Vellichor…A tale of books

 

On seeing my first salary credited to my account, I knew exactly what I wanted for myself.Of course, apart from spending it on sweets and wishes of my family, I kept it aside to buy books.I was spellbound on thinking the huge number of books I can gather when every month I get such a big amount.Books that were unaffordable until that time, books that I had to keep away thinking about “do_you_really_need_it_now ?” look from my dad, books that contained stories which I had only imagined.How naive was I to believe that I could buy a whole of them with my meagre income!!. and was very sad and surprised to realise that many of books are still elusive for me.

Books that were unaffordable until that time, books that I had to keep away just after reading the blurp so that I dont need to answer “do_you_really_need_it_now ?” look from my dad, books that contained stories which I had only imagined.How naive was I to believe that I could buy a whole lot of them with my meagre income!!. I became very sad and surprised to realise that many of books will still elusive for me.

It was around that time that I had a need to buy some entrance books for my brother.Though I insisted on buying new and fresh books, he was quite reluctant to pay such exorbitant price for them.He was the one who urged me to check out the famous Moore Market, the heaven for second-hand books at Chennai.So there I was all prepped for taking the long journey to the northern end of Chennai, on a hot sultry summer day to check out Moore market.It was there I found a whole new world of second-hand books.I had already known about the cheaply available used books but I must admit that I was an egoist to buy them.I always wanted to buy a new book and have it all to myself.

Reluctantly I decided to look for some of the books available in that old, woody and dingy cubicles. I was bit apprehensive but I admit that I got carried away by the love for books.I quickly found some gems in quite a bad shape but for such low prices that I just could not ignore them.I told myself, it the stories that matter and not the cover or the book as such.

Well, I quickly had to change my opinion.I have had books whose margins had a totally different story to tell.Those scribbled letters some of which I could not decipher had taken a toll on my sleep.I also found mostly bills, exam schedules even some torn 10 rupees to luckily a 100 rupee nullifying the cost of the book, tucked away in the covers.I am not sure how the sellers missed it :).

Somehow I had fallen in love with those second-hand books in that dingy old place.You just have to have some patience, some love and some good bargaining skills to get hold of some of the great books.Though I don’t know why people throw away books, I came to realize that one needs to part with their dear stories when they have to move on to share and find newer stories.

When moving out of Chennai, even I had to pass on my collection of books, which I want to believe will be adorning the shelves of a bibliophile.Even though I have started buying books from those the huge library kind of air conditioned book stalls, searching for books among the categorized places and not look at others or simply buy one at the click on internet or use a kindle, I still long to skim through the huge collection of old books and then stumble upon a totally different book,then bargain with the seller on how unworthy the book is and its good that you get rid of it 😉 and then finally sit and read the same.

Bliss!!

Advertisements

The walk.

 

“No, are you crazy? I can’t come for the walk.Who goes for walk when they have so much in their head.” she questioned him when he asked her to accompany him for a walk.

***

She hoped that he would notice her, come to her and wrap her with all his might.She also wished that he would not see her, not at least on his wedding day.She could not contemplate between her wishes.

***

She finally took a long walk, all by herself. Some how his advice of talking a long walk at despair does help.

***

 

 

Sonder

That dark thought of giving up his life, was following him all over.The taunts, comparisons and unmet expectations had driven him to exhaustion.

It was when he had almost given up that he heard the suicide of a friend, the one with whom he had constantly been compared to.He could not believe that his ideal person with perfect qualifications, perfect job, the perfect family was living under such a facade of lies.

He was simply speechless when he realized that every single person has a story of his own, about his aspirations and dreams and failures.But what was startled him was the knowledge that everyone has the choice to write the story their own story, as they like.

 

Retrouvaille…

 

Amy had promised herself that she would meet May, only if she reaches out to her. It has been 16 long years since the day Amy had last met May, but there never was a day in Amy’s life that she had not been reminded of May and thinking what she could have done differently.

***

Luckily for Amy, today she is going to meet May, her daughter whom she had given up for adoption 16 years ago.The joy of meet her own daughter after such a long period of time was uncontainable!!

***

Quietus

 

That dawn,
among stars
I was,
someone’s angel
Under the blanket, 
of pure love
I drift to a,
beautiful slumber
Suddenly ,
I suffocate
I envisage,
I am
Inside the cocoon,
of my sadness 
And slowly,
 I die…
***

Psithurism…

I achingly longed for him,
For the silence was deafening
He, the one who plays the tunes
And to which, I lovingly sway
Sometimes gently,
Sometimes vigorously
Longer are his songs on some days
Just a while, on others
At times he brings his friends
Who makes me tingle and sparkle
Mesmerised in their music
I give away my brittle babies
Slowly he stops his song but I remain allure
Away he takes the bodies of my dead children
And fumingly I wait for his return
But then, with his approaching music
I forget my dead children
And I simply give way to his needs
For its a vicious circle
His tunes and my dance
Are inseparable
For as long as life exists
“The wind plays his tunes
Along with his rain friends
A lone banyan tree sways
Shedding away her yellow brittle leaves…”