Of Wills and Wishes

I wonder what will become of my beloved books and driftwood art after me. The thought of them being neglected or thrown away gives me jitters; more than the fear of death itself

- Ashutosh Salil

I am a single man. I have no children. I have no nephews or nieces either. I don’t own a house or any land, yet. In the name of possession, I have lots of books though, and a few pieces of furniture and driftwood art.

My books are all over my house. In all my books, I have dutifully written at the top corner of the first page, my name, the date of purchase, and the city where I bought the book. This is my way of marking my possession over them. Telling friends, families, and the world in general—please don’t pick them up. They don’t belong anywhere else.

Those who visit my home love to look at my collection of books. But every time they do that, I get nervous and frigid. What if they wish to borrow a few? My experience with borrowing has not been great. Borrowed books have rarely come back home. I am possessive about all my books. I love each one of them equally. There is no hierarchy of good or bad books in my head. My books are probably the only thing I am fiercely possessive about. I may not read all of them but I want to keep them all.

Whenever my close friends come home and wish to borrow, I try to persuade them to spend their own money on buying books. Not everyone is convinced. I guess, some of them just want to annoy me by saying that they want to borrow my books. When nothing works, I offer to buy them the book they want. Parting with my marked books is the last resort. It is painful. It is like taking away a part of me, my memories away from me while I guard them closely.