Lending books is not my business

Recently I lent a book to a friend who is not so much into reading and books like the bibliophile in me, but nevertheless was interested by the theme of that little piece of non-fiction that shone like a pearl in my hands, credits it’s flawlessly designed cover and the immaculate white color which covered most part of it.

DON'T TRY THIS WITH MY BOOKS

So, feeling like I am on a mission to spread knowledge and provide everyone with the book that suits them, while hoping that they shall also one day appreciate the habit of reading, the power of literature et al. Alas! this idealistic vision of mine turned out to be too utopian to be true, and refuted all my noble anticipations in the cruelest way possible.

Okay, so I had heard this enough number of times to get it etched into my memory that borrowed books are seldom returned. But considering the stickler that I am when it comes to my prized possessions, I was sure that this won't be the case, and that I shall be getting my book back as soon as my friend is done with the task at hand

So I was confident that what is mine shall come back to me, and I shall personally and keenly see to it that it does!

UNDERSTAND?

However, what I was not prepared for was this: receiving the book back after dispatching incessant reminders, occasionally hinting that I crave to see my baby back, commenting how borrowing is not a very noble deed (in an entirely different context, of course), and making a hell lot of excuses to make the urgency to have the book back sound genuine. No that’s not it: receiving it in a torn condition, so tainted and coal-resembling that I had to actually remember what its cover page looked like before this misfortune befell me. *sigh* 

And you know that thin layer of plastic which shields a book from potent dangers like the dirty hands, uncontrolled pens of careless people? That was gone too.

And I am not exaggerating (except that comparison to coal).

Book lovers out there, you know that feeling, right? It elicits a reaction similar to this

 

followed by sobbing...

Now I have decided, that no matter how weird or annoying I may sound, I am always going to launch into this didactic instruction list prior to lending a book to a person who is not as fervent a bibliophile as me!

1)      Books are for reading, you may at the most devour them and chew them and digest them, (in case you took Francis bacon just too literally), but they don’t have a digestive system. So kindly keep your pickles and cheetos-soiled fingers away (gosh! You still eat them? anyways, my book doesn’t, so mind the distance)

2)      Oh, and my book doesn’t have any immune system to make sure that it doesn’t get ill by the dust. And there are other functional reasons as well for providing that transparent plastic foil-cover. So if you ever feel like rolling your fingers with my book in your hand, make sure you have a stapler/punching machine to put your mischievous little fingers into, and end it once and for all.

3)      I guess you get real confused when its time to bathe, because you bathe my book instead of yourselves! Don’t worry my book wont ever emit the foul smell that you do.

4)      Gain all knowledge that you can, this is going to be the only time I am gonna lend you my book, never again, because I won't like to mar the beauty of my library.

(especially after seeing how badly you have thumbed it at the edges, giving it a look of a old book straight rescued from termites).

IF YOU DON'T LEARN HOW TO READ!

 Trust me, I am sure of that.

TANGIBLE AND LOVABLE

While the war of ebooks versus physical copies continues unabated, here's a short story that reflects upon the issue in an entertaining, yet emotional light

As I sit beside my window, with Anna Karenina resting on my lap, the sunrays bake me in their scorching heat. Within moments, I turn away to glance at my bookshelves. Just five years back, the shelves, which now cry for want of space, scarcely harboured not more than twenty books. But that was five years back. Much has changed. Transmogrified, like quite.

As I steadfastedly behold my own envious collection of gem-like books, my legacy, I descend into a reverie. The past comes alive on the celluloid of my life.

 

“Stop straining and paining your lovely eyes under the glaring light of that ugly gadget.”

I barely managed to hold on to my ‘gadget’ and rescue it from shattering to pieces at the staccato crispness and wrath that the words exuded.

Even if he wouldn’t have berated me in that hackneyed fashion, I would have known that he’s here by his paradigm cardamom scent. Grandpa’s here and he is referring to my kindle. I guess I just didn’t whisper those words to myself. I blurted them out loud enough to be heard by grandpa!

“Yes, grandpa is here and now put that crap away. Grandpa has brought you some real books. Paperback and hardcover.” he proclaims with an exacerbating emphasis on real.

