NEHA SHARMA
There was a time when people carried books the way we now have phones. A chapter during lunch, a few pages before bed, or a quiet hour on a Sunday afternoon, it was a part of everyday life. These moments didn’t feel like effort; they were just there, tucked into the day.
Now, things feel different. Mornings start with screens. Eyes jump from one notification to another. Most days, it’s hard to focus on anything longer than a message. Somewhere in all this, reading started slipping away. Not because people stopped loving stories, but because there was no space left for them. And yet, reading hasn’t vanished. It’s just waiting quietly to be welcomed back.
A novel lay by the bedside. A story was read between free periods in school. Books were shared, scribbled in, and gifted during goodbyes. Now, even finishing a whole paragraph feels difficult. Attention drifts. The habit of sitting with a book without checking a phone has become rare. It wasn’t too long ago that reading was part of everyday life. Books were passed around, kept beside pillows, read under desks during free classes, and gifted during farewells. Now, our days begin and end with screens. Most people can barely make it through a paragraph without checking their phone. Attention is fragmented, and reading feels too slow for today’s pace.
But lately, something is shifting. More people are picking up books again, not for school or career, but for themselves. Perhaps it’s because screens have worn us out. There’s only so much the mind can take when it’s always reacting, tapping, and liking. Unlike that, books ask nothing. They sit quietly. They wait. Across Jammu & Kashmir, this shift can be felt. In public transportation, parks, cafes, and even among students between lectures, books are making a comeback. People are not talking about it loudly, but it’s visible to those who notice. This return isn’t about romanticising the past. It’s about something real and present. Books offer fast content a way to pause and process moments where you’re not being pulled in ten directions. Reading slows things down. It allows for silence. And in that silence, something inside us settles. Many young people are turning to books as a means to understand the world in a different way. They aren’t only reading fiction. They’re exploring personal essays, travel narratives, life stories, and ideas about identity, purpose, and change. There’s also a growing interest in regional writing stories rooted in everyday Indian life, rather than polished for a Western audience. This is heartening, especially in a place like Jammu & Kashmir where language and culture run deep.
Parents, too, are returning to books, not just for their children, but for themselves. After long workdays, a quiet chapter offers something far more nourishing than a mindless scroll. Many have begun reading at night again, even if it’s just a few pages. For younger kids, bedtime reading is making a comeback. It’s not always perfect or regular, but the intention is there.
One question that often comes up is: what should someone read if they’ve lost touch with books? The answer is simpler than most think. Start with what genuinely interests you. Not what everyone else is reading. Not what the bestseller lists recommend. Pick something that speaks to where you are in life right now something that stirs curiosity or comfort. It could be a short story, a memoir, a book about a topic you’ve always found interesting. The goal isn’t to finish fast or read a lot. The goal is just to begin again, slowly. For beginners, short reads help. Something with chapters that stand on their own. A book that doesn’t overwhelm with heavy language. Many readers find that once they build the habit again, their taste and confidence grow naturally. There’s no rush. Reading is also changing the way people communicate. Educators and trainers are noticing how those who read more speak more clearly, write with better rhythm, and listen with more patience. It’s not just about vocabulary. It’s about attention. Reading teaches how to follow a thought from beginning to end. That skill is rare these days, but deeply valuable.
There’s another side to this. Reading is also becoming a kind of emotional anchor for many. After the pandemic, mental health became a bigger conversation. Books, in their quiet way, have helped. They offer a safe escape. They bring new perspectives. For some, they bring healing.
Stories can serve as soft mirrors. They reflect emotions that feel too messy to name. A character’s struggle can make a reader feel less alone. For this reason, many therapists and counsellors today recommend reading not just as a pastime, but as a tool to manage stress, grief, and anxiety. This approach, often called bibliotherapy, is not new, but it is being rediscovered with fresh relevance.
In places like Jammu & Kashmir, where life is a blend of tradition and change, books are becoming a meeting place for both. Young people, especially, are trying to hold on to language and culture while also exploring ideas from across the world. Books give that space. They are windows and mirrors, depending on what one is looking for. What’s even more interesting is that this return to reading isn’t always solitary. Slowly, people are beginning to read together again. Not in formal settings, but in circles of comfort, friends sharing books, parents reading with children, or small reading groups gathering over the weekend. Teachers and parents also have a role to play here. Creating small reading corners at home or school, setting aside just ten minutes a day, and giving children the freedom to choose their books can go a long way. The act of reading doesn’t need to feel like homework. It needs to feel like discovery. A few minutes of shared reading every day can build habits that last a lifetime.
One such space that has quietly taken shape is the Jammu Book Club, started by a group called
That Lazy Cinephile. It isn’t about literary debates or expert opinions. It’s simply a space where people come together to talk about what they’re reading. Some bring novels, others bring poetry, and a few just come to listen. There’s no pressure, no rules just people, pages, and honest conversation. In a world that often rewards noise, such spaces feel quietly powerful. The return of reading may not make headlines, but it is slowly rebuilding something lost a culture of thoughtfulness. It’s not about resisting technology but about restoring balance. And if more people start choosing to spend even ten minutes a day with a book, the effect won’t just be personal. It will be collective. Reading teaches how to sit with silence, how to question, and how to imagine. In times like these, that might be more revolutionary than it seems. |
