Between chemistry and Mr Darcy

A library is a temple of learning—a hallowed place where true learning unfolds, so my father would say. My love for reading began in early childhood, when my parents read storybooks aloud to us. Every night, we entered a fairyland – a world of kings and queens, princes and princesses, enchantresses and witches, elves, goblins, pixies and the ever-so-vile stepmothers.

In primary school, we discovered the Panchatantra and Jataka tales, each story carrying a gentle moral message. We listened to the Ramayana and Mahabharata with rapt attention. These epics extolled virtues of goodness, integrity, honesty, righteousness, morality and honour—virtues that quietly shaped us. 

As we climbed up the educational ladder, we gained access to a larger library—a treasure trove of novels, newspapers, comics, encyclopedias and children’s magazines. What caught my attention was Robert Ripley’s Believe It or Not! digests, whose astonishing facts were mindboggling and incredible. The tongue-in-cheek humour of Dennis the Menace delighted me, as did the Adventures of Tintin and Captain Haddock created by Belgian cartoonist Hergé.

Libraries are meant to be sacrosanct, with noise kept to a minimum. Ours, however, did not strictly follow convention. Though a sign proclaimed ‘Silence is Golden’, it was rarely observed. There would be a cacophony. The room buzzed with chatter as children learnt through interactions, discussions and shared discovery. Steel cupboards stood unlocked, inviting free access to books and curiosity.

When I entered the Senior Wing, the romance of books deepened. As I stepped into adolescence, stories that titillated me enticed me. In fact, one day, I was caught reading Pride and Prejudice in the chemistry class. I had kept the book under my desk. I was enamoured by the relationship between Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Darcy and could not peel away my attention. 

In college we studied Wuthering Heights. It was no simple romance, but rather a dark gothic version of it that shook me. From the college library, I borrowed The Mill on the Floss by George Eliot. The enduring love between the brother and sister, who could not be parted in death, touched me to the core.

When I became an English teacher, the library remained my refuge. It was where I set question papers, searching for passages that were informative and meaningful and, at the same time, tested my students’ reading comprehension. Though I worked in the Middle Department, I could not refrain from approaching the senior librarian of the Senior Secondary Department for permission to borrow books. At first, she was reluctant, explaining that she catered only to teachers from the Senior Wing. After a great deal of cajoling, she relented and made an exception.

The allure of the books continues.