Last year I’d read the least number of books. I struggled with finishing the books I had begun. When I did immerse myself in Hisham Matar’s A Month in Siena, which I bought during my trip to Napoli in October, I felt awe and envy at the tenderness and emotional depth the author weaves into the act of looking at art, how effortlessly he seemed to convey the political nature of his gaze. In a way, it prompted me to finish my own book, which had been sitting in that cardboard box. Once I sent the relevant emails to publishers, I felt a sense of unhinged relief; a lightness that I had forgotten about. Something akin to when you immerse yourself in spring cleaning for a few days, even a week, and then, when it’s done, you feel a satisfaction that is hard to convey. Because your apartment is not just superficially tidy; it is organised from within, in an intestinal way, if that makes sense. You have unclogged dusty ducts, you have deep-cleaned layers of oil near the kitchen ceiling, you have attended to the nooks and crannies that are otherwise abandoned. A calmness takes over and you feel like you can think again, breathe again, live again, as if you have created space for many more little joys to accrue.

That’s how I’ve been feeling these days. I’ve been walking on air, and despite the sagging tiredness that is a feature of the final trimester, I feel rejuvenated. Early this week I spent time ordering a fresh set of books to read, titles either recommended by others or those that have been on my wish list for a while. It is a small luxury to be able to not convert European book prices into rupees; something that kept me off buying new literary purchases when I first moved here. It is incredible how much cheaper it is to buy books in India, even if you have to import them via Amazon. Over here, an average book costs between 15 to 20 Euros. But given the paucity of English-language bookstores or bookstores that even host a shelf with books in English, I end up relying on pirate libraries for my intellectual resources. As a lecturer at the university, I am lucky to have access to the in-house library as well as an exhaustive range of online resources. But I belong to that generation of millennials that still prefers the materiality of a physical book. I chose not to buy on Amazon, because this year is dedicated to making as many consciously anti-capitalist decisions as is logistically possible. It means my wait time is more than a week, but I get to revel in the sense of anticipation.