I have a soft spot for people who read books. They exude this worldly wisdom, like they’ve cracked the code of life. Plus, they’re never truly alone—no matter how chaotic their world gets, they’ve always got a book as their loyal sidekick.

My Nani was one of those die-hard bookworms, forever clutching a book, newspaper, or magazine like it was a lifeline.

My first book, “Thhakurma’r Jhuli,” was a gift from her. Unfortunately, I managed to lose that precious copy—a blunder I still cringe about. Maybe it’s in her honor, or maybe it’s just the years of guilt gnawing at me, but I recently bought myself a fresh copy.

That was the spark. Since then, books have become my steady companions. They give me depth, perspective on life, a touch of empathy, and the humbling realization that I actually know very little. Reading brings me joy; it makes me feel… human.