15th May, 2016.
Hello my dearest all! People of a vulnerable silly little blue ball which is always on the brink of snapping back to the cold days of medieval eras. Personally, I’d like a change in scenery.
Anyways, it was fine Sunday morning today and as my personal habit dictates, I was cleaning my bookshelves. I don’t have any particular reason for it; I am slob as my younger brother points out, with no regards for room hygiene. But I do this one thing somewhat religiously. I take the books out, dust them off, flip through pages and at times I fix on a single page, reading or just staring at it. Believe me it causes a lot of inconvenience to my family, with all the books around in the room and me just sitting there, but habits I guess…
So while cleaning the rack (shelves, racks how does it matter?) when I found this old book I got from a local library – ‘The Golden Treasury of the best songs and lyrical poems in the English Language’. When I say I got it from a library, they were throwing it away and I just casually picked it up and put it in my bag and since then the book is a part of my literature family. Now this book is old, it belonged to some Seemita Anddy from 1981.
Old books have their own charm. The brittle pages, fading ink, the damp smell. The rustic attraction of a hardbound book in some dusty corner of a second hand book shop, yellowed through time. I have been, oh basically I still am an addict to that particular smell, that I cannot express in words alone and trust me, there is a large number of people who feels the same way.
There is something that attracts to them. I have a peculiar and maybe an accepted theory that any bibliophile loves old books for a primary reason – their previous owner. It is a curios little question and I try to form a mental image of how the old owner of the book must have been! You see, there is a certain bonding when you buy a book and you read it. You grow wise in its company and the book grows with you, like an old friend, who knows your taste and who is with you. And that is something extraordinary. Like for example – this book that I have is from 1981, I know it belonged to a girl from English Hons. which is obvious. And I guess that after her education she didn’t kept the book for long, it traveled through many hands and ended up in a stack of books in the library. I know these because I have studied the book; it was quite amazing to see the first owner’s annotations in the book, as she jot down points here and there as she went on reading.
It somehow is suggestive of the fact that a book, especially an old book in a secondhand shop has a life. It has seen the owner as he/she read it; saw the expressions, happiness, sadness, anger, grief, disgust, anything and everything. And that goes even better if that book has some annotations, it shows what the reader thought of it, or even if s/he thought anything or not. Although annotations are just a matter of choice, but it feels great to read a book with ink scribbles and a piece of mind. I have a book with dedication of the first page, it was a gift to someone and I guess the person who received the gift must have been seriously amazing. I once had a book by Dostoevsky which had some serious quotes and thinking about the central character. Those scribble seemed more interesting than the book itself and I had to read the book twice – once for the scribbles and then for the notes. These scribbles, for me they are the book’s way of growing old, in a very keen sense of living.
I got into a habit of scribbling in my books now and then too. Most of the times I don’t write anything but at times I do write some ideas. The poetry book that I mentioned, on the last page I wrote – “poetry can be found anywhere. But mostly it resides in the chaos of hearts.” Maybe just unknowingly, I want someone else to find this book and read it, and when the person flips to the last page, s/he might just look at this quote and find poetry in their own chaos. That’s a wishful thinking.
People read eBooks these days, kindle and whatnot. I get a bit disappointed, it just seems so unfair. Now I know that it is convenient and easy, no tearing pages, no bulk weight and thousands of books at one go, it’s easy. But where is the fun? The fun to go to a bookstore and sit down in a corner with a book, maybe with someone who loves reading, get a coffee and indulge in talks. Or if it is an old bookstore with lots of second hand books, it is full of tender surprises – the delight of finding something new, hidden by the ornamental hard-covers, maybe a rare book out of print? And the bonus point? Some of the most amazing love stories happen in bookstores and libraries. Maybe that nerdy looking girl with glasses on her nose with big eyes, or that slobbish, awkward guy, who is a romantic of the world and beyond is waiting for you in some corner of that old bookstore. You won’t find such silly pretty things on the cold, unfeeling glass screen of kindle.
Well, I am just ranting, don't trust this boring rant – I love books and I can be so happy with an old, dusty book with quotes and tea or coffee stains, that's an old thought notion and I know someone will say you're old. But then, appeal of such a thing is, as Keats said once – a joy forever! I hope one finds such joys!
Anywhoo that’s all for this!
Have a cup of cinnamon tea!
