A WORD (OR TWO HUNDRED) FROM THE EDITOR

My “system” of organizing books consisted of clubbing them together subject-wise. Gardening, history, travel, thrillers, and so on. Canadian authors in one group and BIPOC ones in another. But categories overlap. It got confusing, and hunting for a particular book, time consuming.

One day, I pulled them all down and feeling very virtuous (and every muscle in my back and arms for a day or two after), arranged them in alphabetical order. Now I can put my finger on any title I am looking for in minutes. The downside being that every time I squeeze in a new book, I have to shift the whole lot after it over.

But I am not complaining. Because often while doing so, I see a copy I’ve not read in a while and realize, again, how easy it is to get lost in the magic of books. Not just in the reading, but in the memories that are rekindled when I hold a book in my hands.

Prakash Tandon’s Punjabi Saga, Saif Mahmood’s Beloved Delhi and How I Became a Tree by Sumana Roy that our friend Pankaj Mehra gifted us. Akhtari and Annapurna Devi: the Untold Story of a Reclusive Genius that came to us via music aficionado Mohamed Khaki. Satyajit Ray’s Feluda series that came highly recommended by my niece Ritika. The collection of short stories by Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay translated from Bangla into Hindi that Naresh mama handed over when I said I wanted to read good literature in Hindi. Ruskin Bond’s books that my friend Bisoka used to get for our sons on each visit back to Bangalore. And the ones Bond autographed for us on one memorable afternoon in Landour. Autographed copies from other authors including those from Ramachandra Guha.

Books my parents received as prizes at school, and my father-in-law’s collection of The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda that my husband inherited. My mother’s favourite books that have moved across continents with me. As have some of my childhood favourites. I travel back in time as I leaf through each.

The books our sons purchased as they grew older have moved with them. Those we purchased for them are left with us with instructions not to part with them. They will be moved when our sons have more rooms with more bookshelves.

I see the date and place of purchase on some and am transported to a different time and place. Christopher Plummer’s autobiography, In Spite of Myself, recreates an evening at Stratford, watching him perform live on stage as Caesar. The Anne of Green Gables books take me back to an unforgettable holiday in Anne’s land – Prince Edward Island.

Each evokes a memory, tells a story.

What stories do your bookshelves hold? The 11-day Toronto International Festival of Authors is coming up this month. Book lovers will be spoilt for choice with the plethora of events on offer. Check out festivalofauthors.ca and make some new memories!

Shagorika Easwar