No books in our localities

We are not a city in love with libraries. Representation pic

If it weren't for India's women, we would have to consider giving up on the Olympics. I say this in all seriousness, going by the hoops our sportspeople have to jump through in order to come close to any medal at all. That they do this repeatedly every four years is testament to their dedication and skill alone. It is not the presence of any sports ministry, no matter how many advertisements that ministry will pay for to claim a spotlight for itself and the clown who happens to be heading its portfolio.

I thought about a library this week, and kept thinking about it for reasons that didn't make much sense. There was nothing to trigger this memory, but it calmed me, and compelled me to think about that long-forgotten corner forever relegated to a part of the city I haven't visited in years.

The library in question was part of my school, and I remember the face of the librarian as vividly as I recall the musty smell of pages sinking deeper into their spines with every passing year. Her name was Uma, and I imagine she must have long relinquished that post for a life in retirement. I think of her with fondness though, because even though her role felt insignificant at the time, hindsight makes it loom large in my personal history. If it weren't for Uma, in those years before the dawn of the Internet, my life would be less colourful. She nudged me towards authors I had never heard of, placed books I wouldn't have considered within arm's reach, and turned a blind eye to titles that were overdue because I suspect she knew that I, like her, loved books more than most other things.

There was no reason for my school to keep its library open all through summer either. I don't recall seeing more than three students at any time, on the afternoons I spent in that room while so many of my classmates played football outside. I didn't do it because I was an introvert, but because being there made me happy. We were allowed to take home one book at a time, for a week, after which we had the option of renewing it or getting another one in exchange. These records were all maintained manually, and painstakingly, in registers stacked in filing cabinets behind Uma's table. I could flip through earlier editions of these registers and get an inkling of what schoolchildren of generations past had spent their own summers reading.

We are not a city in love with libraries. We visit them in our youth, if at all, depending upon how serious we are about our fields of study, and if they require trips to a library to begin with. I consider myself lucky that the degrees I was working towards necessitated frequent visits not just to my college library but to others run by the British Council, Asiatic Society, University of Bombay, and the American Centre. Some were far better managed than others, of course, but they all served their purpose admirably, allowing me access to manuscripts that changed the way I thought, worked, and lived.

Every locality should have a library. This isn't a fantasy I like to peddle but a belief that something as simple as access to books can influence a generation. It is only when one looks at the life-affirming power of these nondescript rooms in poorer localities that one can truly appreciate their importance. It's why students in tiny villages dream of them the way engineers in urban India hope for jobs in Silicon Valley.

Something magical happens when a library opens in a place that has not had one. We may feel as if we don't need them because our phones now offer us views and perspectives from around the world, but nothing can replace the magical act of stumbling upon a book one has never heard of, or a writer with the potential to shift something deep inside us that we didn't know needed shifting. It's what gives bookstores one of their many advantages over e-commerce.

The past couple of months have seen multiple reports of billionaires jetting off to space, pretending to look for new colonies to conquer in the hope that the rest of us won't notice how utterly wasteful and boastful their endeavours really are. Less than a generation ago, the wealthiest people in the world would use their money for vanity projects that included school buildings, concert halls, and hospital wings named after their departed relatives. That today's billionaires feel a need to feed their egos by stepping into flying machines is a sad reflection of how intellectually bankrupt they have become.

India's richest haven't fared any better, naturally, and won't because they have a history of poor choices behind them. If I earn a million dollars, I have absolutely no intention of funding a rocket, plastering photographs of myself on billboards, or setting up businesses named after a parent. I will happily pay to build a library though.

When he isn't ranting about all things Mumbai, Lindsay Pereira can be almost sweet. He tweets @lindsaypereira
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