The Lost Ritual of Reading

In a world of glowing screens and endless scrolling, the old companionship of books is slipping away. What happens to us when we lose it?

- Dr. Gazanfar Abass

I never thought I would see the day when a child would choose a screen over a storybook.

But that day is here. It is in cafés and classrooms, in parks and living rooms. Wherever you look, heads are bent. Not over pages, but over phones.

The soft rustle of turning paper has been replaced by the sharp taps of scrolling thumbs. The scent of ink and worn leather, the small joy of folding a page to return to later—these are becoming rare.

Sometimes I wonder if we notice what we are losing. We have built a life where every room is lit by the soft blue glow of screens. Questions that once sent us to libraries now get answered in seconds. There is something wonderful about this, something fast and clever. What used to take days now takes minutes.

But in the rush, something else has slipped away. The book waits for no one’s attention. It does not blink or buzz. It simply waits, resting in corners and shelves, until we choose to return.