There are few things that give me unadulterated joy. Spending time with my 11-year old cousin, seeing old couples sipping coffee together at a restaurant, watching Fernando or StevieG unerringly find the goal post, laughing at mad stuff with my favorite older brother – these are a few of the few things. The one thing that I hold closest to my heart though is spending time at the library on Saturdays, thumbing through the hundreds and hundreds of books, as I decide which ones to rent out.

I’ll never forget the first time the guy at the library stealthily pulled out some books from a shelf below and I was like “Yew! None of those for me!” only to realize that the poor guy had some choicy thrillers that he had reserved for me! Turned out to be some of the best fiction I may have never discovered on my own. And then, every single time I walk into the library, which used to be every Saturday, he would keep a set of books which he thought I’d like. I loved it that he had my taste down pat. These were books with strong storylines, with characters that came alive, and invariably, with some strong takeaway. Though I didn’t always like what he chose for me, I think he had a pretty decent hit rate of more than 75%.

More than choosing from what he had keeps aside for me, though, what makes me come alive is the actual process of gazing at the numerous shelves, lined with a million books (slight exaggeration, if you know which library I go to), just waiting for me to choose the right ones to take home with me. There have been so many times when I’ve randomly just stood there, blocking people’s way as I gaze at names and title. Though one good thing that did happen due to this was when someone recommended Jeffrey Deaver’s Twisted. Man, what a piece of writing that turned out to be! And that was the beginning of my reading like a whole series of Jeffrey Deavar’s books. I fell in love with Lincoln Rhyme right from the word go. Obviously, I see Denzel Washington in my mind everytime I read any of the Lincoln Rhyme books. And then I started getting into these obsessive phases, where, once I found a new author, I had to like devour every book written by the person! Right from Nicholas Evans to Vince Flynn to Tess Gerritsen to Mathew Reilly (just finished reading “6 Sacred Stones” – the book is testimony to the fact that true genius does exist) to William Bernhardt to Lee Child to David Baldacci to more of Michael Crichton. I mean, these were writers I would have probably never known, if not for those hours I spent in the library, looking for something to read.

Coming to think of it, the library as a concept itself seems to have exerted considerable influence on me, right through the years. I still remember the first two books I received as a birthday present when I was all of seven years old – from my aunt and her friend. The books were Aesop’s Fables and The Brave Little Tailor. Believe you me, I still remember the cover pages of these books, from more than 20 years ago, as well as the illustrations in these books. I remember the bound volumes of Chandamama that my aunt used to give me, as I spent countless summer afternoons as a little girl, lost in the world of Vikram and Betal, and countless other Indian stories. And then the Readers’ Digests that opened up a world that only the printed word holds a key to. That, as far as I remember, was the foundation for one of the true blessings in my life – this constant quest to find something to read, to find something that will give me that high, when I finally put down the book and say “Man, whatta ride!” The first library I became a member of – cant remember the name, but I remember this old man who used to run it and hate us kids – was where I stumbled upon the usual childhood delights – Enid Blyton, Archies, Asterix, Nancy Drew, The Hardy Boys and the rest. And I remember the summer holidays I spent working at a library right before I started class 10! I was paid a princely sum of Rs. 400 after 6 weeks of 8 hour days but what made me happier was the simple access to all these books! Oh boy! What I wouldn’t do to go back to those times!

So it’s been a while since I’ve actually taken the time to spend a quiet half hour with myself at the library on Saturday afternoons. For one, too many books already to catch up on at home. But it gives me a nice feeling when I do walk in once a month as opposed to once a week as earlier, and the guy there looks at me, bends down and hands me a set of books to pick from. I’ve been trying to get him to sell me just one of the SEVEN copies of Acts of Faith that he has. No luck. Must polish the persuasive skills.