By Rujvi Kamat
The summer holidays were drawing to an end.That vacation had been quite uneventful and I remember that I had devoured about 50 - 60 mystery books in those holidays. I had decided to take a break from Shakespeare, Milton and Ernest Hemingway, which we had to study in school and instead I began reading mystery novels.
The Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys, Sherlock Holmes series and Agatha Christi's novels had become my staple diet that vacation. Finally, I became totally addicted to them; I began to sense mysteries. For example, when I found the cake, that had been baked few days ago, had disappeared, I began looking for clues and began interrogating everyone in the house.
At first my parents were amused but when I began turning to a sleuth too frequently, they were, needless to say, quite irritated and warned me of dire consequences if I didn't end this sleuthing business at once. So I began day dreaming about being a sleuth and fantasised about being as great and famous as my idol Hercule Poirot.
But I got lucky and just when a few days were left for school to reopen. I had a little adventure. It all happened like this.
My parents ordered me not to read any more mystery books and I tried obeying their instructions. The books on my shelf tempted me and beckoned to me, but I already knew them by heart, from cover to cover.
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