“I’ve never seen you polish off your breakfast so quickly, so early in the morning, and that too during vacations,” observes Ma, plonking down a glass of chocolate milk in front of me. 

“I’m dying to finish that Leon Uris book. Just the last few pages left to go,” I mumble as I polish off the milk in three large gulps.   

Ma is right. Vacations usually find me lazing around in bed. But this year is different. I have a goal – I must try to finish reading at least half the books in Chandumama’s (Mama=uncle) private library, and given the hundreds of books that he has, that’s quite a lot! No wonder, I don’t wish to waste a single minute at home.  

I dump my breakfast plate in the sink, and after a hurried “Bye Ma”, I dash out of the front door. Not that I have far to go. Chandumama lives right next door.  

As I run up the path to their house, he is just coming out, on his way to office. “So my Jane Austen, how many books do you plan to devour today?” he asks, his eyes creased in a friendly smile.  

“I’ll complete ‘Trinity’ today. And then maybe start on a Sidney Sheldon.”  

“Try some of the older authors too - Pearl Buck, Somerset Maugham, Alistair Maclean. Their plots may be slower, but their language is impeccable,” he advises, as he gets into his Ford Ikon and drives off with a last friendly wave.  

The front door is open and Rumimashi (mashi=aunt) is standing there, a goodbye smile to her brother and a welcoming smile for me. Behind her I can see that fatso Jhumpa scowling at me. But what do I care!  

“Well, here you are, Shalu, you carry on with your reading, while I get on with my housework. Call me if you need anything,” Rumimashi ushers me into the library and bustles off.  

Library? This for me is Heaven! A whole room full of books. Rows and rows of them. All neatly catalogued and stacked in beautiful glass-fronted cupboards. And a couple of deep, soft sofas to sink into. I can pick out any book I wish to read, and I don’t have to go home until lunchtime. Nobody comes to disturb me, except occasionally that fatso Jhumpa with some creepy remark, and maybe Rumimashi who pops in with a glass of water or juice. And I can do this every day of the week!  

This is Chandumama’s personal library, and I feel honoured that he has allowed me to come and read every day while he goes to office. I feel especially honoured because Chandumama doesn’t let too many people, even some of his dearest friends touch his books. And borrowing – never! Even with me the deal is a firm ‘come and read here, and put each book back in its place’. I respect that. It shows how much he loves these books. And it shows that he understands I love books too and he trusts me with them.  

“How lucky I am,” I think, sliding out the Leon Uris bestseller and curling up on the brown sofa.   

I’ve always been fascinated with books. School library, neighbourhood library, personal collections of friends – I’d run through them all in no time, hungering for more and more. And then suddenly this wonderful family arrives with cartloads of books, right next door to us.  

I had just come back from school, when I saw the huge truck backed into the driveway of our neighbouring house. “Someone’s finally bought it,” I thought idly, turning in at our gate. Curiosity made me hang around a bit. I always find it interesting to watch other people’s possessions being carted in or out. I made myself comfortable on the wall that divided our two houses and watched the goings-on. The movers staggered out with beds and tables, chairs and kitchen tables and carried them inside. What caught my interest however were the half a dozen or more glass-fronted cupboards which were off-loaded.  

“Can’t be book-shelves,” I thought. “Whoever would have so many!”   

At that moment a fat girl came out. She would be around my age. She looked grouchy, but I put on a smile and said, “Hi, I’m Shalini, welcome to our neighbourhood.”   

Her only response was a sullen, “I’m Jhumpa. What are you staring at?”   

“Are those bookshelves?” my curiosity got the better of me.  

“Yeah, they belong to my Chandumama. He’s my mother’s younger brother and lives with us. He has hundreds and hundreds of books. Proper library. Ma says he’s married to his books.”  

“Wow! What fun for you,” I said, my eyes shining at the prospect of this treasure trove right next door.  

“But don’t start thinking that you can borrow any. You won’t even be allowed into the room. Chandumama is very possessive about his books. Even I’m not allowed to touch them, not that I ever want to,” Jhumpa’s grumpy voice cut into my golden dreams as she stomped off with a “I hate books … and people who love them. So boring!”  

So, there would be no help from that quarter. I continued watching the movers. They were now unloading huge cardboard cartons. As they shoved one off the truck, it fell to the ground…and split open. Out tumbled scores of books. I almost salivated at their sight.  

“Here’s a good opportunity,” I thought as I jumped off the wall with a “let me help you.”  

I had barely picked up a book when a sharp voice yelled out, “Don’t you touch any of them.”  

“This must be Chandumama,” I thought, looking at the rather portly man, who ran towards me and snatched the book out of my hands. “I…I…was only trying to help.”  

