Whenever I recall the young Mahmood, I recall it with a book wide opened in front of his moving eyes. He read and grew fast, not physically but mentally, and I have lost the picture of teenage Mahmood between a bunch of diverse portraits he made from himself
every now and then. Now you may call him an 'untypical adult', but I prefer 'late-child' or 'still-child' as you see. I can see him reading books, writing short stories and essays, looking at girls, walking along streets and wandering around in an absolute
wonder like a new born child. I know, when you take a glimpse at that unbearable moustache up there, you can't even imagine the truth behind these words, but beleive me, he is a child!
"Bea says that the art of reading is slowly dying, that it's an intimate ritual, that a book is a mirror that offers us only what we already carry inside us, that when we read, we do it with all our heart and mind, and great readers are becoming more scarce
by the day."