BOOKS ARE A UNIQUELY PORTABLE MAGIC
“A mind needs books
as a sword needs a whetstone,
if it is to keep its edge.”
― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones
Some
days ago, when I was about to retire for the day, I happened to see a message
from a stranger. He wrote:
“Mr. Gerald, last
week, I had been to my friend’s house (Nitin Arora), where I found your new blog
book and got immediately attracted towards it. Seeing my face, Nitin immediately
handed the book to me saying, ‘You know my allergy for the books… Take it, you will
love it.’… Thus, I am the proud owner of your book… Let me tell you, I haven’t
put it down!”
Well, I was
hugely flattered, and got a sound sleep
that night!
Nitin was one of
my dear ex-students. He is well-placed in life. A few months ago, when I had approached
him for the subscription of these ten-book series, he gladly did. But, he said
the same thing to me, “Gerry Sir, you know my allergy for the books. So,
this subscription is not for your books, but for you.”
My reply was the
standard one: “Nitin, rest assured; it will reach some deserving hands… ‘Daane
daane pe likha hai khaane wale ka naam.”
The book, thus,
had reached the serving hands of Nitin’s frind, who is a stranger to me.
Some
forty-six years ago, when I was a stranger in this big city, jobless and hungry,
I had found on the footpath, near Churchgate station, an overused and torn copy
of Napoleon Hill’s classic, ‘Think and Gow Rich’… “This book could be worth
a million dollars to you” was flashed on the cover… I picked it up,
perhaps, for five or ten rupees.
The book caused
a revolution in my hungry heart… I found myself reading it over and over and
over again… Till, one night, I decided to come out of my excuses, saying, “Enough
of self-pity.”
When I found
this book, here on the streets of Bombay, Napoleon Hill had long gone there in
America. I don’t know how many hands that particular copy must’ve changed, and in how many hearts it must’ve caused similar revolution… But, that
copy was destined to reach my deserving hands…
In the same
manner, every book I have ever picked on the streets –- has reached my hands…
“Haanji, daane daane pe likha hai khane wale ka naam”.
I remember
that night, some seventeen years ago. I was returning from my hometown,
Mangalore, by train. It was 31st December. Around 11.30 p.m., my
phone rang… “Hello Sir, this is Yashodha, your ex-student, the voice cracked with
apprehension, “My husband, Kumar, wants to talk to you for a few minutes.”
Kumar, who
worked for BARC, wanted to thank me for my book –- ‘Vaachas Chame –- Lord,
grant me the power of expression’ -– which had reached his hands through his
wife, Yashodha. Many months before that, I was invited to attend a reunion of
my first batch of students at Atomic Energy Junior College. I had carried 100
copies of ‘Vaachas Chame’ and asked the organizing committee to gift them to
each student and teacher who had attended that reunion. Yashoda took the book
home… and, the book was destined to reach the hands of her husband, who was a
total stranger to me. Apparently, Kumar had loved that book so much, that (he told
me during the conversation) he kept nudging Yashodha to thank me for it, and
tell how her husband loved it. But, Yashodha, being shy and a lot apprehensive,
couldn’t bring herself to do it. Finally, Kumar had pumped inside her enough
courage to say “Hello Sir” that new-year’s eve. “Gerry, I told Yashodha, we
need to express our gratitude and appreciation before another year ends… “Thank
you so much; I thoroughly loved your book. Good night… A Happy New Year to you
and your family.”
Did I get a
sound sleep during the rest of my train journey?
I remembered what
Stephen King had said: “Books are a uniquely
portable magic.”
GERALD D’CUNHA
Pic’s.: pixabay.com
Video: PBS NewsHour
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