<p>As I lifted the brand new book to my nose to inhale deeply its smell, I heard the shout. “Hey, don’t touch that book. You, Rukmini! Put it down. At once.” It came out in a shrill, grating voice screeching over my head like bullets.<br /><br />I spun around. She was a pencil thin lady with egg-shaped spectacles looking every inch a teacher, with a commanding drill sergeant’s voice. Rukmini, thus upbraided put that colourful book down hurriedly and withdrew behind her tall friend. There were about 30 of them — all in pink skirts and half sarees — rumbustious girls from a nearby school on a visit to the book fair.<br /><br />I was bemused. A teacher admonishing the students for touching the books. Such an injunction would have made sense on Saraswathi Puja day when reading books is taboo. But to insist in a book fair? How one will judge the book? With x-ray eyes? Within minutes all the girls filed past the books in the stall as if on a march-past through a museum.<br /><br />Much later I ran into the grumpy teacher under a tree, watching the girls nibbling their snacks. “Sir, you’ve dropped a book,” she pointed out to a volume that had fallen from my bursting plastic bag. I thanked her and ventured to ask. “I heard you ordering the girls not to touch the books. What d’you expect the children to do in a book fair? Admire the wrappers and move on? How will they get used to the feel of a new book, its smell, the visual and mental treat inside.” She stared at me caught unawares by my questions. But I pressed on. “Will any lady walk past a saree display, even if she has no intention of buying? Won’t she open, inspect, hold it away and judge it?”<br /><br />She glared at me. “It is alright for you to preach Sir. But I am responsible for their actions. Most of them are impish. What if they tear or scribble on the books? Who will pay for them? Me? No way. I am yet to receive my salary for the past three months. Can you advise our management? I can’t live on air... Hey, Selvi. Look! Your left ear-stud is missing. My God! Your mother is going to skin me alive.”</p>
<p>As I lifted the brand new book to my nose to inhale deeply its smell, I heard the shout. “Hey, don’t touch that book. You, Rukmini! Put it down. At once.” It came out in a shrill, grating voice screeching over my head like bullets.<br /><br />I spun around. She was a pencil thin lady with egg-shaped spectacles looking every inch a teacher, with a commanding drill sergeant’s voice. Rukmini, thus upbraided put that colourful book down hurriedly and withdrew behind her tall friend. There were about 30 of them — all in pink skirts and half sarees — rumbustious girls from a nearby school on a visit to the book fair.<br /><br />I was bemused. A teacher admonishing the students for touching the books. Such an injunction would have made sense on Saraswathi Puja day when reading books is taboo. But to insist in a book fair? How one will judge the book? With x-ray eyes? Within minutes all the girls filed past the books in the stall as if on a march-past through a museum.<br /><br />Much later I ran into the grumpy teacher under a tree, watching the girls nibbling their snacks. “Sir, you’ve dropped a book,” she pointed out to a volume that had fallen from my bursting plastic bag. I thanked her and ventured to ask. “I heard you ordering the girls not to touch the books. What d’you expect the children to do in a book fair? Admire the wrappers and move on? How will they get used to the feel of a new book, its smell, the visual and mental treat inside.” She stared at me caught unawares by my questions. But I pressed on. “Will any lady walk past a saree display, even if she has no intention of buying? Won’t she open, inspect, hold it away and judge it?”<br /><br />She glared at me. “It is alright for you to preach Sir. But I am responsible for their actions. Most of them are impish. What if they tear or scribble on the books? Who will pay for them? Me? No way. I am yet to receive my salary for the past three months. Can you advise our management? I can’t live on air... Hey, Selvi. Look! Your left ear-stud is missing. My God! Your mother is going to skin me alive.”</p>
