On Bookshelves.

I wrote this for the Guardian books blog on a thread that discussed thoroughly modern shelves:

I think a library of sorts, always speaks for the collector's personality.

Certainly, there is some odd zig-zagged beauty with the scattered arrangements of my own motley finds. My cherished titles like old friends - not having to explain oneself to - hover, haunt and wait expectantly by, eager to relive once more, an experience or episode for a reader's joy.

Who can beat that priceless amusement of replaying a chilling murder plot that may just be the recommended antidote for a glum winter's day or perhaps the diligent scan of dog-eared pages at the remembrance of a favourite sonnet or dramatic scene jolted by a long memory.

I couldn't possibly get rid of such fabulous moods and moments and that too with the immediate poignancy that attaches itself like clockwork, to any given hour of a repeated read.