Reading Aloud

A lost art that deserves revival.

- Dr Ritu Kamra Kumar

The other day, I happened to visit a colleague's place. As we sat together and chatted, I could hear her son reciting tables to his grandfather—a ritual we performed every morning in our childhood. When I asked her how she inculcated this habit in him, she said, “It’s his grandfather who makes him read aloud, and he loves it too.”

I felt like I was revisiting my childhood. “One two are two. Two twos are four...” Our parents always encouraged us to read aloud. The voice still rings in my ears—the rhythm, tone, intonation, and the memory of me moving around in the courtyard while reciting—all remain intact. These sounds echoed through the whole house every morning, the vivacious and veritable sounds of learning and studying.

As we got ready, our father, flipping through the pages of the newspaper, asked us to recite Tagore’s Where the Mind is Without Fear, and the record player fitted in our memory box played at once, stopping at the last line: “Into that heaven of freedom, let my country awake.” A pat on the back, and then it was the turn of photosynthesis.