahitya Kendra which has taken up a crusade of sorts to take books to the houses rather than depending on people to come to the library. But we do not have a nationwide reading movement as yet. Of course, one might ask what benefit that would bring and the answer is that, at least by reading, one can start thinking beyond making money and pursuing selfish interests. The common line used by booklovers in defence of reading is that it extends our horizon; but that needs a little explanation too. When we read and when we take in material by different writers, we learn to appreciate the finer things of life and, as we do that, we automatically promote ourselves to better human beings able to appreciate the finer things of life and demand the best from the government. But, when we do not read, we remain limited in our pursuits and, as human beings, are inspired to harbour insular views. Does that sound didactic? Well, I will not be incorrect to say that if we had read more then we would not have perverted the notion of democracy and used it wantonly to make money and strike corrupt deals.
   As for the modern day young, they have too many glitzy items to command their attention and that is not a bad thing either. Society will move forward and there will be variety coming our way but, by discarding the trends of ages for quick and convenient fun, aren’t we stamping on culture and heritage?
   At the book fair people do buy books but a survey has to be carried out to find the number of people who read at least a book every month. Again, those defending the hectic modern day lifestyle may say – and not without reason – that they hardly find time and in the modern world, the market for books is shrinking. Yes, there may be fewer readers now than in the past but it’s not right that the habit of reading is on the wane. If it had been so then reading would not be big in the countries which are fast becoming economic giants. Look at India for instance, they have a huge reading market and the English fiction at present is a lot dependent on Indian born English writers. They win Booker’s and other prizes and the international recognition provides the motivation both for the writers and the readers alike.
   This year the boil mela is on but at the mela and in the national media there must be discussions regarding the social status of a writer. Humayun Ahmed is beyond any limits now but the writing scenario does no surround only one person. New writers must be encouraged too and sadly, we see that passionate young writers often have to spend their own money to publish their works. These books are hardly picked up and, in the end the work only remains as a printed pride for the disillusioned writer. Without any disrespect to the established writers, there must be efforts to provide some incentive to the new authors too and sometimes a well-known writer can do this. It would only increase his popularity and develop a sense of camaraderie and fellow feeling among the writing community.
   The standard norm of the common city person is to go to the boi mela, meet a few friends, sip some tea, chat a bit and the come back with a book not because it has to be read but because without a book, the journey is not fulfilled. And, naturally, when the book is just a part of an elaborate social phenomenon, it’s by an established writer. In the end we do not get new readers and new authors are just left in the dark. A great way to increase the number of readers is to introduce a boi mela top ten that cannot have more than one book by one single author. If this is done at the end of the mela then a lot of new writers will get a chance to take their writing ahead. On the other hand, taking students to the mela as part of an extracurricular activity may also increase the number of readers. To ensure that students read the books that they have bought, the system of a special test can be introduced. This exam, say having twenty marks, may be added to the main exams and that way, we will ensure new readers.
   The boi mela is there and one of the reasons behind it is of course financial but as we deal with making money from selling books, let’s not forget the role of books in shaping the ethical foundation of a nation. The mela is there to serve a purpose. It’s the reflection of a society which has not gone morally bankrupt and, so, apart from selling books and commercializing certain authors with the help of gadgets and publicity stunts, let’s try to use the mela to bring back reading as a past time.

My mother sweetly foils any attempts I make towards chivalry with her. Don’t get me wrong; she appreciates it when I hold the door open for her, or pull out her chair at dinner. She likes it when I hold her arm when we walk on the street. But that is the extent of what she will allow me to do for her. If I try to take the smaller piece of fish at lunch or the less ripe fruit from the basket, or the harder mattress when we travel, or attempt, however slyly, to provide her a better berth than me on this journey that we are taking together, she laughingly brushes my attempts away; as if magically, the bigger piece of fish ends up on my plate, the riper piece of fruit is handed to me, the more comfortable berth is given to me. My mother does not see anything she does or gives up for me as sacrifice. Neither do I, as I have accepted that even though I am two decades away from being a child, I am and will always be, her child. She is programmed, like all mothers, to ensure the safety and comfort of her child. This is the way it is and it sometimes blinds me with its beauty. The selfless love a mother feels for her child, and the need for the child to bask and grow in that love: this is beauty, unadulterated and born out of the mother carrying and protecting life that grows in her during her pregnancy. This is beauty that may sometimes be blemished by a mother’s struggle with her personal demons but that, nonetheless, provides succour to the child.
   Being my mother’s child, I have been the recipient of such beauty. Being the husband of my child’s mother, I have observed this beauty. But I was not content with that, for I also wanted to be the source of it. When my wife was pregnant with our son, I wanted to join the biological connection my wife had with my son. I believed that if I continued to mouth the words ‘we are pregnant’ that I could somehow insinuate myself into my wife’s and my yet-to-be-born son’s biological unit. I believed that if I slept every night with my hand on my wife’s pregnant belly and felt my son nudge his way around and explore his little universe, that I could somehow join in their silent conversations. I believed that I could come home after twelve to fifteen hour marathon runs on the partnership track at the firm that slowly shred my soul, pick up my new born son during the ‘arsenic’ hour (new parents will know what that is; the hours between 7 pm to bedtime when the little one’s howls can wake the dead), and expect to have the same calming effect on him as his mother. No, I was sorely disappointed. I realised that I could not, can not and will not be able to give my son what his mother gives him. I was rescued from my disappointment by a friend, a veteran of fatherhood with three tours of duty to his credit, who told me that I, father, have my place in my son’s world. I slowly discovered my place, my source of the beauty, not the blinding light that I had mistakenly sought, but as enduring. I now feel the magic of fatherhood, when my son now mimics me, wanting to be like his father in all things (‘I like spicy chicken because Baba likes spicy chicken’). I feel blessed that I also am my son’s pillar of strength, just like his mother, grandmothers, and all the other loved ones who surround him and provide him strength and guidance in his journey through life. I feel grateful that I too play a pivotal role in his growth into someday being a good man, a man whom he can be proud of.
   My random reflections on motherhood and fatherhood today came about from two painful stories that I came across while connecting to the world around me. A mother, denied the God-given right to see her child and drink in his love. A father, excluded from his child’s world and the honour of leading him down the righteous path. Like all stories that reek of brimstone, these too, I am sure, are partly based on moral and other justifications, and somewhat likely on resentments. The two individuals I am speaking about are folks who have written their own stories, and have made many an error in grammar and syntax in their writing. But should their mistakes, their fallibility, their flaws, deny them the love of their children? More importantly, should their imperfections deny their children the pillar of strength they are as mother? As father? I don’t believe so. Dear reader, in a world where many a father and mother are taking divergent paths on their journey and in many a family where such stories are being written and told, play your part in making sure the child gets to walk with both parents. Please, for the love of and in the best interests of the child. Please.