“You don’t need to. Back off.” He seemed just as nasty and grouchy as his niece. I handed the book back and hopped back into our territory. But I couldn’t forget the books out there. Somehow I must find a way to read them. Somehow I must get into Chandumama’s good books. Maybe then he wouldn’t mind so much. After all, what’s the idea of keeping so many books if you can’t share them? And I would only read them and return them to him. I wouldn’t eat them up, right?  

“Somehow, I’ll make him see that I love and respect books as much as he does,” I decided fiercely to myself. My Class X final exams would soon be over. After that three months of vacation until we went to Junior College. Oh, if only I could get my hands on a few of these lovely books!  

I tried every trick I knew. I noted Chandumama’s movements. He went for a walk every morning. I started doing that too. And every time our paths crossed, I gave him a respectful ‘Good morning, sir’. Maybe, he’d relent realizing that I was a well-behaved kid. He only gave me a curt nod.  

In the evenings, when it was time for him to return from office, I’d hang around in our garden, desperately trying some small talk with Jhumpa (she had joined our school, my class too). And when I spotted Chandumama’s car, I’d rush to open the gate for him. He barely acknowledged my courteous gesture.  

I made excuses to drop in at Jhumpa’s to discuss assignments and projects, and tried to peek into the book room. But it was always locked.  

The worst part of it was that Jhumpa knew what I was up to. She’d just give me a derisive grin, “You’ll never see even the cover of a single book of Chandumama’s.”  

The exams were finally over, it was the first morning of our vacations and I hadn’t yet even had a glance at this totally wonderful personal library right next door. And if Fate didn’t intervene, I never would.  

But Fate did intervene. I was loafing around in my garden, when out of the corner of my eye, I saw Chandumama returning from his morning walk. Lately he had converted it to a jog, probably because of his expanding girth. I don’t think he was much of an ‘exercise’ person. There he was huffing and puffing, his eyes almost popping out, when all of a sudden, the world seemed to turn topsy-turvy. For him, that is. One moment he was there running along like a steam engine pulling fifty coaches uphill, and the next moment, he had hit the pavement with a loud ‘whack’, and was lying on the road, with his legs up in the air.  

Fearing the worst, I rushed to help him up. Was it a heart attack? Was it vertigo? He was dazed and shaky. He sat there for some time, checking out his bones and joints, while I hurried to bring him a glass of water. Thankfully, other than a bump on his elbow, when it came into contact with the pavement, nothing was broken. But he was badly shaken, and sweating profusely under the hot May sun. I’d had the presence of mind to bring a newspaper with me, and I fanned him vigorously with it, until his breathing returned to normal.  

And then we spotted the culprit – a couple of nice big slithery banana skins on the pavement! That’s what he had slipped on! 

“Which f******* b****** dropped that! Wait till I get my hands on him,” Chandumama jumped up, as if the banana-peel thrower was waiting patiently to be caught…and immediately doubled up in pain again, this time clutching his right ankle.  It was a bad sprain. I helped him hobble the little distance to his front door. Rumimashi came bustling out, concern on her face as she saw her brother in that condition. She quickly opened the door to the library as that was the nearest one, and helped him lie down on a couch.  

“Where can we get a doctor quickly?” she asked.  

“We usually call Das Uncle. He lives a few houses down the road. Shall I run and inform him?” I intervened.   

They were so grateful. As newcomers, they still didn’t know many people here. Well, Das Uncle came along with me, put a bandage on the ankle and went off after prescribing a few days of rest. I sat there salivating over the sight of the books in their lovely glass cupboards.  

Next day, I came to look up the patient. Chandumama was suitably grateful for my quick and able assistance in his hour of need. We chatted desultorily for a while, but I was so distracted by the sight of those gorgeous books, my eyes would constantly stray towards them. Wow! There was an entire shelf of John Grisham, and he had Dervla Murphy’s travel books too. And Jeffrey Archer, Jeffrey Deaver, Rabindranath Tagore, John le Carre, Nevil Shute …  

“Are you fond of books?” Chandumama’s question shook me out my reverie.  

“Oh yes! I can’t survive without reading.”  

We spent the better part of the next hour discussing books and authors.   

“Come over again tomorrow,” was that really Chandumama inviting me!

Well, I did go the next day and the following day, and all the days that he had to recuperate. He let me take out any book I chose and read quietly.  

All too soon it was time for him to go back to work. And that is when he gave me permission to come whenever I wanted to and read in his library, even when he wasn’t around.  

“What a nice fellow he is, when you get to know him properly. And so generous too,” I thought with a faint guilty pang. “I wish I didn’t have to take recourse to that banana skin, after all.”