Knowledge, Lost and Found

 I didn't post anything last weekend because I was completely tied up with the mundane but essential chores of life, which left me no time to catch my breath and reflect. I'm trying to make up for it by attempting to post 2 articles this weekend.

Here I am, having a head-start now on a Friday afternoon. I have at least an hour's time before I start preparing to head downtown for a social gathering. The weather these days is very unpredictable, I'll try to take the train, if possible. That will give me some time to enjoy some audio content on my phone.

I do have a backlog of podcasts, lectures and audiobooks to consume. My regular morning walks recently have given me an opportunity to catch up a bit on them. It's something I look forward to everyday.

Whenever I get to dine alone outside, I'll always bring a book with me. The other day, I was eating at the mamak restaurant nearby and was engrossed in a hardcover book by Bernard Lewis about the history of the Middle-East. When it was time for me to leave, I left it on the empty chair beside me. I only realised it the next morning when I wanted to resume my reading.

It was interesting analysing the emotions that arose in me when the thought of losing the book sank in. The first thought was:  I'm not able to finish reading the book. But then I realised that it could easily be remedied as I can buy another copy from the internet.

Then it also sank in on me that I do have a bit of sentimental attachment to the book as an object. It's a beautiful hardcover book, which I had wrapped with plastic and it has stayed unread in my library for over 18 years! I had the date inscribed on the cover page, with my name on it. 

I did not read it earlier because I had found the author's prose difficult. But I've read many books by the famed historian Bernard Lewis since then, and had thoroughly enjoyed every one of them. So when I reopened this tome again not too long ago, I was sucked into it again. I was about a third through its 450 pages, when I lost it. 

Losing a sentimental object is painful. But as someone who actively practise non-attachment to material things, I understood the momentary pain of the loss and resolved to let it go. I also comforted myself with the thought that, if the book did end up in the hands of someone, it would likely be one who appreciates books, or at least has some curiosity about the history of the Middle East. I'll be doing some good by setting this book free in the universe.

Reading and rereading my old books, and seeing their contents in a new light is one of the greatest pleasures of life. I delight in the fact that I've matured and progressed in my comprehension of topics that were previously beyond my grasp. This Lewis book, is one of those reads.

I decided to try my luck to see if I could still recover it from the mamak place, which is a regular hangout of mine.  During lunchtime the next day, I drove to the place again, and enquired with the cashier about my 'buku' which I had left on table 13.  He was initially surprised but then asked me about the colour of the book. White, of course. And lo and behold, he produced the glorious tome from the shelf behind him! Even my pencil, tucked in an elastic band around the cover is intact!

I was elated to be reunited with my book again, grasping it again in my hand with sheer gratitude. The tactile feel of a hardcover book is one of those indescribable pleasures that bibliophiles like me enjoy. Which is why I'm still hesitant to move to ebooks.

This brief lost-and-found episode has made me reflect on my attachment to things. And I know the pangs of pain that I had felt from the loss was directly proportional to that sense of possession that I have over this book, an object that is impermanent and slowly disintegrating over time. A relationship with a book, is not unlike that with a human being. And I remember many happy years ago, I had written a blog post about how people are like 'interactive books'.  There's so much that one could learn from these relationships, human or otherwise.