The sweet muskiness with a grassy note, a tang of acidity embellished with the slightest hint of vanilla wafts up my nose. There’s an underlying mustiness to the scent. It’s the scent of old books that have been, for decades, sitting upon weathered bookshelves, sheltered under the dark and hulking roof of the library, waiting and watching as people whiz past them, not a thought of them in mind.
Walking over to a tall, looming shelf, I reach for a battered book, its wear- a sign of prolonged use. My hands brush over its cover as my lips whisper the words on its leather front, savoring the mystery it creates in my mind. I flip gently through its pages catching fleeting glimpses of words and register them in my mind as a wave of excitement and anticipation wash over me.
I head to the nearest armchair- a regal throne for a reader, midnight-blue velvet draped over it, blankets adorning its back- and plop myself down. The armchair, in my mind, manifests into a cloud, billowing around me, as I float, way up in the sky, soaring over the earth, releasing me from the chains my worries had bound me in.
I turn to the first page of my book and take in the words. Thoughts of worry, of anger, of grief, of regret, of anxiety, disappear from my mind, the constant buzz now completely still, completely quiet. My mind is no longer in this world, my consciousness, unfettered from the shackles of mundane life. I jump through portals, skip through time and swim across an ocean of memories, as I read.
My mind is abuzz with a new kind of noise, one that I welcome. Images of dark caves on lonely coves glistening with seawater; images of snow-laden woods, home to eternal winter; images of gold-streaked skies draped over undulating plains; images of dark, stormy waters, under a brooding sky, monstrous waves lashing over vessels that dare cross it, fill my mind.
A tapestry is being woven right in front of my eyes, and I am the lucky spectator observing as the magic comes to life. Time flies by, but the enchantment cast on me prevents me from taking count of it. I’m being pulled into the depths of my mind, yet it feels like I’m free- a skylark soaring across cerulean skies. I am overcome by a welcoming warmth as I hold this bewitching spectacle of life, a sanctuary to all, a harbor of the busying thoughts of the writer, an escape from the shambles of reality, a reprieve from the haranguing thoughts one has all day long.
I covet this simple bundle of papers bound by thread because it leads me to discover more than just other worlds, it leads me to discover home.
©ADITTI HARI SHANKAR
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