I guess I'm over my reading slump

One day I read 79 pages of a book. And then days go by when I don’t touch a single page. That’s my relationship with reading—very on and off. I’m guessing it’s the same for a lot of us.

I get bored easily. Especially when I try reading books on things like the history of money, or whatever “must-read” titles I hear my manager and other intellectual people recommend. How do I tell them that the best book I’ve ever read and truly enjoyed is The Godfather? Or Murakami?

Honestly, I didn’t even start reading properly until COVID. Before that, maybe I’d read a book or two here and there, but I wasn’t the “I grew up with my nose in a book” kind of kid. Most of my childhood, as far as I remember, was spent lying on the floor with a bowl of snacks, glued to the TV. I just waited for school or tuition to end so I could catch my favourite cartoon. That’s probably also how I ended up needing glasses.

Anyway, I’ve read a bunch of books since then—and even more unfinished ones. If you walked into my room and looked at my desk, you might think I’m someone who reads a lot. You might even assume I’m smart. Wrong. That’s the impression I’d like people to have. But only I know how fucking idiotic I am. Most of the books on my shelf are half-read, and yet I keep buying more. I don’t know why.

It had been a while since I read anything consistently. Until we started a book club at Zerodha. A bunch of us get together every Saturday, pick any book we want, read for two hours, and talk about it if we feel like. Sounds chill, right? Wrong again. I dreaded those two hours. In the beginning, I wanted to punch a wall. Sitting in one place and reading for two straight hours was painful. I’d find excuses to check my phone or let work distract me.

And to make it worse, the first book I picked was about Debt. People rave about it, but maybe I just don’t have the brain for that kind of thing. I couldn’t do it. I kept switching books every other week. Everyone around me had glowing things to say about their books—they remembered every detail. I, on the other hand, forgot the name of the author.

Then something changed. A few days ago, I picked up Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain, and I was hooked. I think it broke my reading slump.

For context, Bourdain was an American celebrity chef, author, and travel documentarian. I remember watching a YouTube clip of him in Vietnam. That was enough for me to give his memoir a shot.

What keeps me glued is how different the life of a chef is. People who work in kitchens aren’t 9-to-5 folks like you and me. They’re usually the misfits—rough around the edges, from tough backgrounds. The kitchen culture is intense. It’s full of chaos and curse words, but also precision and discipline. They cook, they clean, or sometimes don’t. But when it comes to food, they’re dead serious.

There’s this quote I loved:

“Your body is not a temple, it’s an amusement park. Enjoy the ride.”

In one chapter, he talks about how important consistency is in a kitchen. Line cooks—who are different from sous chefs (I didn’t know that either)—have to do the same thing, every day, without fail. It’s repetition at its finest. And it matters, because none of us want our favourite pasta or pizza to taste different every time. Bourdain even says he preferred hiring Ecuadorians over Italians for this role—because the former stuck to structure, while the latter liked doing things their own sweet way.

The book is full of wild anecdotes and behind-the-scenes stories about his life, his love for food, and how kitchens really work. It’s definitely worth a read. I hope I finish this one. :)

Oh, and I’m already halfway through another book I wanted to read for a long time—a gift from a very special friend. It’s What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Murakami. It’s unbelievably good. I’ll probably write about it next time.