“Tangible and lovable”, joining him as he repeats his catchphrase verbatim, for the nth time, I make a futile attempt to sound elated, while in reality I moan in half anguish and half chagrin, concocted with mortification and agony. His parlance, on the contrary, is adorned with pride at one level and laced with genuine loath at another.

I was in the middle of reading Strike @ 36 by Aparna Pednekar on Google Play. The fledgling novelist’s story was gaining momentum and the arrival of “the relentless foe of e-books” was the last on the list of things I wished for, at least then.

Since the day I started reading eBooks, I’ve been a witness to his intense detestation for the same. Now, its gravity and longevity is also proved.

Neither cannons, nor pinpricks, nor caresses could bring us to a consensus.

Our love for each other was unconditional, but when it came to books, we had dramatically agreed to disagree.

He would justify his stand by crying aloud that one day my Smartphone or kindle would be destroyed rendering me insane at the loss of the gems that books are.

“What if your paperbacks are terminated by termites?” I retort, surprised and glad at the unpremeditated rhetoric.

“I hope you know that, and I’m telling you because I am a well-wisher; you aren’t able to touch the pages, smell the book, you’ll lose all your aesthetic sense.” At this point, he’s almost yelling at me.

“For god’s sake, eBooks are NOT conspiring against your paperback and hardcover breeds. Only they are more convenient, and occupy some digital space on my kindle, weighing hardly 500 grams. I can have a long discourse on the environmental damage that I am preventing this way. It’s all rational.” I retorted rather blatantly.

Remember, using a pencil to mark down heart-rending dialougues??

He cursed the creators, called them idiots and blockheads, but not willing to prolong this skirmish, retreats to murmuring. An archetypal puerile versus senile war ends.

When we went on vacations that month, he was jubilant when I lost signal amid the hills, which forestall my further downloading. It was annoying, though, because I possessed just as ardent a soul of a compulsive bibliophile as him.

During our commute to the hotel, he expressed his discomfort about not being able to read books in distractions, while I relished my audio book aggravating his consternation.

Suddenly the crass cacophony of a crow breaks my reverie. The past retreats away into the blinding sunrays. I can sense the perambulation of lachrymal fluid originating from my eyes, peregrinating from the cheeks to the book in my hand. I try to smile, but manage to do so only faintly. I close my eyes and embrace the book, hugging the gem to my heart, despite the murky dust it has gathered and savouring the cardamom scent, but only after glancing at the library shelf, my only legacy.

I can hear a faint echo of the words of Marcus Tullius Cicero, “A room without books is like a body without a soul.” followed by the lugubrious words of grandpa, “Tangible and Lovable. . .”

The Perks of being a Bibliophile

1) You have a reason for your beloved solitude.

They say, writing is a lonely task.
So is reading. Hence, when you read with the fervour of a bibliophile, relishing each word as if it were a scrumptious meal, you remain oblivious to the world. The icing on the cake is that no one can pester you during that time period, for it goes against the expected conduct. Reading time is the only time you are at liberty to contemplate, reflect, give some time to your own self, sans any distraction.

2)The usual... 

Well you read for the obvious reasons...for enhancing your vocabulary, getting better at expressing yourself, for getting a good command over the language, for learning new things, to get inspired, to sharpen your mental faculties, to hone your intellectual skills, to broaden your perspective, et al..

3) Reading is classy.
 Have we not seen people holding books in their hands and engrossed in reading as something that makes them strike as a charming person. And even when you are reading an e-book, people think you are amazingly intellectual, for you prefer reading over playing some senseless games.

4) For the sole pleasure of it.

What the hell? Reading is an exercise, which renders us  pleasure beyond measure. Once you descend into the magical world of books, reality becomes a raw deal.

5) For the treat books are to sense
 Yes, believe it or nor, books are not only an unparalleled delight to our eyes and mind. Their pleasure extends to the core of your soul. they are unfailing friends and allies. Being a bibliophile means you are not just in love with reading, it means you love the feel and smell of books too. Be it on your musty bookshelves, or fresh paperback editions, or torn out editions you keep close to your heart!




Image source: Google image search