Library

‘…it is tough to pinpoint creativity. Most believe that it has something to do with a new point of view or experience or expression. But, if you could erase familiar frames of reference, can a ‘new’ perspective of an ‘old’ experience be considered a part of creativity? Mind you, the emphasis here is on erasing that which is familiar and not really on the ‘new’ or the ‘old’.

Consider a short story. The traditional reader expects a snapshot of life, more or less linear with a connectivity that allows a gradual build-up of tension or understanding or a twist in the tale. But, instead of that, if there are distracting parts and contrasting themes that create a disorienting effect, and worse, if levity and gravity are indistinguishable…is it good or bad? Strangely, the befuddled mind of the reader is found to be more receptive to new threads of thought. That which enables the reader is the erasure of fixed frames of reference…that fixed sense of certainty or expectation borne via experience. Here, the author and the reader have dual roles, a blend of subjectivity and objectivity, and creativity depends on both…’

I hardly heard myself speak while I delivered the introductory lecture to the new batch of students at the Centre for Creative Studies. It felt like I had put the talk on automatic mode. I scanned the rows, studying the faces of new students, some senior students and a sprinkling of colleagues. I was surprised to see the Librarian Mr. Raman standing at the back, near the door. He kept staring at me and appeared fidgety. I went through the lecture, accepted the applause and responded to a few questions before excusing myself. Mr. Raman was still standing near the main door and I went to him.

‘Mr. Raman, is there anything the matter?’ I asked him.

‘Ah yes, I think so. Could you please come with me to the Library?’ he spoke softly, nearly whispering, and I nodded. He led the way and we remained silent en route.

Mr. Raman is a soft-spoken, reserved and rather morose individual. Some say that he became morose after his wife ran away with one of the students. But I remember him as such even before that event. At that time, he had seemed stoic and quite matter-of-fact about the situation. It must have helped to be connected with this Centre where nearly all mind their own business and where it would take a lot more for any event to be elevated to the status of a scandal. We are quite proud of our capacity to shock the outside world with creativity rather than be shocked ourselves. During a rare personal conversation, Mr. Raman had confided to me that the underlying reason for his wife’s elopement must be his obvious lack of imagination.

For an outsider, it might seem out-of-place for a Centre like ours to have an unimaginative Librarian. But the Library, like other libraries of any subject, is merely a depository. From classics to pulp fiction, from philosophical tracts to evangelical rants, from religious texts to pornography, the Library offers a place to check upon existing points of view. It is hardly creative or imaginative in itself and rarely inspires the same. In fact, instead of offering a new creative path, the Library functions as a block against traversing well-trodden paths.  

I am associated with the Library as the Faculty-in-Charge. Effectively, I am the middleman between the Library and the practitioners, the latter being the faculty and the students.

When we reached his office, Mr. Raman broke the silence, ‘There has been a type of desecration.’ He moved to his table where he had piles of books each nearly half a man’s height. I could see that the selection of books was from every possible topic: religion, romance, thriller, poetry, plays and others. He picked a book at random, flipped the pages to a bookmarked section and handed it over to me.

I could see in the margins of those pages a fine, neat handwriting. I flipped the pages to the next bookmarked section. I moved quickly through that book and then through some of the others. I realized that each part filled two pages, that is, the margins of the left and right pages. The parts were on the same theme but there was no strict chronological order and each could be considered as a stand-alone. Even at first glance, I could sense the various combinations and permutations giving birth to new, like the mix and match of chromosomes.

The theme itself was commonplace but the variations looked complete. Even if most of it were already there in published material, having such a mass in encyclopedic proportions from a single source made me terribly nervous.

The writing was about a man and a woman. There were no details about them. They could be married, casual partners or even strangers. Each part of a series or sub-theme described an ‘encounter’ wherein the two explore a new aspect of their relationship. The parts seem to cover the entire gamut of scenarios: distant, bitter, affectionate, reproachful, submissive, childlike fumbling, mature exploration, sick or old, demanding, forgetful and it went on and on. Some were asexual but most involved a fair amount of torrid stuff, rather explicit about every detail though quite natural given the situation.

In the margins of a sacred religious text, I found descriptions of ‘strip shows’ where the two undress in front of each other for the first time. In one series revolving around a scene where the male drops his pants, it starts with the woman exclaiming, ‘Oh, just like a boy....’ In one part of that series, the man reacts sensitively and unfavorably to this assessment and in another the man takes it in his stride. The reader is given various scenarios following that. In another series, the woman admits (falsely, truly, ambiguously…each explored in various parts), ‘Exactly as I had dreamt…’ and the scene develops from there.

The sheer multitude of stories and scenarios that came out of each scene or statement was awesome and at the same time frightening. With such a source, I wondered if I would ever find something new to add. And worse, even if I wanted to, would I be able to forget such a complete set…will I ever have my own frame of reference for any new experience?

‘Are these the defiled books?’ I asked Mr. Raman.

‘These are the books I have found. I am sure there are more. Lots more…’ his worrying words trailed off.

‘Who knows about it?’

‘Only you and I…’

‘Good.’

‘And the author…or authors…I suppose…’

‘We will deal with that later…’

‘What should we do?’

‘We have to close the library, make some excuse…then we have to find all the books…’

‘And then…?’

‘I do not know…storing it would be dangerous…possibly destroy and replace if we can…’

‘But…destroy this…?’ Even Mr. Raman appreciated its worth.

‘Otherwise, it will destroy creativity…’

‘Oh God…it looks like a snake swallowing its own tail…’