The proud words that I had a ‘library room’ in my house remains etched in my memory. I was telling my teacher about the secret place that I relished, tucked away on the first floor of my home. Here was a room that never failed to attract footsteps. It had various names such as book room, study room and grandma’s room till it became the library room.
Sunlight pierced through two big windows as if whispering to the books that they deserved a bit of cheer. Bright curtains swinging merrily with the wind ensured that beads of sweat glistening on the forehead disappeared quick. There was a small step stool, to reach the ‘hard-to-reach’ books on the top. Aunt decided that the many shelves deserved a makeover. They were draped in old white dhotis to keep off dust. An easy chair and soothing music from a collection of cassettes doubled the joy of poring over books.
Here, English, Tamil, Sanskrit, French and Hindi jostled for space. Of course, not all the occupants of the shelves were new. There were very old books competing with the latest ones. A discerning eye could even spot 1940/1950s editions of books by famed authors. The covers look faded, the pages moth-eaten and yellowed but once you open the book you are transported to another world and wonder at the countless hands that browsed these pages.
