Getting To Know My Late Grandfather Through His Book Collection
Second-hand books, first-hand stories.
Last weekend, I decided to wander in my neighbourhood, with only one agenda — to find myself a corner to read, along with some breakfast. As I climbed up the hill in Sai Ying Pun, Hong Kong, I came across a small empty cafe, which had just opened. I quickly grabbed a comfortable spot and pulled out my copy of ‘The Bookseller of Kabul’ written by Åsne Seierstad.
The story of an Afghani man surviving multiple tyrannical regimes in his country, while protecting books and literature, is, in simplest terms, inspiring. The book follows Sultan Khan and his family’s journey, traversing Kabul and Peshawar, to keep his business alive and with it, the history and future of Afghanistan.
The author knits the social, cultural, religious and historical backgrounds of that region. Each word carefully chosen to fit in with the characters. Souls laid bare, the men, women, children all come with their unique desires and aspirations. Some find a way towards a better life, some make attempts and fail, while others simply accept life as fate. From the oldest matriarch to the youngest toddler, each character is incomplete without the other.
This is the story Seierstad wrote for her readers. And then there’s another story, which the copy in my hand read out to me. This book was a second-hand purchase (one of the reasons why I bought it). I picked it up because its yellowing pages narrated a different tale.
Books are like wine. The older they get, the richer they become.
As every book passes through homes and shelves, cities and countries, it builds a new layer of features. Some become dated, some bookmarked. As you flip through pages, you come across dull scribbled notes in illegible writing. Exquisite, isn’t it? The botched ink stains of library stamps, the creases of the folded pages, all define the person and the time that the book originally belongs to.
For me, that has always added to the charm of reading. Who bought it first? Why did they pass it on? Imagining the person and characterising him/her/them by the books which they once owned. Building a relationship with the book and its former owner.
‘It has been through such books, that I came to know more about my maternal grandfather, Husain Mehdi Rizvi, who passed away before I was born. It was through what he read that I understood who he was. An advocate by profession, he was amongst the few scholars of his time with whom one could learn about philosophy, science and religion, over a cup of evening tea.
Every childhood visit to my mother’s maiden home, involved gazing at grandfather’s dilapidated book shelves, filled with titles in English, Urdu and Persian. Some were hardbound while others were paperback, each with a Roman number marking its place on the shelves. Curiosity would get the better of me as I would climb on the dining table to figure out which book I could pick up to read. A book on human evolution was a constant favourite, holding my attention for hours.
I imagined grandfather reading Darwin’s theory to my mother when she was a kid, and imagined how that knowledge may have changed her thought process. His scribbles in the corners of pages made me picture him seated past midnight in his room, deep into his thoughts. There were black and white pictures of him, one in which he looked like young Raj Kapoor.
As years went by, the visits shortened and the books went unnoticed, engulfed by time. Writings and pages disappeared as colonies of termites made the bookshelves their home.
Grandfather’s memory — present yet forgotten.
It was on one such visits, that I began rummaging through the racks to carry some books home. Deciding to have a piece of my grandfather’s personality forever in my books collection, I found: ‘Mother’ by Maxim Gorky, the biography of Priscilla Presley, English translations of Persian poetry by Allama Iqbal, a book on American diplomacy before World War II, and others.
As I read those books, grandfather’s image became clearer in my mind. He was no longer a memory crafted through pictures and discussions. He was now a character, defined by his choice in literature.
He was a poet at heart, inspired by Iqbal’s writings, which he translated into Urdu. He was a theologian who researched Islam’s genesis, its components, and distilled them from the traditions attached with it. He was a political commentator, who studied Lenin and Churchill, Nehru and Jinnah, all at the same time. But perhaps, above all, he was a philosopher. Trying to understand human behaviour, searching for answers, looking for new layers of the human thought process, with each book he read.
And that is the reason why, he chose to translate Persian prose by Allama Iqbal and Rumi, into Urdu prose. His books, ‘Asrar-e-Iqbal’ and ‘Afkar-o-Rumuz’ are the result of his endeavour to better understand spiritual reasoning and action.
As he spent hours in his study with all his books, he became a sum of them. An ocean of knowledge, where you will always find pearls of wisdom, every time you dive in.
As my mother and her siblings recall grandfather’s daily routines and lifestyle, I now recall a personality, a mind. I feel closer to him, to his thinking and gather immense hope to continue on my path of gathering wisdom.
It has been grandfather’s original writings in Urdu, that have inspired me to learn the language. As I try to practise every day, his copy of Urdu prose, awaits at home, to be read. A task which will take a long time but nonetheless, a task I am inspired to accomplish.
Books are the mirrors to one’s personality. Books define character. Books showcase a lifestyle. They are the biggest giveaways of a person. You can know who they really are, by simply scrolling through their collection. Or the lack of it. You can search the soul of a home through the titles of the books it houses.
And second-hand books? They present first hand stories.
Which no one else can perhaps tell.
About the writer: Mariyam Raza Haider is a researcher and writer, currently working at a public policy think tank in Hong Kong. Her writing is inspired by cultural and religious influences on women’s lives in Indian middle-class families. Mariyam holds a Master in Public Policy from the National University of Singapore, and a Bachelors in Journalism from the University of Delhi. This article was originally published on her website, and has been republished here with permission.
