LIBRARY : A DORMITORY OF BOOKS AND l MEMORIES

On that dreary July afternoon, the skies have been painted in streaks of grey, with blinding flashes of lightning. The scent of ink and freshly printed paper swirled invitingly in the air as I followed my parents into the library, who was walking slowly with their head down, braving the inclement weather. No one paid any attention as we walked up to the doors of the weather-beaten, ancient-looking edifice. All the people in the street were hurrying along, concentrating on making it out of the blinding rain. They hurried past the building, hardly sparing a glance at it, the imposing structure with the sturdy pillars, a building which had stood there imposingly for as long as anyone could remember.

 Maa, walked slowly down the labyrinthine aisles of the library, running her fingers lovingly over the spines of the books arranged on the shelves. She knew that this would be the last time that she would do so. In these books, I found a sense of comfort and belonging. Maa, had found food for her mind and sustenance for her soul. Turning over the pages of the books, Maa would be transported to strange galaxies, to ancient Greece and Rome, to the wilds of Africa. 

Maa, had been a librarian all her adult life. Now, so many days later, as she wandered around the dimly lit shop, she remembered the days when it had been a bustling place with young children and me running about the children's section spilling comics to the floor, serious young scholars who would spend entire days at the small tables dotted around, completely immersed in their reading, young ladies who would come to exchange books and the elderly people who would spend their afternoons poring over the newspapers.

As Maa strolled across the library, she finally came to the terms with reality. The library's days were numbered. Very soon it will be closed down, as very few people used the library these days. It has outlived its use. The books would be given away and the building would be torn down to make way for something "new and exciting", a shopping mall perhaps. 

After twenty years of working here as a librarian, all those membership cards, metro tickets of daily toil, yellow pages of register, and books; some torn and some faded, sleep safely inside Maa's almirah; that's her souvenir of memories and nostalgia. She opens her almirah once in a while, and runs her wrinkled palms over the frail paper, breaking into a strange smile. She told me once that she does this to remember the touch of those old memories. 

'But why do you have to remember them? You can just open your almirah and take out them when you want to.'

"Well, old people go through strange things sometimes, my child. The thing is, our sense of touch diminishes with age and we all lose touch receptors slowly over the course of life. Don't worry, for you, it's a long time from now," she laughed.

Skimming through the photographs gifted to her, at her farewell event, tears welled behind her eyelids, to find their way down her wrinkled cheek, as she remembered those days. 

Slowly, imperceptibly, things began to change. As computers, started taking center stage, internet cafes grew up in the neighbourhood. The cold artificial screen has the information that they wanted faster. A click of the button offered a new wondrous world that could be a feast for the eyes. Maa could only watch helplessly as the internet cafes in the neighbourhood lured her readers. 

In my indignant mind, I believed that nothing could replace a good old-fashioned book. There never could be anything to rival the feel of flipping through the pages, the smell of a paper, and the sense of anticipation as one turned the pages as a poem, a story invaded one's senses like a drug. However, Baba and I seemed to be the only ones who thought so. 

Maa lovingly wiped the dust off some of the books and wondered whether people would have to check the internet to learn what a library was. Turning off the lights, we walked out slowly of the building. Across the road, the bright lights of the internet cafe blinked invitingly as a bunch of youngsters hurried in.