picking a book to read

the following post is an exercise in descriptive writing. i am trying to describe the process of choosing a book, to see how well i can do it.

i am in the library trying to pick a book to read. i have an hour off.

i am going through a phase when reading is very hard for me, not just because of the physical constraints on my time, but also because i am not in the reading frame of mind. your mind needs to be calm enough to listen to someone else. and mine is not. it is a phase, i know, because i have been here before. i am already coming out of it.

i don't have the energy to look through the stacks. there in the front is a low rack called raves and faves, in a flashing yellow lighting bolt the ampersand is all you can see. all the book sleeves are marked with it. frankly i find it quite distasteful. why mar good books with garish stickers?

anyways i am not here to stress the absurdities of life, i am here to find a book to read, go to starbucks and relax for an hour. that's the mission, if only i could get past the first roadblock. it is not easy to pick a book, not for me anymore. what do we have here. the stone dairies, hmm.. chick lit? may be. the life of pi, ender's game, and some others i have read and actually like, so i guess i can trust their judgment. the others here might be worth reading too. i smile almost in spite of myself. i have a strange feeling in my stomach, an uneasiness, there is the voice in my head that says i should read, i will never have this much time again, the guilt is crushing.

books, so many of them, those that i should read, those that i want to read and time creeping up on me like a dark shadow in the failing twilight. how will i ever get through them all. may be i don't need to, but panic and reason do not go together do they? sounds of people talking, kids laughing, the low din of a library on a saturday afternoon. quick, i need to get out of here. i scan the titles, something, anything.

kiran somebody - kiran desai, a relative of anita desai? i pick the book, red cover, of course! south asian writers with their red colors, and mangoes and women in saris dying of repressed sexual tensions. prejudiced? sorry, i don't want to be. just not today. i put it back. the inheritance of loss. the name is beautiful, poetic, it seems like a lot of expectation for a book to be able to meet.

the other side of the bridge, hmm... i have heard of that one, i am trying to ignore the ones i have already read, hey not bad, i have actually read quite a few.what do i feel like? politics umm, economics no, diets nope, the stone diaries the cover looks good, to kill a mockingbird - i am desperate, no, don't do this, i tell myself, not yet. see, some books are an inevitability waiting to happen. i know that if i live long enough i will read to kill a mockingbird, but i have a feeling i cannot take it today.

i am convalescing, it is like the first day after a long drawn illness, you know you have left the worst behind you, but you are not up and running. now is when you would actually enjoy lying down in bed, it is no fun when you are sick. but i still need to eat something light, khichdi, something to calm my nerves, to nurse me, nourish me. i want to sit down and listen to a friend tell me the story of her life, and all i need to say is " ohhh no!!", " really? what happened then". and "oh you poor thing", or my favorite "how dare he?" :D men! i tell you.

the notebook, i think, where is that, i wanted to read that one, i am not seeing it here, i am three feet away from the rack, i am not moving. i can't remember the author's name, so i cannot look for it in the stacks. this guy is at the computer terminal, looks like he is going to be awhile. all the other computers are occupied too. its saturday, the kids are home, moms don't want them around, so here they are!! i could ask one of the staff, but i am not talking to any one. and i am not moving.

oh, love in the time of cholera, i want to read that, where is it, umm... tch... forget it , i am not moving. no, no, i am not promoting inaction over action, only, as i said earlier, some books are inevitable, its not an if but a when. the day i want to read a book it does not present it self and the day it shows up i might not want to read it. so i just wait for the right set of conditions to manifest, when we are both ready for each other type of thing, if that makes any sense.

okay, this is ridiculous, time's wasting . the stone diaries, it looks good, daisies on the cover, i love daisies. i reluctantly pick it up. pulitzer prize, umm.... not a big fan of that, but i can ignore that, vantage canada, oooh i am interested now. i flip open a page, born 1905. oh great! i am half sold already. old world canada, new immigrants, open fields, and this time women in hats dying of repressed sexual tensions. see, there is a consistency to my prejudice, it runs across all borders.

what is that, a phrase in the foreword catches my eye : i am not at peace. its like the words come alive, they hold me, like my nani's embrace. i feel vulnerable and strong at the same time. i feel like saying it out loud, me neither, i am not at peace either. i was once - at peace, am not now. i smile. this is not the day of my story, is it? come ms. daisy stone, let me take you out to coffee and you can tell me all about the demons that keep you up at night.