I love reading, but I'm happy if my son doesn't want to

When I was a child, I read. And read. I had friends - a few, who also read. For birthdays, I asked for gifts - of books. I did well at academics, because I was quite happy to, yes, read and re-read, even if it was the social studies text. My essays were read out in class and my parents were told that I had a gift of writing (not difficult in places like Sri Ganganagar).

I had managed to mop up some vocabulary (not very much, but seemingly a lot since most of my peers came from Hindi-speaking homes). Also, I had managed to copy a stylish flourish or two from the books I read. I was hailed as "a good child".

Now take my son. He will not touch a book unless it is the biography or autobiography of a sportsperson. So he reads about, er, one book a year. I suspect the reason he does not invest much in his studies is because he dislikes reading (he likes maths-it sort of adds up).

From the time he was 2, he has been bowling to a pretend-wicket on his cupboard door-patiently, for hours together. But no, he has no patience with books, unless you can classify Captain Underpants and his antics as reading material.

Now like any mother who has decided to sit at home and be "a good mother", I read a great deal to my son. We did books with pop-ups, books with touch-and-feel elements, my-first-word books, "counting books", books in the bath, books in the park, hell, we even carried a book in my handbag along with diapers, just in case. But somehow, he never took to reading. And somehow, I have never felt a twinge of sadness. Here's why.

Reading is a solitary activity. I believe, in my own case, it was the 1980s equivalent of the mobile phone. Since I wasn't the most outgoing child in the world, I used it as a sort of security blanket. Make no mistake - I loved reading, but it turned me inwards, so I didn't need to make social contact.

I had long, silent conversations with myself, playing out dialogue between two characters in my mind, visualising scenery of places I had never seen, imaging what a dining table with scones with melting butter, bread and strawberry jam, and tea, looked like.

All this is a great cauldron for what is generally termed "creativity" - especially since I write for a living now. But in school, since I was always reading, people (adults) saw me as perfect. They had no idea of the turmoil, the almost-satanic ideas that were racing, tumbling, churning in my mind. Reading allowed me to stay inside of myself.

My argument is this: often reading is associated with all that is good, as a reflection of the person society wants you to be-quiet. Reading is associated with being patient and nice; the non-reader, something of a delinquent. A book is welcome anywhere; not a football. You'd never expect a teacher to ever say, "Why on earth are you reading a book instead of being on time for class."

But she will often say, "Why on earth are you out playing football when you should be in class."

Reading is quiet, disciplined. It has none of the show-off value of soccer shoes or shiny Nike shin guards, or the flamboyance of the shake of Neymar's hair, or the audacity of six sixes in an over.

And so, naturally, the powers-that-be (parents, teachers) prefer a child who reads to one who shines on the football field. How easy it is to 'tame' people who simply sit down to read a book.

And how difficult to "control" someone who'd rather be bouncing a ball and expressing all kinds of kinesthetic behavior that is so difficult to clean up after (the broken chair, the glass bottles). How uncomfortable for teachers to account for injuries in school.

So yes, it's just more convenient to have your child read. I will, no doubt, have the smug mother turn around to tell me that her child both reads and plays soccer. Perhaps. But what is it he/she prefers? Racing down that track or sitting on a step and reading, oblivious to the fact that night is falling and the verandah light is not on?

Or is he/she reading because of a kind of guilt we thrust on non-readers?

My son will possibly never know the wonder of sitting in a bookshop for hours, or reading a book at a café. He will long for company at the table, wondering what on earth he will do besides eat a club sandwich.

But he will know the ease of waking up at the crack of dawn to call a friend (actually many friends-the more the merrier) to play a game of cricket.

And yes, this may result in a broken window or two, it may also result in adults who want to play badminton complaining to you that your child is "hogging" the court, or that he "struts around", because he stands tall with the confidence of playing a sport.

But that's what you'll get if your child looks outwards more than inwards, is more physical than cerebral.

I don't for a minute wish for the children who love to read to stop, or for parents to cease buying books for their kids, or even for bookshops to close down or Amazon to go bankrupt.

Nor do I wish that the wonder of characters and scenery and food alien to our culture remain unexplored through books, bringing alive the mind and the imagination. But do I think my child is missing out?

No. Because he has a mind, an opinion, not necessarily formed by reading, but by listening, talking, interacting with the real world, being more a part of a group (multiple groups) than I ever was.

And so all I wish for is for people to stop glorifying reading as if it's the holy grail of learning, of education, of knowledge, of a hobby, of a great mind. As if it's some religion that if your child doesn't convert to, is doomed for life.

Not reading must not be classified as some kind of "disability", but just a difference of interest - really, a difference of opinion. Can we deal with that?