I do not remember when it was that I read my first novel or which book it was. I know for sure it was a Bengali book written by a Bengali author (as I’m from Bangladesh). As far back as I can remember, I’ve seen my mother with a book in hand practically all the time, unless she was cooking or sewing dresses for me, or sleeping! I’m sure I picked up my reading habits from her. I had no siblings, nor many friends growing up; so books were more or less my sole companions. I loved reading, and read without any distinction. Back then, there were neither good books nor bad books. They were just books — my friends — and I loved them all equally, so much so that I had finished all of the books in my mother’s collection by the age of 10. Simply put, I was addicted to reading. Continue reading →