Saturday, September 15, 2018

The Library...

I didn’t know what drove me here, but the place was quite mine; the place where I always dreamed to be.  Very less but welcoming people of my genre, people who stay silent as the place demands and people who talk to the books, authors and to themselves.  There is no difference of opinion for there is opinion in difference.  I saw people writing; a quite place away from noises of the phone, traffic and life.  I could see beautiful faces that reads, feels and emerges out of the emotion from the book. There were tons of books and very less people turned up to read.  The place was clean and tidy as I surfed through the Asia’s one of the largest library of eight floors there were thousands of books in all the genres. I want to pick as many as possible and read all at once which is highly impossible also I was afraid if I took few books to surf through and what if I could not find the right place to shelf it back.  So I took one book which was my favourite subject once – The Basic guide to Hypnotism.  I saw a girl reading Sigmund Freud’s Interpretation of Dreams so I have to stay a little away from her.  I choose a chair away from Freud and her and sat comfortably in cushion chair.   The guide to hypnotism hypnotised me to read; almost quarter of the book I finished before I felt asleep without my knowledge for a minute or two; because the place was so harmonious and pleasant and filled with books and air conditioned.  When I recouped from my nap I realized I almost finished quarter of the book and Freud and that girl were still there.  Disbelief I developed on Fraud and his reader after reading Osho’s talk on Fraud.  Sigmund Fraud was called as genius in the field of human psychology but when he came to India he was asked to meet Ramana Maharishi, a man who realized his self.  But Fraud refused to meet him for he is afraid of the man who could break all his disbelief.  And there was a statistic which says the suicide percentage was higher in the psychology doctors compared with others; interesting.  I realized it was time to move on just one floor of books is not enough for me.  I wanted to put the book back into it’s shelve but then I saw a poster saying don't try to shelve it back but just leave it on the table- cool.  I searched for the literature section and claimed to the next floor to see hell a lot of books on all literature Greek, Pali, French etc., I walked through each of the book in the neatly arranged.  Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, etc., It was pleasure watching their books which most of them I have it shelved in my home.  And then I saw Dante’s Divine Comedy which is an allegorical read termed as tough to understand and then I saw The war that killed Achilles in Greek literature and few more books I collected and searched for a place to sit.  Most of the tables were occupied and those that are free were reserved.  Finally I found a table with an empty chair but again I have asked the girl sitting in the opposite to make sure that it was not reserved for anybody.  She nodded and shook her head taking her head from the book. I didn’t understand what she said but then I sat taking it as the chair is free to occupy. The table was near the glass wall, the lawn below was visible and the day light was amicable.  I surfed through the Dante’s Divine Comedy and after few minutes I want to see what was new in the ‘The war that killed Achilles’ as I already know the good crap old story of Helen in Troy.  The writing was good but the story was the same. And then I found this book lying on the table crap shades for gray; who the hell kept this book in literature section, I threw the book.  The place was dumb quiet and the book made quite a noise of my anger.  A girl who was reading deep into her book lifted her face and saw me as if I have thrown a stone at her.  I said sorry and went back to my book.  Time slipped through without my knowing and I realized I was late, but then I want to see what people were reading so I picked the books what people have left in the table.  I was happy to see Shelley’s poetry, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein; people are still alive in the world of literature I thought.  Though it was not enough for my brain and heart, my stomach wanted something to fill just as my heart, also it was late evening so I decided to get out of that lovely place and fuel my body.

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