Last Saturday it was around 10:00a.m. I was done with washing my clothes. It was a cloudy day with gentle breeze kissing the cheeks. There were four books on my table; one among them was ‘Interpreter of Maladies’ (IoM) by Jhumpha Lahiri. Picking IoM (a book collection of short stories) to read, I looked for a calm place in my home but I had to escape to a park nearby. I could spot a Neem tree around one of the corners of the park which was void of noise but filled with good light and breeze of fresh air. Relaxing on the long bench under the tree I started reading the first story, told from the third-person perspective of the husband, deals with the disintegrating relationship of an Indian couple. The plot kept engaging. Left hand took the pleasure of holding the book and right hand was turning the pages. It was different for right hand which normally scrolls the mouse. Cerebrum collected the feedback from Iris manipulated and transmitted right neurotic signals to that palm that beautifully adjusted the book at a convenient angle and distance to the eye. My eyes had to adhere only to the book and one range of light in the park (or a room). It is still not clear why I am not able to keep correct brightness and contrast in my LCD monitors. Half an hour passed I was done with the first story, continuing with the second story my fingers were not able to flap the page, but my fingers willfully took a touch of saliva and managed to turn the page. Turning from one page to one page was like watching scene 1, scene 2, in movie hall But wondering whether I could get the same impact while vertically scrolling the pages. My hands were in no hurry to turn the pages, but hands will be in a hurry to scroll the mouse. In a way my patience is improved.
Children’s and parents were walking from the school nearby to their home via the park, reminded its lunch time. I had a delicious meal followed by a petite sleep. The brownish tinge in the vertical edges of the book indicated that it was half way through the book. In the evening it was raining heavily so could not escape. Guiling my granny I got her easy-chair for an hour and continued with the book. My sister passed a title Maharaja for me while she glimpsed my crossed legs heading to the ceiling. Placed a small request for Tea to my granny. While waiting for Tea, the cheeks felt a mild air, with a fragrance of bleached chlorine, while I was scrambling the vertical edges of the starched pages in the book. Leaning on the chair, the spinal cord was enjoying the trajectory of the chair, right hand served the tea to the lips and left palm continued to hold the book. Now I was reading a story about a NRI husband who was waiting for a couple of months for his Indian resident wife’s arrival from India in subsequent weeks. The plot triggered in me few Haiku poems and riddles about my sweet heart. Wrote it softly with a blunted pencil (blunt provided a soft touch) in the book, however I encrypted her name with an equivalent used in Medieval Era so that my siblings don’t decipher it. I guess my son while reading this book would ask me ‘Pappa did you meant Mom here?’ In lended books I could see people underlining their favorite sentence quotes, bracing the portion they liked very much in the lended. Long back I read a novel which was a collation of several chapters of a historic novel ‘Ponniyin Selvan’ (in Tamil) which was a series for five years in 1950s in a weekly magazine. This collated books (rare even in old book shops) carried pictures that are not available in books today and it carried short stories in the last page of each episode. Those short stories were bonus to us. It was 8pm now; my friend walked towards me, pulled the (IoM) book, read it for ten minutes and reserved the book for his train journey to Chennai in next couple of weeks.
After my dinner, I continued with book. Unequally spaced brownish tinged lines on the edges indicated that I am left with only a few pages in the book. Like Krishna laying on Adishesha I laid on the spread mat and started reading the book. I could see a kind fragrance leaf (called Marikozhundu in Tamil) preserved by my sister, Oh! This book has served as a herbarium. By 11pm I was done with the book, hence placed where my hand could reach comfortably and retired to bed. Next day morning I could see somebody has kept the book on the table. But I still have three books on my table to be returned to my friends in couple of weeks. These glimpses of the books on the table constantly drive from my cerebrum to create time for reading. Though my personal book rack is relatively small, it reminds me that there is lot more to read. When my friends come they pick a couple of them to their home. However if it had been in my desktop I doubt whether they would have had patience to dig into my personal folders and find an e-book. In Nai Sadak (A dedicated lane for old books in Chandni Chowk, Delhi) or Moor Market (in Chennai), when a long-wished book is found the excitement is unique. Or if I walk to my favorite book house HigginBothams, I can ramp on the rack of new arrivals to spot some good books. Using my index finger, I can pull the book from its top corner and read for while and decide to buy the book which normally wouldn’t go wrong. In HigginBothams and other book houses we could see many people of different ages looking out for books. As years pass we start to share our share our likings.
I am afraid that the fast growing eBooks would restrict people to home shells and chop them off from the society at libraries, book shops and book houses. It might change the way, just like the digital photographs have erased the charm of a carefully prepared album with photographs pasted. While viewing a photo album with your family and your children popping their head from the top we move to the days those photos were taken. But today digital albums tick you to rush the 500 snaps of one trip in one hour. So virtually we don’t get back to decade old trip at Shimla or Ooty. Similarly reading eBooks might not provide the same charm a bounded book provides. In my opinion receiving a closely covered envelope of the salary is a mush better a unique experience and spending paper money from your hands gives more satisfaction and completeness. However spending through a credit card doesn’t seem to fulfill our spending. The same is applicable for books too, every book in our shelf has a story, reminds the years in which we read the book, reminds you a friend to whom this book has to be returned and some of them carry few currency notes given by special persons in life. Even the stout Oxford Dictionary reminds you the heavy beatings you received from your sister on the head, when you teased her. Booking reading is not just reading, it is journey. Enjoy the journey.
