ON THAT NOTE

Suresh Menon is a writer based in India. In his youth he set out to change the world but later decided to leave it as it is.

Our columnist Suresh Menon believes his late fees to the libraries have helped them stay alive.

Abig chunk of pocket money in my schooldays went towards building libraries. Or at least, I assumed they were used for that purpose. If a book was delayed by a week, I paid a fine. A month and it was so much more. I assumed then that all this amount was piped into a large treasury which supported libraries in my city. I dreamed of the day when I would walk around pointing to the public libraries, and saying modestly, “I helped build that.”

I think the innocence came from living a life mainly in libraries, with no real life experience outside. The amounts, I realise now, though substantial by pocket money standards, were hardly sufficient to buy a decent chair. But it was a good dream.

I was a member of half a dozen libraries (including the one in school), which meant that I often had a dozen library books floating around at home. Delayed returns were, therefore, a part of the whole experience.

Once or twice I liked a book so much I pretended to have lost it and paid a special fine. Fine-paying was a non-contact, non-competitive sport in my growing years.

I was reminded of this when reading about a former student in England who recently returned a book 32 years after he had borrowed it from his school library. The book was accompanied by a note apologising, and the giving the reason for returning it now: guilt. The late fees amounted to about 1,200 dollars, but the school decided it wouldn’t collect.

What was especially fascinating was the book’s title: Manners Make A Difference. It came in the mail, and will now be put on display as an example of good manners. Sometimes it takes 32 years to gain such recognition.

I don’t know if there is a word for ‘Fear of returning library books late’, a condition many of us suffer from. Here are the relevant words in Latin: bibliotheca (library), reditus (return), liber (book), timor (fear), mora (delay). Put them all together, shake them up, and you get the word. For those waiting to pounce, I got that lot from the Internet (Latin: Internet).

According to New York Times, Betty Diamond of Madison once returned a library book after more than 63 years, along with a $500 donation to the Queens Public Library, to cover the fine.

I think that’s the figure we should be aiming at. I look at the oldest library book in my collection of unreturned books, and see that I borrowed it over half a century ago. A few more years, and The Little Engine That Could will be back in the library. If it still exists, that is.

Once or twice I liked a book so much I pretended to have lost it and paid a special fine. Fine-paying was a non-contact sport in my growing years