My collection of books started with Enid Blyton's Bimbo and Topsy. I love Enid Blyton. Birthdays meant new books and sick days meant lots of pillows piled on my parents' bed, and my stock of ten-fifteen books arranged according to series by my side. I'm pretty sure I faked sick a couple of times, just so I could line up all the books and read all day-alone-in bed.

A couple of years back a friend told me that he only read non-fiction those days. I didn't get it: how does one not read fiction? Fastforward to now: and I have become that person. Most of my recent reading has been non-fiction: Hunter S. Thomson's Hells Angels, Amitav Ghosh's The Imam and the Indian, Thorstein Veblen's Theory of the Leissure Classes.

It's not as if I like fiction any less: I absolutely love it; but a lot of what I want to read more about now is generally in the non-fiction category. I guess I am prioritising non-fiction over fiction because I find it so much more exciting.