Would you be willing to let a few memories go?

A few weeks ago, my friend Renton de Alwis made a request. Books. He had devised a modest but potentially path-breaking scheme to give children in Kiula, Hungama, the reading habit. He had found that the issue is not one of there not being enough books (schools have libraries, as do temples, and most towns have public libraries), but that children (and indeed adults as well) are so entrapped in the diurnal of ‘learning’ (or ‘earning’) that they just didn’t have the time to visit such a facility, browse and borrow. Well, not that there is not enough time but a lack of incentive.

Renton’s plan was simple. Get the books to the child. His logic is that if children are inflicted by the reading bug, there’s no turning back. It’s a books-on-wheels project. Three-wheels actually. The mobile library goes around the village and children can pick and choose and borrow. They can return the books two weeks later. Turns out, most are done with the books they borrowed within a week. Sounds promising.

Anyway, a few weeks ago, i.e. before the initiative was launched, Renton explained the concept to me and said he needed books for the library. He called me again yesterday (June 19, 2010) and said that he needs some children’s books. My daughters are nine and six.

They don’t have many toys, but they have books. I asked them if there were any books they were willing to give away. I told them to go through the book shelves and pick out some we could give these children.

I went to see how they were doing. Disappointing. Just two or three books. I pointed to some books and asked if they had read them. ‘Yes,’ they answered. ‘Are you planning to read them again?’ I asked. The answer was vague and inaudible. I think it fell between ‘yes’ and ‘no’. I spoke of ‘privilege’. About the virtue of sharing. Wrong word. The older girl caught it and ran: ‘Yes, so sharing is giving and then returning’. I couldn’t help smiling. She knew that I knew that she had picked on an error. She therefore gave me the truth: ‘They are my memories.’ One does not argue with memories. Remembering is not a bad thing. It is good to cherish.

I tried it another way. Spoke about the difference it could make in the lives of people they had never met. I explained that the books on a single shelf would be like a treasure trove for some children. She contemplated.

The younger one, generally bored with any debate that exceeded three minutes, started picking out books she ‘owned’, i.e. those gifted to her. Ladybird books. Janaki Sooriyarachchi’s books. I picked up one myself: ‘The Good King Sivi’. ‘No, we can’t give that one Appachchi, because you need it!’ It was a ‘gift’ she had once given me, so that I will remember her. She is not a reader. Not yet, at any rate. There were many she hadn’t touched. The sister knew this and reminded her.

I left them to their own devices. They put together quite a pile. Memories notwithstanding.

Charity is the privilege of the able. This I know. The able can also look the other way. They can say ‘not my business’ or ‘another time, perhaps’. They can even use the charming dismissive, ‘my memories’. Contact information and say ‘please send’ or ‘contact him and he will tell you how he could collect the books’. Renton had a better idea it would be better if many people started similar projects in areas where such initiatives are sorely needed’.

It doesn’t have to be books. It could be anything. There are so many ‘throwaways’ that can be saved, solicited from friends, collected and given to someone or some community that needs them more.

I remember a TV advertisement urging consumers to conserve energy. The message was quite simple: ‘turn off one light right now that you don’t really need’. Something like that.

I think if we looked around us, we will find at least one thing that we really don’t need and which we could give away. There are always things that are memory-laden, and those that are memory-laden, but there will be others that are memory-free. Even among those ‘memoried’ articles there will be some that can be given away.

At least one thing. My nine year old daughter struggled, visibly, to deal with memory-loss. I did not push her hard. She was smiling and full of enthusiasm when she gave those books to Renton.

I am not sure what she’ll remember and what she would forget of her childhood, years from now. I think she would be a citizen who understands things like community, collective, solidarity, generosity and kindness.

Maybe some day I will have the chance to tell her a story about memories, memory-loss, and memory-sacrifice. There’ll be a child she may never meet, a child who lives in Kiula, Hungama. I have already said ‘thank you’ to that child, on her behalf. Someday, hopefully, she will have opportunity to say it too.

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