Books Are Like People: A Writer’s Reflection Across Culture

I was moved by reading Prakruti Maniar’s writing ‘Books are like People’, An article from the Purple Corner.That awakening of feelings occurred both as a reader and as a writer. What she's written is stunning, poetic, incisive, and deeply resonant. It captures the paradox of storytelling; the intimacy of self-revelation and the inevitable incompleteness of interpretation. I do agree with you Prakruti, profoundly. And here’s why,

The Writer’s Vulnerability and the Reader’s Hunger:

Writing as Self-Exposure Writers often give more of themselves than they realize. The “culture codes” she describes in those intimate, coded fragments, are the DNA of a writer’s soul. They’re not just literary devices; they’re emotional breadcrumbs. A dish mentioned in passing might be a portal to a childhood memory. A character’s silence might echo the author’s own grief. These details are not arbitrary, they’re confessions in disguise.

Here I would like to briefly explain what Prakruti means by cultural code. Culture codes are the hidden rules and mental patterns that shape how people from different cultures think, feel, and act. Though invisible, they strongly influence our language, behavior, and relationships. They’re embedded in language, the same word can mean different things across cultures. They guide behavior, how we speak, show respect, or express emotions depends on these codes.

For example, Western cultures often emphasize the self (“I”), while Bengali or Japanese cultures value humility and placing the self in the background.

In Prakruti’s writing, culture codes are explored not just as linguistic tools, but as deep philosophical and psychological forces that shape identity, sometimes helping us find ourselves, sometimes making us feel lost.

Since I myself am a writer living in a land far from my motherland, my native language Bengali, naturally becomes the primary medium of my expression. Even in the occasional pieces I write in English, subtle imprints of my cultural heritage inevitably surface. Sometimes these traces emerge deliberately, other times they slip in unconsciously. I once read a reflection by a philosophical writer whose name, regrettably, escapes me, that still resonates deeply. He suggested that no matter how far we travel, we remain irresistibly drawn to our origins. And from that pull, the cultural code quietly seeps into a writer’s work, shaping its tone, rhythm, and soul.

On the other hand the reader’s desire to know: readers, in turn, are greedy; not maliciously, but existentially. We want to understand, to connect, to decode. We read not just to be entertained, but to feel less alone. And so we search for meaning, for clues, for the author behind the curtain. But no matter how many times we reread, we only ever get fragments. The full truth remains elusive, like trying to reconstruct a person from their shadow.

The Half-Told Story and the Masks We Wear:

Multiplicity of Identity: Every person is a mosaic of selves–public, private, aspirational, and wounded. Writers channel themselves into their work, but never all at once. Even autobiographical writing is curated. There’s always something withheld, whether consciously or subconsciously. That’s not deception, it’s human nature.

Art as a Mask and a Mirror: Art allows us to reveal and conceal simultaneously. A writer might write about heartbreak through a fictional character, or explore their cultural identity through allegory. The reader sees the reflection but not the face. And that’s the triumph of art, it allows for both connection and mystery.

Reading Beyond the Familiar: A Cultural Expansion—

Empathy Through Literature, When we read stories from cultures, identities, and experiences different from our own, we expand our emotional and intellectual vocabulary. We learn new “culture codes.” We begin to understand the nuances of grief in another language, the rhythm of joy in another tradition, the weight of silence in another history.

The Beauty of the Unfamiliar: Reading beyond the familiar isn’t just educational, it’s transformative. It teaches us that there are infinite ways to be human. And while we may never fully understand another person or culture, the attempt itself is an act of love.

The Incomplete Puzzle: Why Does It Matters?

Tragedy, Greed, Triumph: You’ve beautifully framed the dynamic—Tragedy of the writer: They bleed, but are never fully seen. Greed of the reader: They want more than the writer can give. Triumph of art: It bridges the gap, even if imperfectly. This tension is what makes literature eternal. Every book is a conversation between two incomplete beings, the writer and the reader; trying to understand each other across time and space.

And so, inspired by Prakruti Maniar’s poetic essay “Books Are Like People,” this reflection has become my own quiet dance between writer and reader, self and story, homeland and adopted tongue.

The image was created by AI.