Columnists

The Blessings of Bibliophilia

by I.J. SINGH

 

This happened about 18 years ago, but I remember the day as if it were yesterday. 

I was living in a Manhattan apartment in the very heart of "The Big Apple" of New York City, good-sized by local standards, minuscule in terms of the rest of the world.  Over the years, much of the apartment had been overrun by books.  Like crabgrass, they were everywhere, in every room, including the bathroom and the kitchen.

I had just gotten married and brought my bride home.  Much as she liked reading, she was utterly dismayed at how many books there were.  She loudly wondered if I had read them all, or if I even knew what books I had in my collection. 

I responded that these were not knickknacks and trinkets that could be jettisoned, casually discarded or replaced.  These, I said, were friends, cultivated over years, that were available for dialogue, conversation and company anytime I so desired.  We agreed that they deserved a place, so we moved out of the apartment into a home that had the necessary space.

The quality of one's life depends on many things.  There are some collectibles that enhance earthly comfort and pleasures.  Some appeal to the palate, others to the eye.  They all have a place in life, some are even essential.  Books, too, are vital but they are different. 

Bibliophilia  -  the love of books  -  is a very special feeling.  The world of books is not like the world of other toys that sum up a life. 

"Some books are undeservedly forgotten; none are undeservedly remembered", W.H. Auden tells us. The life of books  -  the life of the mind  -  is no less than any life of action, albeit of a different variety.

A book is good company without loquacity.  But sometimes, the mere possession of a book becomes a substitute for reading it. Book learning remains vanity of the mind until it is tempered in the crucible of life.

So, a natural question is: possessing and reading books, but to what purpose?  "Of making many books there is no end; and much study is a weariness of the flesh". (Ecclesiastes 12:12.) 

Guru Nanak, too, warns us not to let book learning go to the head, where it only feeds the ego (Guru Granth, p 467):

 parrh parrh gaddee ladheeahi parrh parrh bhareeahi saathh,

 parrh parrh baerree paaeeai parrh parrh gaddeeahi khaath;

 ...... 

parreeai jaethee aarjaa parreeahi jaethae saas,

Naanak laekhai eik gal hor houmai jhakhanaa jhaakh.

In other words:

One may read cartloads and multitude of books,

One may peruse shiploads of them;

.......

One may explore them all over one's life, with every breath;

(Says) Nanak: Keep tuned to the One; all else is babbling in ego.

 

I would think that, for a Sikh, there can be no existence without the company of books.  The Guru Granth comes to us in the form of a book.  I believe that we discover the Guru when we open the Granth and engage with the Word therein; otherwise, it remains a book, even though much revered.

It may be the lack of education in the Indian rural society combined with the fact that Sikhs in India have existed, ever since their beginning, in a feudal society which is immersed in a strong tradition of idol worship. 

In that society, Sikhs, like other Indians, have not had much experience of living with libraries and books; in India, books remain somewhat of a luxury even today.  As a result, we have humanized a book and almost transformed it into an enchanting idol  - ironically, all of it quite contrary to the message within the Guru Granth.

Is it surprising then that even our largest and most grandiose gurdwaras lack a functioning library and that most Sikh homes are devoid of any books on the religion that they profess? Sikhs generally present a mindset that is allergic to books and discourse.

Lest I be misunderstood, we are not the only people who pursue a love-hate relationship with books. 

The library in Alexandria in Egypt was founded around 245 BCE during the reign of Ptolemy II.  It reputedly housed close to 400,000 documents.  But books sometimes sprout dangerous, even revolutionary, sentiments.  To many, some books apparently harbor unacceptable kinds of learning  -  perhaps of "pagans" or "heretics".  

For such asinine reasoning, the library in Alexandria was torched many times, notably by Caesar in 48 BCE, again on the orders of the Christian Emperor Theodosius I and the Christian Patriarch Theophilus in the year 391, and then by the Muslim warrior Saladin in 642.  Its last destruction in 642 is open to some dispute. 

But it seems that our uneasy relationship with the world of books may be changing.  Today, I want to take note of and salute some small but imaginative steps that expose Sikhs  - young and old  -  to books and discourse on Sikhi.

Some years ago, the New York-based Hemkunt Foundation recognized that most Sikhs had grown up in India, where the process of becoming a Sikh was a natural result of how the society and neighborhoods in which we grew up were structured.  So, we became Sikhs largely by osmosis, without much conscious or critical thought or effort on our part. 

On the other hand, becoming a Sikh in this culture, away from Punjab and India, is a different road.  Contrary to osmosis, it needs a process that is something like "active transport" by which molecules get into cells against a concentration gradient.  This, then, would be a kind of facilitated exchange that would help transmit our heritage to the next generation of Sikhs.

So, in 1983, this foundation initiated a project wherein young Sikhs ranging in age from 6 to 25, grouped by age in five subsets, were invited to deliver short (5 to 8 minutes) prepared speeches on selected topics in Sikhism.  Reading matter in the form of a book was provided each entrant.  Judges rated the performances.  Participation in Punjabi was encouraged.  Handsome awards and rewards were used to attract participants. 

This yearly effort started with New York, but soon enough there was participation from much of the continental United States, Canada, United Kingdom and even Kenya.  At last count (2007), about 3,000 boys and girls took part.

Since 2000, an additional organization, the Ohio-based Sikh Youth Federation, has launched a similar program across the United States and Canada.  This year, they had almost 800 participants ranging in age from 6 to 22 years. They, too, are divided into five age groups and compete for impressive trophies and recognition within their communities.

Each organization now has several zonal and regional centers and usually ends its annual competition with an international meet  -  a grand affair with the winning presentations, a gala and a cultural show with entertainment to match the best.

Appropriate letters from the organizers go to the schools and colleges, where the participants attend, to be added to their academic dossiers.

Participation in such programs also provides an unexcelled opportunity for young people to meet others across the nation.  Don't forget that many of them come from small-town America where Sikh presence, if any, is minuscule indeed.   Some young Sikhs have become so hooked on this activity that they compete in both programs, if their schedules allow it.

People often have opinions but few ideas. Proficiency in critical thinking, analysis of published material and the art of making public presentations go beyond their engagement with Sikhism.  They teach skills to our young people that benefit them in their schools, colleges, and beyond.  Francis Bacon reminds us, "Reading maketh a full man, writing an exact man, and conversation a ready man".  (Replace the "man" with "person" and no one could have said it better!) These are indeed critical life skills.

There are ancillary, unanticipated benefits to these programs.  Many of the young people who participate have grown up here in a non-Sikh ambience.  When they start participating, their ignorance is colossal; many don't know where to begin.  They need help. So where do they go?  Naturally, to their parents! 

And often, it is the first time that the parents pick up a book on Sikhism.  (It is somewhat like when parents go to a book on mathematics, physics or English grammar to help their kids with their home work.) Remember, generations of parents have largely absorbed Sikhi by osmosis.  Much as the body needs physical gymnastics, the mind craves mental gymnastics.

What this does is insinuate a book on Sikhism into a home where there may be none, and start a conversation on Sikhi between parents and children, where there may never been one.  

Hopefully, some parental and some young minds awaken to the beauty of Sikhism.  Hopefully, over the years, these books and booklets form the nucleus of a library in the home. 

It is so easy to dwell on people or things.  I marvel at the possibility of these initiatives, whereby some young and some not-so-young minds engage with Sikhi while learning to love the company of ideas through the companionship of books.

 

ijs1@nyu.edu

May 28, 2008

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