Sherlock Holmes

I think Sherlock Holmes is the finest fictional character created – his razor sharp intellect, his ability to reason logically – connect the dots as it were – and his erudition would have made him a fantastic CEO of a software company.

No points for guessing what my profession is – the above para is a give-away but seriously when I speak to audiences of students and young / fresh graduates entering into the professional world, I always advice them to read fiction. Kotler and Peters is essential – nay we cannot do without such evolved thinking – but fiction is important in a differnt manner. While structured management teaches you to think logically, fiction teaches you lateral thinking – Sorry Mr de Bono – I just figured out an easier way for lateral thinking :-). Also, one lets the imagination sore while reading fiction which makes it easier to comprehend complex thoughts and drill them into easy actionable items.

At the top of the heap for quality fiction comes Doyle and Wodehouse, two authors who are amazing when it comes to evoking the subconscious mind to think & imagine – one with a rare precision and thrift in using words and the other with a rare ability to define terminologies and descriptions with a sweep and swrve of the language. Brilliant Stuff both.

Its pretty interesting how my passion for Holmes evolved but I can remember a late evening one cold wintry morning in a small town in North India called Bareilly where my father was then working and I was, by consequence, studying – in a rather good English Medium Convent school. I had just finished my last Hardy Boys’ novel to which I was addicted when I was 12 years old and asked my father if he could recommend me something in similar lines – I actually recollect complaining that only 50 odd Hardy Boys books are available in my school library and I managed to complete the lot. My father didnt bat an eyelid – ‘well ask your librarian for Doyle, I think you could now graduate to reading something more serious.’ Well off I went the next day to the librarian and asked her – a grumpy old lady, with short white frizzled hair wearing reading glasses with the irritating habit of looking at short boys like me from under the glasses. On this occasion, she actually took off her glasses as if to see me better and asked, ‘What?’ ‘Well, my father reckoned that Doyle is a good writer and its time I gradudated to something serious’.
‘Well, you can find a collection out there in corner to your left’, she said.

Thats how I found Doyle – the first book I found in the top left corner of the shelf was ‘The White Company’. I got the book signed out ( a hefty one I thought) and went home. I tried reading it on the way home in the school bus, at home on my sofa and even on my reading table. I just could not understand what was happening – it seemed to be very slow and to top it all meandered into an era of knights and warriors – I was never one for history in those days and a couple of hours down the book I was still not able to figure what my father saw in this ‘Doyle’ – my confidence in my old man was seriously threatened.

My father came home a little late in the evening and the first thing I did was accost him in the driveway and showed him the book – ‘well are you sure this was the cap you recommended I read??’ My father looked at the label, frowned & said – ‘well yes and no. You need to ask for Doyle and then say “Sherlock Holmes”. This is pretty much too slow for you at this stage.’

I heaved a sigh of relief with my faith in my old man restored.

The next day I was at the library again and this time the librarian actually gave me a smile and handed over a book which was lying at her side – evidently just been deposited back by someone. It was labelled ‘Sherlock Holmes’ in bold gothic across the top of the cover, ‘The Valley of Fear’ written in bold blue on a gray background with ‘Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’ bringing the bottom of the cover. It was thin – a couple of hundred pages and felt good to touch – unlike White Company.

I began reading the book almost as soon as I was in the bus and by the time I reached home and had my evening meal & lounged a fair bit, I had completed the book – in one sitting of about 3 hours…absolutely unputdownable stuff.

I went off to play in the evening with my friends & when I return I see my father sitting on the garden chair at the entrance to the house, his coat lying careless on one chair, his briefcase on another…immersed in the Valley of Fear. Even my mother, who was inside the house hadn’t realised he was back home – he had finished almost half the book by the time I got back…sheer passion and interest in reading…well, can anyone be surprised that Holmes became a passion for me too?