Slug love to all!
Hello my dearest all! People of a vulnerable silly little blue ball which is always on the brink of snapping back to the cold days of medieval eras. Personally, I’d like a change in scenery.
Anyways, it was fine Sunday morning today and as my personal habit dictates, I was cleaning my bookshelves. I don’t have any particular reason for it; I am slob as my younger brother points out, with no regards for room hygiene. But I do this one thing somewhat religiously. I take the books out, dust them off, flip through pages and at times I fix on a single page, reading or just staring at it. Believe me it causes a lot of inconvenience to my family, with all the books around in the room and me just sitting there, but habits I guess…
So while cleaning the rack (shelves, racks how does it matter?) when I found this old book I got from a local library – ‘The Golden Treasury of the best songs and lyrical poems in the English Language’. When I say I got it from a library, they were throwing it away and I just casually picked it up and put it in my bag and since then the book is a part of my literature family. Now this book is old, it belonged to some Seemita Anddy from 1981.
Old books have their own charm. The brittle pages, fading ink, the damp smell. The rustic attraction of a hardbound book in some dusty corner of a second hand book shop, yellowed through time. I have been, oh basically I still am an addict to that particular smell, that I cannot express in words alone and trust me, there is a large number of people who feels the same way.
There is something that attracts to them. I have a peculiar and maybe an accepted theory that any bibliophile loves old books for a primary reason – their previous owner. It is a curios little question and I try to form a mental image of how the old owner of the book must have been! You see, there is a certain bonding when you buy a book and you read it. You grow wise in its company and the book grows with you, like an old friend, who knows your taste and who is with you. And that is something extraordinary. Like for example – this book that I have is from 1981, I know it belonged to a girl from English Hons. which is obvious. And I guess that after her education she didn’t kept the book for long, it traveled through many hands and ended up in a stack of books in the library. I know these because I have studied the book; it was quite amazing to see the first owner’s annotations in the book, as she jot down points here and there as she went on reading.
It somehow is suggestive of the fact that a book, especially an old book in a secondhand shop has a life. It has seen the owner as he/she read it; saw the expressions, happiness, sadness, anger, grief, disgust, anything and everything. And that goes even better if that book has some annotations, it shows what the reader thought of it, or even if s/he thought anything or not. Although annotations are just a matter of choice, but it feels great to read a book with ink scribbles and a piece of mind. I have a book with dedication of the first page, it was a gift to someone and I guess the person who received the gift must have been seriously amazing. I once had a book by Dostoevsky which had some serious quotes and thinking about the central character. Those scribble seemed more interesting than the book itself and I had to read the book twice – once for the scribbles and then for the notes. These scribbles, for me they are the book’s way of growing old, in a very keen sense of living.
I got into a habit of scribbling in my books now and then too. Most of the times I don’t write anything but at times I do write some ideas. The poetry book that I mentioned, on the last page I wrote – “poetry can be found anywhere. But mostly it resides in the chaos of hearts.” Maybe just unknowingly, I want someone else to find this book and read it, and when the person flips to the last page, s/he might just look at this quote and find poetry in their own chaos. That’s a wishful thinking.
People read eBooks these days, kindle and whatnot. I get a bit disappointed, it just seems so unfair. Now I know that it is convenient and easy, no tearing pages, no bulk weight and thousands of books at one go, it’s easy. But where is the fun? The fun to go to a bookstore and sit down in a corner with a book, maybe with someone who loves reading, get a coffee and indulge in talks. Or if it is an old bookstore with lots of second hand books, it is full of tender surprises – the delight of finding something new, hidden by the ornamental hard-covers, maybe a rare book out of print? And the bonus point? Some of the most amazing love stories happen in bookstores and libraries. Maybe that nerdy looking girl with glasses on her nose with big eyes, or that slobbish, awkward guy, who is a romantic of the world and beyond is waiting for you in some corner of that old bookstore. You won’t find such silly pretty things on the cold, unfeeling glass screen of kindle.
Well, I am just ranting, don't trust this boring rant – I love books and I can be so happy with an old, dusty book with quotes and tea or coffee stains, that's an old thought notion and I know someone will say you're old. But then, appeal of such a thing is, as Keats said once – a joy forever! I hope one finds such joys!
Anywhoo that’s all for this!
Have a cup of cinnamon tea!
Slug love to all!
