My books don’t speak to me any longer
They stare sullenly from the bed stand
Their haughty gaze follows me from the bookshelf
They sulkily excuse themselves
If I try to reach out.
They sit there pristine in their jackets
Waiting to be dog-eared and for those jottings in margins
Paperbacks, my beloved, are the angriest of the lot
I had not noticed their strange behaviour
But yesterday, when I picked up a paperback,
I had bought some time ago
The feel of it in my hands was so unfamiliar
It seemed to shrink away from me
That I had to put it down.
Heartbroken, that it refused to speak to me
I wondered how things had come to such a pass!
I have been thinking ever since and
I guess they have been feeling neglected
Ever since my affair with the digital media started
I spend more time on the phone/tab/pc/laptop
Looking for short reads
Instant news, instant gratification, instant feedback
The sacred ritual I shared
With the books was abandoned.
But I can’t let my first love wither away
So I dusted all the books lovingly
Neatly rearranged them
Picked up the one which had rebuffed me
Made myself a cup of tea
Drew the curtains, put on the lamp
And curled with it in a corner on my favourite chair.
I am rekindling an old romance
Please do not mind if I don’t respond when you come knocking.