Re-Reading The Hungry Tide: Revisiting A Childhood Favourite Across Growing Years

 

I started re-reading The Hungry Tide.

The last time I read it, I was in school: a young adolescent, brimming with dreams. Today, I’m a grumpy 35-year-old, trying to find a purpose in life. Yet, the book has lived on in my consciousness all this while. When I first read it, I was filled with pure wonderment. I clearly remember it was summer vacation—time for our usual family trip to my aunt’s in Jamshedpur. The long train journey seemed the perfect time to start a new book, the thrill of embarking on a new adventure matching the exact rhythm of the galloping train.

As I glided over the pages, while stations, villages, and telephone poles swept past my window, I was transported entirely to the world of the tide country. I had amassed half of my vocabulary from this book alone. The impact of the story was such that it quickly became one of my absolute favourites. It came into my life at a time when the world was full of possibilities, teaching me to imagine the world as a thriving, living entity. It made me believe in the power of stories, the enchantment of distant lands, and the charm of a consciousness entirely separate from the mundane reality we existed in.

That world has lived in me ever since. It forced me to look at the universe differently—to still find meaning in a world seemingly devoid of it, and to discover inner joy in a time of extreme disillusionment. Much later, at a literary meet, when I met Amitav Ghosh and luckily landed his autograph in this very copy, I was trembling with gratitude. How could I even explain what he had offered me through his words? I could only sheepishly ask if I could touch his feet, a gesture he uncomfortably but politely refused.

Today, as I read the book again, memories flood my mind. I feel the exact same excitement as before. It is the pure, quiet joy of reading itself—the gentle assurance of words that meant exactly what they said, offering the beacon of a new world.

There are promises to keep tomorrow. Of tasks to finish. Of chasing after an auto. Of attending calls.

Life isn't a train journey anymore.

But I continue reading, for now.