Remember
this? A library card that was stamped with the date, on the day the book was borrowed. The
popularity of the book was judged by the number of times it was borrowed.
I
remember those days when I was more regular at the libraries than in the
classrooms. I was allowed to borrow four books from British Library, which was located
in South Mumbai. The books were heavy but it did not deter me from carrying
that weight. The monthly trips to the library were quite tedious. There were no
auto rickshaws in those days, hiring a taxi was out of question; there was no
direct route by bus. I used to walk (a good 15 minutes) with that heavy weight
from my house to Bandra stations, then a local train ride of 30 minutes from
Bandra to Churchgate, and then another walk for 30 minutes to Nariman point,
where the library was located. I marvel at my energy quotient at that time. Auto Rickshaws have made me lazy, I think.
The
reward after this tedious journey was an entry into an air-conditioned room
full of books and magazine.
Rows and
rows of books, categorized according to their subject and titles, found their
place on the shelf. We could search the book either by going from shelf to
shelf or go through the categorized cards that had list of all the books.
Spending
a day at the British library was an outing by itself. I used to spend all hours,
watching documentary films, reading magazines and then borrowing books. Silence
was maintained that allowed us to concentrate on reading. Many times I used to
be distracted by young couples, playing footsies while reading, an uneasy distraction perhaps.
Internet
had not yet made its entry into my world and I depended on books and magazines
for an inspiration to write. Not that I wrote much, but it gave me immense
pleasure to read at leisure and be in my own sphere.
I loved
being surrounded by books. It was like sitting in the middle of boat where
stories are doing their rounds. The words floated in the air, silently attached
to each other by series of hyphens. Even during my travels, I looked for a library to
spend few moments of peace.
I dreamt
of owning a library of my own and had even started a collection, but life took
too many turns, the migration to different countries made it impossible for me to
carry my heavy books with me. Heart bled as I distributed my books away before
moving. Most of my books have not come back, I am not sure if they are safe in
their adopted homes.
Books
have a life of their own, their own fragrance, and texture that cannot be
compromised by e-books. The few books that are left with me are the feast for
my eyes.
