Is there “junk” in your life? What kind? How do you get rid of it?
Well this doesn’t qualify for junk per se because they are not of little or no value, in fact I have no idea if these books will ever be of any utility in this life. These books are my second year books and I do not have the slightest of clue about their fate. A recent experience of shifting made me appreciate the enormity of the books in my belonging. Anybody who laid hands on the suitcase of books, either shot me a quizzical look wondering if I had stacked gold bars in there or wryly remarked, “You want me to believe you have studied the whole lot in a year”. I do not have any intentions of discarding them for the fear that I might need them at some time. I cannot get myself to give them to someone because my books are a treasured possession, the pages crisp white and the covers glossy as much as even a pencil mark is an infrequent concurrence. And rarely do I come across a bona fide successor, a person who can take as good care of my books as I have taken.
Sadly, I cannot keep them in my custody for the rest of my life because back home I have a mother who is sitting on a pile of my Class 11th and 12th books and papers, anxiously waiting for me to sort through them and severe my ties with the ones whose services I will not be needing any longer. Well I don’t blame her, because our home is not going to swell to keep pace with the thickening stacks of books and magazines (yes, there are those too; two magazines every fortnight to give a rough estimate).
The books too precious, the notebooks a chronicle of my education and the test papers a testimony of my performance and these the exact thoughts that restrain me from the act of severance. The same cycle of thoughts has often led me to assign dearness to many objects and thus for the foreseeable future I cannot imagine these books depart the shelves in my room.