You are in for confusion when you are in the presence of books. That is how I see it. Just as I walked to the Community Library Center today, my heart started racing. My eyes looked about the book shelves with admiration and love. I was certainly in a limbo with John Grisham and Agatha Christie calling me to break my head over a crime and delve in the intricacies of the crime played out; Nicholas Sparks and Nora Roberts cooing on to be a part of the romantic odyssey; Ayn Rand always calling on to my heart, to admire the objectivity of life; whole section of Classics wooing me to jump aboard the adventure ship of sheer loyalty, pure love and brilliance; then there is Ruskin Bond who entraps me for a moment in the ecstasy of the mountains; R K Narayan and Rabindranath Tagore calling to tell me the essence of life and India in a nutshell; Preeti Shenoy, Amitav Ghosh, Karan Bajaj trying to ensnare me into the world of amazing perspectives and plots of the now; then there is the section which rolls over, stops me and glares at me in the face-Himalayas, Europe, Ladakh…. I look away hoping to control my travel bug; lastly I hit upon the book which I was searching for Somerset Maugham, thanks to Ruskin Bond for recommending it in his book “Love Among the Bookshelves”. As I picked it up, my mind wandered to the Crime section and Agatha Christie was right into my hand when I checked out and walked out hoping to be there again and going through the same wonderful tour time and again, to listen to the Stalwarts calling on….