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No book unturned
At a dusty corner of the library, the appears-new-but-actually-old books were bickering amongst themselves. “I do not think we’re outdated, not at all.”, said the self-help book, ‘Jeet Aapki’, forcefully,” I’m still relevant in these times.”. “Take a look at the other shelves, the books, they there are dog-eared, and in some cases, the horror – even torn. But they’ve all been used – and read several times by the people. Look at us! We appear brand new, but are possibly as old as time herself.”, retorted the ‘Rangbhoomi’, morosely.
Just then the bell tinkled, indicating someone new had entered into the library. All the books perked up, “Could it be my chance today?”, was their collective thought. The new person – a lady – approached the librarian, and soon they got busy in discussing the best reading plans, and pricing related topics. The books sighed, their excitement dampened, but not extinguished. After swiping her card, the lady started to peruse the titles on the shelves.
“Come here, oh beautiful one.”, yelled the ‘Apsara’ book, “Pick me up! Palat! Palat!”. “Tsk tsk, such bawdry language you use!”, chided, ‘Nirmala’,” It’s not beneficial to resort to such low level of communication”, she continued. The lady stood in front of their dusty corner shelf. The books – sucked in their breath with anticipation.” Aha! It’s OUR lucky day!”, chimed the ‘Apsara’ book, “She did a palat! Hoorah!”. “How about this section?”, asked the lady to the librarian. The librarian made a face, and lumbered towards them. “Oh! This is our vernacular section. We have some...ahem…Hindi novels here. They aren’t very exciting.”, she said with evident distaste, turning up her nose, “Why don’t you try the fiction section. We have the latest best sellers there.”, she continued, as she led the lady towards the other side of the library, to the fiction shelves. The books of the dusty corner exhaled sharply – their distress apparent. “I think no one wants us, anymore. We have become a pariah in our own country.”, mourned ‘Yashodhara’. “There! There! It’ll be okay. Sometimes we lose, sometimes we win. We can’t bow down to depression.”, said,’Madhushala’. “Chachaji, you tell us, when was the last time someone took you home? You’re one of the first few books here. How many times have you been chosen? How long should we wait for people to deem us worthy of a read?”, questioned the relative newcomer, ‘Masala Chai’.” You mustn’t consider yourself to be any less than the other books. Just because you haven’t been read that often; your worth lies in your words and not your circulation levels.”, said the wise, ‘Sufi Sant Rumi’. “But, why doesn’t anyone want us?”, persisted, ‘Masala Chai’. “The reason, as per me, lies in the fact that the youth today are not encouraged to read books in their mother tongues. Their last tryst with it is in their tenth board exams, and they think all of us are the ‘murjhaye hua phool ki aatmakatha’ type of books. And the older ones, who want to read us, don’t have a spare moment from earning all the money to fund their offspring’s reading habits.”, lectured the ‘Manovagyanik Prayog’. “You’re right, as usual Professor.”, ran the general murmur, and each book settled back in its place, awaiting its chance, hopeful.
A heavily accented voice, in broken English, interrupted their snooze-fest, “Are you be keeping Hindi books? Like the Premchand, Dinkar sahib?”. “I am here! I am here! Premchand scripted me! Come here to me!”, yelled ‘Nirmala’. “Sheesh, talk about decorum.”, said ‘Apsara’, snidely. The librarian raised her head from the computer she was working on, looked over the kurta-pyjama clad, bespectacled man. “All he needs is oily hair to complete the stereotype.”, she thought, meanly in her mind.” Excuse me? Are you asking me something.”, she said primly, and with a hint of judgement in her voice. “Yes, yes. Are you keeping Hindi novels?”, the man asked, again. “Do you mean if we stock Hindi novels?”, she corrected, haughtily, sneaking a quick look at the vernacular section, and back at the object of her derision, making a snap decision. “No, we don’t stock Hindi novels. You’ll have to try somewhere else.”, dismissing him by returning to her computer work.
