She Stole My Heart (And Made Me Read)

My Crush!❤️

Most boys in their fifth-class days had crushes on film stars, school teachers, or, if they were particularly adventurous, a girl in the neighborhood. But me? I fell for a librarian.

Not just any librarian—Shagufta.

She presided over the oldest library in Hyderabad, State Central Library on the banks of River Musi, a magnificent fortress of books with grand steps leading up, huge halls, towering ceilings, chandeliers that looked like they belonged in palaces, and a silence so sacred even cats—who love books but pretend they don’t—would have curled up and napped without protest.

And in the midst of all that literary grandeur was her—gracious, fair, always dressed in soft pastels salwar kameez; in winters : a red or sky blue shawl wrapped around, with a smile so warm it could turn even the dustiest heavy scholarly book into a best-seller.

I was a tiny thing then, barely able to reach the shelves, but Shagufta had the superpower of knowing exactly which book I needed before I did. She would glide over, pluck a couple from the shelves, and hand them to me with that knowing look—part librarian, part mind-reader.

Now, summer holidays in my house meant Mom outsourcing our energy to books, sending us off to the library under the reluctant guardianship of my not-so-older studious brother. The plan was simple: we read, we returned, we stayed out of her hair. Except, unlike my brother, my version of ‘reading’ often involved flipping pages aimlessly, waiting for wisdom to seep in through sheer exposure. By the way, my academic study was no different.

Shagufta, of course, caught on. One afternoon, she fixed me with those kind eyes, issued no warning, no “Shhh!”, just a gentle command:

“Come, sit here.”

And just like that, I found myself at the hallowed librarian’s desk, where books weren’t just books, they were sacred scrolls. She placed a hand on the open pages and began helping me read. That touch—light, guiding, patient—felt like music, her reading a few paragraphs to me was like the softest notes of a flute played by some celestial musician.

Occasionally, I would help her carry books back to the shelves before heading for home.

I didn’t know it was a crush back then. I only knew that my summer afternoons had become brighter, winter afternoons warmer, that suddenly books seemed far more interesting (especially when she helped me read them), and the library—once just a building—had become my favorite place on Earth.

She must have been 16 or 17 years older than me, but age is just a number—especially when you’re 10 and don’t even understand numbers properly yet. What mattered was that she was the first person to make me feel noticed, important, and possibly like a future literary genius (even if I was still at the picture-book stage). My real reading habit started from there.

In my growing years, a couple of times, on my way to work, or on a lazy afternoon, I visited the library to see her. But couldn't for her being in some meeting or on leave.

And here I am, decades later, still remembering Shagufta.

I don’t remember the books I read. I don’t even remember what I had for lunch yesterday. But I remember her. Shagufta emerges from the pages of any book that I take to read, for several years now, meaning either she was unforgettable… or I was truly, madly, deeply terrible at moving on.

Some people, associations and the bond that we developed don't move with life, they remain permanently etched in your heart. It beats for them.

But then again, isn’t that the thing about crushes? They leave their mark, no matter how many years have passed.

And this… this was my second crush. I must thank my Mom for pushing me out to the library 😉

The first? Ah, now that’s another story. One that I should probably write before my memory—like an overdue library book—gets misplaced forever.

Here is to you, Shagufta, wherever you are, love, happiness, good health and good wishes. ❤️

Allah Aapko Mehfooz Rakhhe! (May Allah Keep You Safe.)