My very own megical kingdom
For as long as my memory allows me to remember, I've always had a book by my side. And I mean 'always.' I couldn't fall into bed and be whisked off to slumberland without reading, no matter how exhausted I was, I would be reading when commuting to school and later to University.
I would always carry a book with me when I went for long drives or voyaged by plane or train, albeit a throbbing headache would brew if I read and travelled simultaneously. Yet , the call of the written words was too strong and whenever I heeded the beckoning, I responded.
I was most at home, when I entered the premises of that building which stripped me off all wordly concerns; my own megical kingdom with its array of fiefdoms_fiction and history, biography and poetry, the mysterious realms of astronomyand occult, and of course, the altar at which the king size dictionaries and leather-bound atlases rested, but not in peace. Here was Where I was Queen, without the need of any coronation. A land which I had not conquered but which had conquered me, instead. And I had willingly succmbed.
I was not alone here.People communicateed in loving gestures, and whispered like clandestine lovers,And when you saw some one from your fraternity, you don't need words;the officoial language was silence and the standard greeting was smile.
The scent of yellowing papermingled congenially with that of the crisp white sheets. That patent perfume: a breathtaking, intoxicating concoction of ink, glue and wax never failed to waft alluringly to rule my senses when ever I walked in through that gleaming oak door with its solemn plaque which simply pronounced:'Library"
As I would tiptoe around the serried, seemingly infinite, painstakingly neat, columns of books and more books, I would feel humble and so puny in the aegis and shadow of such knowledge. Here was a territory which gave me not onlt answers to anything I sought, but also succeeded in introducing me to horizons I had never know existed, challenging me to keep on delving for more; mocking me that I would never know enough.
Despite that fact that I would have a truckload of home work and notes in my arms, which I knew I would have to eventually get down to attacking with aid of refrence books. I would be pulled by a pagan, magnetic force towards the myriads of stacked books. I would then lovingly caress each title with my eyes, smiling in recognition at some, picking out others which perked my interest, ignoring those contemptuously which didn't catch my face: I had the right either to be benevolent or indifferent.This 'was' my kingdom.
Armed with books in my hands I would walk with an assurance___ the assurance and arrogance all lovers have who are certain of the bliss and intransigence of their love__lovers who smile to themselves as if concealing some secret, who know that they will meet again, and then again, to renew their vows, never harbouring the fear of betrayal within the sacred sanctuary of the library.
I would always carry a book with me when I went for long drives or voyaged by plane or train, albeit a throbbing headache would brew if I read and travelled simultaneously. Yet , the call of the written words was too strong and whenever I heeded the beckoning, I responded.
I was most at home, when I entered the premises of that building which stripped me off all wordly concerns; my own megical kingdom with its array of fiefdoms_fiction and history, biography and poetry, the mysterious realms of astronomyand occult, and of course, the altar at which the king size dictionaries and leather-bound atlases rested, but not in peace. Here was Where I was Queen, without the need of any coronation. A land which I had not conquered but which had conquered me, instead. And I had willingly succmbed.
I was not alone here.People communicateed in loving gestures, and whispered like clandestine lovers,And when you saw some one from your fraternity, you don't need words;the officoial language was silence and the standard greeting was smile.
The scent of yellowing papermingled congenially with that of the crisp white sheets. That patent perfume: a breathtaking, intoxicating concoction of ink, glue and wax never failed to waft alluringly to rule my senses when ever I walked in through that gleaming oak door with its solemn plaque which simply pronounced:'Library"
As I would tiptoe around the serried, seemingly infinite, painstakingly neat, columns of books and more books, I would feel humble and so puny in the aegis and shadow of such knowledge. Here was a territory which gave me not onlt answers to anything I sought, but also succeeded in introducing me to horizons I had never know existed, challenging me to keep on delving for more; mocking me that I would never know enough.
Despite that fact that I would have a truckload of home work and notes in my arms, which I knew I would have to eventually get down to attacking with aid of refrence books. I would be pulled by a pagan, magnetic force towards the myriads of stacked books. I would then lovingly caress each title with my eyes, smiling in recognition at some, picking out others which perked my interest, ignoring those contemptuously which didn't catch my face: I had the right either to be benevolent or indifferent.This 'was' my kingdom.
Armed with books in my hands I would walk with an assurance___ the assurance and arrogance all lovers have who are certain of the bliss and intransigence of their love__lovers who smile to themselves as if concealing some secret, who know that they will meet again, and then again, to renew their vows, never harbouring the fear of betrayal within the sacred sanctuary of the library.
Posted by Zeeast at 11:32 PM
1 Comments
ذیسٹ اتنا مت سوچا کریں ۔۔ زندگی میں بہت کچھ ہے کتابوں کے علاوہ ۔۔ ہی ہی ہی ۔۔۔ پر آپ بہت اچھا لکھتی ہیں لکھتے رہیں
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