There is a story my Mamma likes to tell. I suppose she considers it one of her finer parenting moments. I couldn’t have been more than three years old when she came across a book called The Ugly Duckling. She wanted to buy it for me, but my Dad (as Indian dads sometimes do) protested—on account of the fact that I would just tear it up. He was right—the book lasted two days in my little, destructive hands. Mamma said she didn’t care, though—she thought it was more important for me to get familiar with the feel of books.
What can I say? The woman was on to something.
Over the years, my relationship with reading would evolve. I went from someone who loved reading to someone who hadn’t picked up a book in years. I also discovered new loves—I sought out art in all its creative expressions: drama, dance, music, painting, sculpture, movies, and TV.
In 2026, I resolved to return to reading more intentionally. But I also promised myself that I would be more thoughtful about how I consume art—to reflect on how it leaves me, to how it meets me, and to savour the taste it leaves in my soul.
So, welcome to the Athenaeum. We are all wanderers here—find a book, a canvas, a dance floor, or a couch.
We explore the best parts of who we are here.
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And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love: these are what we stay alive for.
Tom Schulman, Dead Poets Society
The Big Smokey Apple 