Joy over Doubt

Sometimes I think my hopeless devotion for bound books has become questionable. Sometimes. In all these summers spent, alone and in the company of close ones, I never thought that could be a possibility. Yet, here I am, with a slight doubt about this devotion which has been with me for more than a quarter of a century. I sit down and wonder what could have brought such unforeseen irony.
I spent my life as a teen reading classics and drowned myself in the world where words arose emotion, where words explained everything I have ever wished to wish. And just about when teen life reached its zenith, those same words introduced a desire to know the manifold possibilities of how life itself can be manipulated, and how events past can be written to follow desires and perspectives. It brought a realisation that the saying ‘knowledge is power’ has a predecessor, words create power. Bold statement. Today, I still find myself in the hope that I would master this power. I have been so involved with it. At times, I’d miss so many important and interesting things around me because of these bound companions. It made so many things meaningful. Yet, somehow I realised something in the recent times had found a loop in this addiction. I shudder to ponder. At the same time it is too exciting to be wilfully ignored.
Here I am enlightened by the sudden discovery of the ray of doubt over my passion. The welcoming world of fatherhood. This new turn of event has breached my hopeless devotion to books, and has pervaded all my thoughts. Though I have yearned to master words for my own advantage, I declare in all honesty, that they fail to describe what I would be for the coming days of my life, a dad.