The bell tinkled again, a busy day, indeed, announcing the arrival of a well-dressed lady, whom the librarian was familiar with, and whom she addressed, with an ingratiating tone, “Oh Hello, Ms. Iyer! So good to see you again. The new thrillers have arrived today; I was just entering them in the system. You have the luck of the devil, I must say. “. Ms. Iyer smiled at her, and said, “Hello. This time I’m in the mood to try something new. I want to expand my reading. What do you suggest?”. “How about some great autobiographies? Have you tried them?”, the librarian asked, eagerly. “No, I wanted something different.”. She began to circulate in the room, going over each shelf, and its contents, with fresh, new eyes. She stopped in front of the Hindi section. “You seem to be new around here. How come I never ran across you?”, she addressed the books. “She’s talking to us, I think.”, said ‘Chandrakanta’, “She’s interested in us. She loves us. Guys! We need to activate the fallen-book trick to lure her.”. “Calm down! She has to touch one of us first. Once her hand approaches a book, then we can initiate the fall-over. It’s your turn, Sufi Sant, gear up!”, said ‘Chacha Champak’. The lady raised a slender hand to pick a book from the shelf, just about to pluck one out, when a book fell at her feet. “Oops, I’m sorry.”, she said, bending to pick the book.” Hmm...how interesting. Sufi Sant Rumi.”, she said, flipping the book over,” Ah! A book of poetries by Rumi.”. “Here you are, I was looking for you. I have some suggestions for you.”, said the librarian, holding a stack of books. “I have found what I want. I’m taking this book. Is it still in circulation?”, she asked, handing the book to the librarian, who asked, “This book? Why do you want this book? It’s in Hindi.”. “Yes, I’m aware of that. This is what I want to try for now, if I don’t like it, I’ll return it. The chances are slim, though, as I have read many lovely quotes by Rumi on the internet. It’s time to figure out how many of them can actually be attributed to him. Can you issue it, please?”. The books clapped in joy, grinning. Widely as she left with the book.
The doorbell rang, startling her, she opened the door. “Delivery for Ms. Iyer from Amazon.”, the man said. “Oh! It’s here! Thank you.”, she said as she signed for it. “The fun starts now!”, ripping the package to reveal a ‘Hindi to English’ dictionary. “Hello, Rumi sir, let’s begin to explore your contents.”, she said to the opened book of poetry by Rumi as she took her seat.
References:
1. Jeet Aapki – Shiv Khera
2. Apsara - Suryakant Tripathi
3. Nirmala and Rangbhoomi – Munshi Premchand
4. Manovyaganik Prayog - Dr. Neeraj Gupta
5. Masala Chai – Divya Prakash Dubey
6. Sufi Sant Rumi - Vishwanath
7. Yashodhara – Maitheli Sharan Gupt
8. Madhushala – Harivansh Rai Baccchan
9. Chandrakanta – Babu Devakinandan Khatri
© Natasha Sharma
Just then the bell tinkled, indicating someone new had entered into the library. All the books perked up, “Could it be my chance today?”, was their collective thought. The new person – a lady – approached the librarian, and soon they got busy in discussing the best reading plans, and pricing related topics. The books sighed, their excitement dampened, but not extinguished. After swiping her card, the lady started to peruse the titles on the shelves.
“Come here, oh beautiful one.”, yelled the ‘Apsara’ book, “Pick me up! Palat! Palat!”. “Tsk tsk, such bawdry language you use!”, chided, ‘Nirmala’,” It’s not beneficial to resort to such low level of communication”, she continued. The lady stood in front of their dusty corner shelf. The books – sucked in their breath with anticipation.” Aha! It’s OUR lucky day!”, chimed the ‘Apsara’ book, “She did a palat! Hoorah!”. “How about this section?”, asked the lady to the librarian. The librarian made a face, and lumbered towards them. “Oh! This is our vernacular section. We have some...ahem…Hindi novels here. They aren’t very exciting.”, she said with evident distaste, turning up her nose, “Why don’t you try the fiction section. We have the latest best sellers there.”, she continued, as she led the lady towards the other side of the library, to the fiction shelves. The books of the dusty corner exhaled sharply – their distress apparent. “I think no one wants us, anymore. We have become a pariah in our own country.”, mourned ‘Yashodhara’. “There! There! It’ll be okay. Sometimes we lose, sometimes we win. We can’t bow down to depression.”, said,’Madhushala’. “Chachaji, you tell us, when was the last time someone took you home? You’re one of the first few books here. How many times have you been chosen? How long should we wait for people to deem us worthy of a read?”, questioned the relative newcomer, ‘Masala Chai’.” You mustn’t consider yourself to be any less than the other books. Just because you haven’t been read that often; your worth lies in your words and not your circulation levels.”, said the wise, ‘Sufi Sant Rumi’. “But, why doesn’t anyone want us?”, persisted, ‘Masala Chai’. “The reason, as per me, lies in the fact that the youth today are not encouraged to read books in their mother tongues. Their last tryst with it is in their tenth board exams, and they think all of us are the ‘murjhaye hua phool ki aatmakatha’ type of books. And the older ones, who want to read us, don’t have a spare moment from earning all the money to fund their offspring’s reading habits.”, lectured the ‘Manovagyanik Prayog’. “You’re right, as usual Professor.”, ran the general murmur, and each book settled back in its place, awaiting its chance, hopeful.
