On Ruskin Bond

Ruskin: A fond Bond

A writer can invoke awe in the reader with his mastery and skills. A writer can enthrall the reader with his ability of creating images and characters. A writer can bind the reader in his watertight plot. A writer can arouse laughter in his readers with his humour and even, jokes. A writer can draw tears and convey his pain to his readers. Or, rarely, as Ruskin Bond does, a writer can make the heart grow fond – and fonder.

Reading Ruskin Bond is a relaxing experience. He is no Alistair Maclean who will set your pulse racing. Rather, he will sing you a lullaby. And in that lullaby you will discover a tune which you thought you had lost somewhere long ago. He is caring, with his stories, with the people in his stories. As you read, this deep care of his glows gently through. And you feel, you smell, you see beauty. Gentle, unspoilt, innocent beauty. A beauty in people which goes way deeper than the skin, a beauty in places that is heartfelt and even a beauty in human situations that is divine.

His pieces are sedatives that alleviate the pain of the mundane nature of our daily existence.However, he does not ease our pains by showing us glimpses of a glittering utopia. But he points out to us the beauty that we had failed to notice. Like a true poet, he flashes the torch inward and we discover ourselves anew. And we find treasures in our backyards.

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