Stunning. See for yourself. Shikha: I taught myself to read sometime just after my third birthday – snowed in by winterlong blizzards at my father’s Newfoundland, Canada American Naval air station. Ice forts and snowball fights: of course! but The Bobsey Twins beckoned during a not-so infrequent illness and then I found Mom’s Webster’s Unabridged which used to boost my little brother’s butt at table. No more adults telling me untruths about what a word did or meant. And reading forced me to write. My story. I loved yours. J Richards

Purple Pants

“There is no passion to be found in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living”

— Nelson Mandela

My parents tell me that since I was a little girl, ( and when I say little I mean ‘very little’ ) and was yet to learn how to read I coaxed them into reading storybooks after storybooks out loud just because I could not.

I mean what’s wrong in that? How can they deny me that. They brought me in this world, so the least they can do is to read me day after day, night after night. How difficult can that be.

It’s turns out very. But they still did it.

As I grew up the first thing I ever did was, I learnt to read. I have been told I never tore a single book in my younger days, not even…

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