Hi.
Do you feel this?
You don’t know me and yet here you are, following a stranger’s string of words, trusting they will lead somewhere.
Go back to the first line again, won’t you?
Aha!
Made you look.
Made you listen.
All language and thus all literature is, and always has been, about this search for connection, for the community.
In the oral tradition, Homer sings the song of Ilium to his people; several oceans away, Vyasa tells a similar story of bloodshed and betrayal to another set of listeners. Sutradharas narrate tales of high-born figures to rapt audiences; folk singers and poets travel from place to place weaving magic with melody and words.
After the advent of print though, even that worthy Victorian institution of the family – with its practice of fireside read-alouds – couldn’t help the slow transformation of reading into a silent, solitary activity.
It’s that great paradox of being a reader: one of the most powerful acts of communion you can engage in is often intensely lonely. At the same time, however, gossamer threads of connections bind all readers as they are borne aloft on stories, the ones they read and the ones they live.
These connections are often made manifest in the time-honoured ritual of sharing books, whether through gifting or lending, and the words the book-giver writes on the dedication page. Perhaps you were moving to a new city notorious for extremes, whether climate or people, and a dear friend gave you a travel guide that helped you adjust. Or a colleague gave you a genre you don’t generally go for but which you ended up loving. Or maybe someone you like sent you a 1252-page long work of Victorian steampunk that you finished in two furious weeks so you would understand them a little bit better.
Below, people share with us the books that are special to them because of how, and when, they came to them: (click on the images to see the details)
Nirupama Kotru, 49, Civil Servant, Govt. of India (New Delhi)
“This is from my husband Gautam to me and therefore very special as I am a total Vikram Seth fan.”
Gokul Krishna, 26, Mechanical Engineer (Bengaluru)
This book was given to me by my friend Ramapriya on my last birthday. I have known him since LKG and both of us are dedicated trekkers.
Titash Sen, 25, Illustrator (Kolkata)
“During our undergrad years, a bunch of us developed a wonderful tradition of book-giving for birthdays (or almost any other occasion) and Invisible Cities was given to me by my friend, Maryam as part of this long tradition. Maryam is from Sri Lanka. We spent a lot of 2014 sprawled on the hostel lawns, where she would tell me stories from her childhood in Sri Lanka over endless cups of coffee. I was always reminded of those wonderful stories she told me as I read Invisible Cities where Marco Polo tells Kublai Khan fragmented, atmospheric tales of foreign lands, bottling precisely with words the essence of these places.”
Priteegandha Naik, 24, Research Scholar (Goa)
My school friends wanted to encourage me to write more poetry. They thought a pretty, quirky notebook would push me to do so. It worked!
Isha Purkayastha, 25, Teacher (Bengaluru)
“All of my life’s biggest milestones have been marked with books I’ve received from people I love. In the last seven years, birthdays, reunions and temporary partings have meant new books- all of them thoughtfully chosen by my three best friends. Perhaps I’m cheating a little bit: my story isn’t pertinent to any one of these dedications. It is, instead, a tribute to joyous sisterhood, indissoluble friendship and the knowledge that I will always have a good book with a hastily scrawled, yet stupidly apt inscription to sink my teeth into.”
Angad Singh, Entrepreneur (Gwalior)
On December 4th, 2017, I was gifted David Mitchell’s book Ghostwritten by my beloved. I cherish this copy and the moment it was given to me. (She also gave me a bunch of fake rubber snakes, that I also cherish) I am surely NEVER lending this copy to anyone because of the high levels of cherishing involved. I love her, and I love what she’s written sooooo much, especially the little footnote. I haven’t finished the book, but I’ve begun reading it (I’m a terrible reader) and it’s beautiful.
Dr. Britta Ohm, 49, Social Anthropologist, Berlin
“This is Ingeborg Bachmann’s book The Thirtieth Year which is all about how life appears to come to a standstill with passing youth. The dedication reads: ‘Dearest Britta – inspiring distraction for the days when nothing moves. Happy Birthday – Susi (11/10/2002)’”.
Deepak Sinha, 65, Army (Delhi)
One has to be truly blessed to receive gifts from friends and loved ones. What could be more wonderful than receiving wisdom wrapped in words of love from your partner and companion of forty years? These books widened my horizons, and each time I open one of them and read the accompanying note, it takes me back to that moment in time when I was pleasantly surprised by the book received. It is something to be grateful for.
Alia Sinha, 26, Illustrator/Theatre Person (Delhi)
I discovered this Dilbert comic in the second-hand book market Daryaganj in Delhi in 2012. While the comic itself is hilarious, I particularly love the dedication I found in it. It isn’t long, or particularly remarkable, but to my mind whoever they are- Fats and NK- they were intimate at one time. They were an “us”. The dedication is dated the 6th of February 2001. This copy of the comic had meant something to the two of them back then. But it ended up in the second-hand book market. And each time I re-read the comic I wonder why. Did they part ways? Was the book a painful reminder? Did it get misplaced? Does Fats miss it? Did Fats even like the comic? I’ll never know the answers. But the questions, given the scheme of things, suffice.
Arundhati Ghosh, 45, Arts Philanthropy (Bangalore)
A thousand year old little-known text, a satire in Sanskrit written by Kshemendra of Kashmir titled ‘Samaya Matrika’ came in its English translation to me as ‘The Courtesan’s Keeper’. It was gifted by a friend who understood and celebrated my choice of ‘many-loves’ / bahumanorath in life. This book, the adventurous courtesan Kankali’s life and lessons, as shared with her apprentice Kalavati, in the form of instructions on love and relationships in this world, seemed like an apt gift for me, he had thought. But what was most poignant was the dedication he wrote on the third page of the book ‘Always be your own keeper’. I hold on to that as a truth I live by.