I have been a “collector” all my life – especially of books. From my days in the US, I’ve found deep satisfaction in acquiring books. I don’t necessarily read every volume that finds its way onto my shelves, but there’s an undeniable pleasure in simply owning a thoughtful new title. Periodically, I’ll select one to read, though over the past decade, much of my reading has have migrated to digital formats.
A month or so, I faced an unexpected reckoning when an office renovation forced me to clear my space. Suddenly, I confronted hundreds of books – probably more, as I eventually lost count. While I carefully packed the newer additions to return them to bookshelves in a few weeks’ time, I discovered countless volumes I hadn’t touched in years. These were literary time capsules from the late ’80s, throughout the ’90s, and the early 2000s. I stood at a crossroads: keep or discard.
In every previous decluttering attempt, “keep” had been my reflexive choice. This time, however, something shifted. I decided to part with most of them, preserving only those with special memories or enduring relevance. It was time to move forward, especially knowing that digital versions exist should I need to revisit a specific text.
Books carry more than just information – they embody places and times. My collection included dense textbooks from my Columbia graduate studies (Digital Signal Processing, Computer Networks) and volumes that traced my evolving professional interests through the 1990s (image processing, text summarisation, software development and programming languages). The Internet and IndiaWorld era of my career brought another wave of acquisitions, followed by my 2000s exploration of new technologies, India, and politics. The chronology of my intellectual journey unfolded across these pages, shelf after shelf.
This time, I approached the task with newfound pragmatism. These books had been companions through a wonderful life with all its peaks and valleys. My love for books has remained the one unwavering constant, but I recognised the necessity of releasing the past. Even after this significant purge, I still possess enough volumes to fill multiple walls of bookshelves, but many older titles simply needed to find new homes or purposes.
The act of decluttering books isn’t merely about creating physical space – it’s about acknowledging that our relationships with knowledge evolve. Some books serve as momentary guides, while others become lifelong references. Some mark specific chapters in our lives that have naturally concluded. The past must give way as new futures beckon.
As I closed the final box of books to be given away, I felt an unexpected lightness. These books had shaped me, but I no longer needed to possess them to retain what they had taught me. The lessons, ideas, and inspirations had long ago transferred from their pages into the person I’ve become. In letting go, I wasn’t abandoning their influence – I was simply acknowledging that the most important parts of many of them already reside within me.
Sometimes the greatest respect we can show to the books that have changed us is to release them to potentially transform someone else.
PS: During the decluttering process, I found my notebooks from the late 1990s and early 2000s which I thought had been lost. Those I have kept. Maybe one day I will write an autobiography or, as an older version of myself, relive some meaningful chapters of my life!