A heavily accented voice, in broken English, interrupted their snooze-fest, “Are you be keeping Hindi books? Like the Premchand, Dinkar sahib?”. “I am here! I am here! Premchand scripted me! Come here to me!”, yelled ‘Nirmala’. “Sheesh, talk about decorum.”, said ‘Apsara’, snidely. The librarian raised her head from the computer she was working on, looked over the kurta-pyjama clad, bespectacled man. “All he needs is oily hair to complete the stereotype.”, she thought, meanly in her mind.” Excuse me? Are you asking me something.”, she said primly, and with a hint of judgement in her voice. “Yes, yes. Are you keeping Hindi novels?”, the man asked, again. “Do you mean if we stock Hindi novels?”, she corrected, haughtily, sneaking a quick look at the vernacular section, and back at the object of her derision, making a snap decision. “No, we don’t stock Hindi novels. You’ll have to try somewhere else.”, dismissing him by returning to her computer work.
The bell tinkled again, a busy day, indeed, announcing the arrival of a well-dressed lady, whom the librarian was familiar with, and whom she addressed, with an ingratiating tone, “Oh Hello, Ms. Iyer! So good to see you again. The new thrillers have arrived today; I was just entering them in the system. You have the luck of the devil, I must say. “. Ms. Iyer smiled at her, and said, “Hello. This time I’m in the mood to try something new. I want to expand my reading. What do you suggest?”. “How about some great autobiographies? Have you tried them?”, the librarian asked, eagerly. “No, I wanted something different.”. She began to circulate in the room, going over each shelf, and its contents, with fresh, new eyes. She stopped in front of the Hindi section. “You seem to be new around here. How come I never ran across you?”, she addressed the books. “She’s talking to us, I think.”, said ‘Chandrakanta’, “She’s interested in us. She loves us. Guys! We need to activate the fallen-book trick to lure her.”. “Calm down! She has to touch one of us first. Once her hand approaches a book, then we can initiate the fall-over. It’s your turn, Sufi Sant, gear up!”, said ‘Chacha Champak’. The lady raised a slender hand to pick a book from the shelf, just about to pluck one out, when a book fell at her feet. “Oops, I’m sorry.”, she said, bending to pick the book.” Hmm...how interesting. Sufi Sant Rumi.”, she said, flipping the book over,” Ah! A book of poetries by Rumi.”. “Here you are, I was looking for you. I have some suggestions for you.”, said the librarian, holding a stack of books. “I have found what I want. I’m taking this book. Is it still in circulation?”, she asked, handing the book to the librarian, who asked, “This book? Why do you want this book? It’s in Hindi.”. “Yes, I’m aware of that. This is what I want to try for now, if I don’t like it, I’ll return it. The chances are slim, though, as I have read many lovely quotes by Rumi on the internet. It’s time to figure out how many of them can actually be attributed to him. Can you issue it, please?”. The books clapped in joy, grinning. Widely as she left with the book.
The doorbell rang, startling her, she opened the door. “Delivery for Ms. Iyer from Amazon.”, the man said. “Oh! It’s here! Thank you.”, she said as she signed for it. “The fun starts now!”, ripping the package to reveal a ‘Hindi to English’ dictionary. “Hello, Rumi sir, let’s begin to explore your contents.”, she said to the opened book of poetry by Rumi as she took her seat.
References:
1. Jeet Aapki – Shiv Khera
2. Apsara - Suryakant Tripathi
3. Nirmala and Rangbhoomi – Munshi Premchand
4. Manovyaganik Prayog - Dr. Neeraj Gupta
5. Masala Chai – Divya Prakash Dubey
6. Sufi Sant Rumi - Vishwanath
7. Yashodhara – Maitheli Sharan Gupt
8. Madhushala – Harivansh Rai Baccchan
9. Chandrakanta – Babu Devakinandan Khatri
© Natasha Sharma
