A page-turning episode
We learn from our past but we repeat our mistakes in the future. When we look back, we tend to glorify the nice moments and amplify the bad ones. Nonetheless, time is best understood when it has left the shore; the waves of experience washing back and forth aimlessly. If you are on the wrong side of conscience, you’ll never be able to forgive yourself for your mistakes. Similarly, if you’re on the right side, you’ll enjoy the view of life.
In all probability, we are alive for the sole purpose of embracing humility. Our experiences are basically a facade to make us accept the fact that we will neither be able to figure it out nor make it in the end. All the libraries in the world point us towards introspection. We need to peek inside for a change. That’s what the prophets said too. Even Beyoncé hinted the same in one of her chartbusters. Which makes it officially true.
Which brings us to the books and the libraries. It’s a given that humans can’t do without books. Even if you are an illiterate, you are bound by the tenets of pages. There is no escape. All the laws in all the cities were written somewhere and stored. The codes change but the values remain unburnt between the lines. Which brings us the libraries. Yes, those fascinating places of wonder where silence is encouraged for your own good. If only more kids went to libraries and smelt the air filled with literal aroma! Every time I meet a youngster, I ask whether s/he has been to a library and if yes, when was the last time. The answers are usually in negative. Unsurprisingly, of course.
My first job on paper is business transcriber but in truth, it was being a caretaker of a rundown “library” in Laxmi Market, close to Chembur flyover, that lent books to card members. I was 11 when I joined and 14 when I left and was completely overwhelmed by the sheer amount of books at my disposal. A whole new world introduced itself to me. From Tinkle Digests to Amar Chitra Katha to Hardy Boys to DC Comics to Archie to autobiographies of idolsome cricketers to Britannica Encyclopedia to everythingelseintheworldthatmattered. Although it was a tiny shop, it crossed several dimensions. I never liked fiction back then. I don’t like reading it now either. For some OCDic reason, my favourite bit there was cleaning and arranging the books on shelves. And my most favourite part of the job was going through the old piles stacked across the attic-like space above the shop. In hindsight, I don’t think it was a profitable venture for Mr. Kotian, the owner of the place and a friend of my dad’s, but I guess he liked the idea of owning a book-related something. The usual practice was to return one book and borrow another at a nominal charge ranging between ₹15 and ₹50. Sometimes, members would borrow a book and not return it on time. I used to maintain a log for such reprobates and fine them ₹3 whenever they bothered to show up again.
One afternoon, an old gentleman visited the library and said he came to return a book he took 8 or 9 years ago. I told him that I don’t have his record on my log. He said it’s OK because he was one of the earliest patrons. I received the book, made a fresh entry on the latecomer list and told him that he had to pay a penalty. He chuckled and paid three coins. I don’t remember the title of the book he returned but I do remember that he didn’t borrow another book.
I genuinely believe that moment was the beginning of the ending of library.
