I remember the wonderful Russian physics and math books that I found one summer (after 7th grade?) in the Hyderabad house. There was one I particularly treasured, written in a "how things work" style in two volumes -- all the physics I would learn at school shortly after, but so much deeper and motivated. Then there was a book on Euclidean geometry (I think that was the first time I learned the word "Euclidean"), with delightful observations at a level of detail and comprehensiveness I didn't think was possible in the adult world. And another one with household experiments on mechanics and optics -- I remember entertaining myself many days that summer trying them out. It was always slightly surprising that they worked. I also found some British science books, but they were much drier than the Russian ones: tedious lists of proofs and exercises.

In contrast, I was puzzled by all of the Russian fiction and poetry I came across, which I think was restricted to some Dostoevsky and a collection of Pushkin. They were incomprehensible, and not in the same way that English literature that I didn't understand was. In the latter case, at least I glimpsed that something might be considered good even if I didn't know why.

I remember that I had some Russian picture books earlier when I first started reading (they were abundant in book sales at the time). Lots of Tsars and characters named Ivan. There was one story where the mother tells her child that if she was good, she'd buy her a kerchief. I assumed it referred to handkerchiefs, and thought it was a sad reward -- handkerchiefs were the most utilitarian objects, and I guessed they were cheap because you could buy them from vendors on the street in packs of 3. It made me wonder if Russia was terribly poor.