THE GLINT IN HIS EYES

‘Collect your pictures in half an hour,’ the lady who had just taken my picture told me.

‘I hope there is no confusion,’ I said.

‘Yes ma’am; ten stamp-size copies and ten passport-size copies,’ the lady repeated my order.

‘Right!’ I said and smiled. She smiled back. I stepped out of the studio and walked down the stairs. I came out of the complex and took a deep breath. I looked at my watch. I had come quite a long way from my house to go back and come in the evening to pick up my photographs. Besides I could do with getting them early. I decided to spend some time in the Crossword outlet across the street while I waited for my pictures to be developed.

I crossed the street and entered the store. The blast of the cool AC-air felt like a blessing, with temperatures hitting 38 degrees. I deposited my hand bag at the counter and took the coupon. Stuffing it into my pant-pocket, I started walking towards the ‘New Arrival’ section.

Visiting book stores somehow leaves me feeling rejuvenated. Every time I look at the stacks after stacks of books, piled ceiling to floor, I can’t help but contemplate over the treasure that might be hidden in those millions and millions of pages. There could be stuff out there that could change my life forever, make me a believer of something, make me hate something; make me long for something… anything. The power of words. Words, words, words.

That’s probably why I always like to go to bookstores alone. It makes me feel great. Nothing makes me feel as great as after a visit to a bookstore.

And we come there to choose one out of thousands and thousands of books...

I read somewhere that its not we who choose; the book chooses its reader. It should be true. I like to try new authors. Somewhere I believe it’s our responsibility to give them a chance. Encourage them, buy their books; atleast give them a try. We spend so much money on so many things. It’s ridiculous that we should think and debate before spending a few bucks on a book, just because it’s not by Jeffery Archer or Agatha Christie or Stephen Hawking or Paulo Coelho. And even though it sometimes boomerangs, it’s ok. Atleast for me. I still keep trying new books. I read them and I pass them on among my friends... And just as the book chooses its reader, it also chooses when the reader is to read it. I could put aside atleast five books right now from the ones I have that I haven’t read at all, though I bought them a long long time ago. For whatever reason, they have been left untouched. A few days back, one of my friends borrowed one of these books from me, and she really loved it. And she was also very surprised I hadn’t read such a nice book. Now I have been given the ultimatum: Book padho, ya mujhe bhul jao! (Read the book or you can forget about our friendship!) Anyways…

I went from the ‘New Arrivals’ section to the ‘Indian Fiction’ section. One after the other, I read the titles and names of authors. Once in a few names, a name would make me pull the book out of the stack and look at its cover, then look at its back and then the first few pages. I read ‘praise for the author’ and wondered exactly how many people actually meant what they said. I put the book back in its place. Sometimes I put it elsewhere. I wondered who’d be the next to pick it up. After going through a number of books, I settled for just one (very uncharacteristic of me). I put it in the shopping-bag I got at the door and turned around. I went to the billing counter. The man took the book from the shopping-bag and kept the bag on a pile of several other shopping-bags. I drummed my fingers on the counter.

‘Two-fifty, ma’am.’

I patted my pockets and realised I’d left my wallet in my bag.

‘I’ll just go get my wallet,’ I said and left the queue. And just as I turned around, I saw a lady enter the store with a small boy. He was wearing blue jeans and a white t-shirt with some abstract design printed in pink. His hair was an unusual reddish-brown colour. His feet were done in bright colored sports shoes. Within fraction of a second as mother and son entered the store, the boy’s eyes lit up. They grew big and wide and I saw a glint in his eyes. They were shining bright. The gleam was unmistakable. And even before the mother had a chance to say anything, the boy freed his hand from the mother’s grasp and ran inside the store, towards the kids section. My eyes followed him. He ran straight to the end of the store and stopped in front of the books section. I smiled and went back to the billing counter. I paid for my book, picked up my hand bag from the counter. Just as I was about to step out of the store, I turned around one more time to look at the boy. He was deeply engrossed in reading a book. My smile grew wider. I walked back inside and walked up to that boy. I got down and sat on my knees. I ruffled his hair (a habit I have. I always ruffle kid’s hair. Especially boys’). He looked up from his book, a bit confused. I smiled. He smiled back, but a little cautious.

‘You like reading?’ I said. He nodded. I reached inside my bag and pulled out an old copy of ‘Wuthering Heights’. I have a habit of carrying some kind of a book or novel with me when I go out. I opened the book and took the bookmark out; a typical sun-sign type. I held it out to him. He looked at it, then looked at his mother, who had now come and stood behind me. She nodded. The boy’s face lit-up with a big smile, and the glint was back in his eyes. He took the bookmark from my hand and looked at it.

‘Even my sun-sign is Sagittarius,’ he said and smiled.

I laughed. ‘Do you know what a sun-sign is?’ I asked. He thought for a moment, then counter-questioned me; ‘Do you know what it is?’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘Then why do you ask?’ he said.

‘Bhaskar! What happened to your manners?’ his mother scolded him as she walked over to him. The boy looked down at his feet.

‘No no! Please!’ I said. I ruffled his hair again. He looked up at me and smiled as I got up. I turned toward the mother.

‘I am so happy you brought him here instead of taking him to a toy-store,’ I said.

‘Oh he loves reading,’ the mother said. ‘I don’t like reading myself much, but I always encourage him to buy books. I guess it’s come to him from his grandfather.’

‘That’s really great,’ I said. I turned to look at him. ‘Bye Bhaskar!’ I said. Mother and son both waved at me as I finally walked out of the store. I then walked down to the studio and picked up my pictures which were now ready and drove back home.

For the rest of the day, my mind went back again and again to the little boy I had seen in the bookstore. I just couldn’t put his face out of my mind. The glint I saw in his eyes… It was pure and innocent. It was strong and full of hope, curiosity, happiness and a… a kind of positivenness that was so alluring... I was to meet my Professor in an hour regarding a project I was working on. I was sitting in his office. The kaka (peon) told me he’d take another fifteen minutes to come back from his meeting. Automatically my hand reached inside my bag and I pulled the copy of Wuthering Heights out. I shuffled through the pages and suddenly realised I had given the small boy my bookmark. I smiled as his face, his eyes popped up in my mind again; and instantly my face lit-up with a smile too. I opened the first page of the book and started reading it all-over again… glad he happened to me.