Self in the Shelf

There was something about books. Their cover page, colours, author, subject, smell, size language, age, something that attracted me. It began with passion but got mixed up with infatuation. I collected books from Flora Fountain in Mumbai from roadside book shops. Slowly, the number of books started increasing. I started collecting them, didn’t read all of them. My ego about the number of books was inflating. I was becoming a subject matter expert (SME as they call it) in subjects that I read and spent time on. If I ask sincerely, what transformation have those books caused in me, I don’t find any concrete answer; its more towards no. Nevertheless, after reading the same book after a gap of 15-20 years the depth of the subject has definitely changed for me.

Books have had a great impact on my life but not so much to have caused a permanent impression on my personality. The like or dislike about authors/books rose like a wave and faded out. It was similar to watching a movie and then forgetting about it.

By seeing books in the bookshelf one definite thing is ‘I feel good!’ The meaning of these books are changing with time. Nothing surely changed in the book, what changed in me to have deepened the meaning? Can the meaning become infinitely deep? All the texts which are trying to describe deeper meaning of life have been interpreted millions of times by millions of people. If same text appears different to us at different time, its not surprising to have million interpretations of a same book in last 1000’s of years. I feel, we try to search our selves in those books. In addition to that external search of our self can we turn one page within? One page which completely describes ourselves as we are, maybe jealous, addicted, without accepting or denying it. “Just being.” It takes courage to look at our selves naked, as we are, without hiding fears and anxieties. If we can turn one such page of our own life in the book of our heart then there is a possibility of reaching the depth with which books in our shelves were written. You will not read then, you will drink the book, slowly. The words will go on a different journey in our being. You may laugh, you may cry with that book in front of you. The depth with which the author wrote and you read will be no different anymore. Can we look into one page out of 100’s that we are turning unconsciously in our daily lives? Then whether we have one huge personal library or not, it really doesn’t matter..