A STORY OF SECOND- HAND BOOKS..

A little torn, coffee stained, a blot of ‘daal’ dried over the years, a signature, a forgotten bill. A story of second hand books and their hidden stories.

I am obsessed. Though I feel obsessed is a very strong word I am yet to find a word that would perfectly describe this feeling. Saying I love books would be an incomplete statement. What I actually love is second hand books. Scratch out love. As I said I am obsessed.

Its not the big, shiny, dust free book shop that I love. I love the tiny, with no space to stand, books stacked in no order, books on the floor, near the entrance, on the cashier's desk -- those book shops. Yes, one of the reasons is that I rarely have the money to walk into a book store and buy a new copy. 

There is a certain joy in picking up an old book, flipping through its yellow pages and yes of course smelling them. This love for second hand books is as old as my relationship with books. As a child, my parents would make sure that I save all the money I received from relatives for my birthday, festivals, for finally getting a Math problem right.I feel like those old books are waiting to be discovered. To be picked up by someone like me who will not look at its yellow pages and make a face, or keep it  back because the edges are torn or the back cover is missing. Waiting for somebody to hear their story. These stories are what pull me towards them.

All second hand books have their own unique story. Yes, some are 'brand-new' second hand books which make you wonder whether the previous owner even touched it. But the others are what I look for. Some have a signature on the last page; a phone number scribbled hastily. Maybe the owner noted it down while standing in a crowded train with no paper to spare. Some simply have a name and a date, telling the world who the book will always belong to. Some books have a stamp of the library from where it was taken and maybe never returned. Some have little notes on some pages, notes into the mind of the previous owner. There are books I have found with forgotten pieces of paper, receipts, bills, business cards.

In a copy of the book Nancy Drew:The Crooked Banister by Edward Stratemeyer, which I picked up at a second hand book fete in my school  I found an envelope which just had three words – From Aunt Betty. It made me wonder whether when Aunt Betty was sending a Christmas card, a phone call had interrupted her and then she'd completely forgotten about it. In another book, the name of which I don’t remember I had found a paper with lines from the book written on it. It was an untidy writing – the words hanging impatiently between the lines. After that whenever I read a book and found good quotes or lines, I started jotting them down. Some books have a huge dedication. I have a hard bound copy of God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy in one of my friends’ collections which has the following written – ‘Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad. Hope you enjoy the trip. We gift you this book in the hope that you will enjoy reading the story. Love.’For days I wondered why they gave the book away. Or may be they lost the copy while at sea and it travelled all the way to Kolkata(that’s where my friend bought it from) through various travellers to her.

All second hand books make me wonder the same thing. Why would someone part with the book. Why would they give away something that was once I am sure dear to them? Did they not like the story? Did they forget it in the train? Did they lend it to somebody and like always never got it back?

But then I silently thank these souls. If not for them, I wouldn’t have read my first Harry Potter with the torn cover bought for Rs. 80 from Marlyn D’Souza, my senior at school. It was not till the second book released did I know the face of the wizard boy. I thank them for keeping a little of themselves with the book and then giving it away. So that the book would now tell two stories – one told by the author and the other of its previous owner.