A Beautiful Tale For The Kids About The Keeper Of The Book: Santanu’s possessions were few and far between. He had a few articles of clothing, some pens, a book, and some cheap-looking trainers. an outdated book.
No longer did people own books. A book seemed as antiquated to the students at Santanu’s school in 2042 as a suit of armour or a castle. Everyone has the most recent cell phones and tablet computers.
They had PCs, laptops, and iBooks. Santanu’s family was impoverished, thus he lacked all of these items. He didn’t have a phone, therefore no one called him.
He didn’t have a computer and most definitely didn’t have a Facebook page, so no one emailed him. His buddies taunted him for being so out of touch and thought he was crazy.
But he found comfort in his book. It was a really old book, and the edges of the burgundy leather binding were frayed. When he opened it, the pages gave off an odd odour. It had an ancient, musty odour.
Santanu was unsure of what the book was about. He primarily used it as a journal, noting tale ideas or the phone numbers and email addresses of his buddies in the margins. In the event that he ever needed them. The odd lettering that appeared on every page escaped his attention.
The language was from his native country, which he couldn’t place. Since his parents had taught him the language when he was a young child, he was aware that it was Bengali and could converse in it with them. He couldn’t read it, though. On the page, the words appeared weird and unusual.
Santanu and his parents had travelled to Britain after the floods. But that was back when he was a young child, a very long time ago. His mother had filled him in on every detail of the Bangladeshi natural calamities.
Water was present everywhere. It swept many people away and drowned the crops. His family had managed to stay alive by eating sparingly while perched on the top of their home. They were there for a full four days before being rescued.
His parents suffered a complete loss and were unable to take such a chance again. So they travelled to England with some assistance from their relatives and friends.
The trip lasted several weeks. His mother frequently recounted to Santanu how they had travelled in a truck that contained a caged tiger and a number of chickens.
They also rode a bus with elderly passengers who had lost their houses. And finally, they had been carried over the water by a big white jet aircraft.
His mother informed him that the plane was the scariest part of all. It shook and rocked. Baby Santanu cried nonstop due to the noise.
When they came, they had very little. They used all of their money to flee the floodwaters. His mother was a part-time cleaner, while his father worked as a server.
They had been prosperous farmers and businesspeople in Bangladesh, but it was difficult for them to land suitable positions in Britain.
They possessed a digital television in their small apartment above the filthy convenience store on the busy main road, but it was neither HD nor widescreen. At home, Santanu’s only source of enjoyment was his book; he used computers at school.
Even though his best friend Crystal was extremely underprivileged, she possessed a mobile phone. She frequently contributed to Santanu’s book with him since she appreciated it. She entered all of her passwords in Santanu’s book because she had nowhere else to save them. They wouldn’t be discovered in there.
Every day, he walked the ten minutes to school. The majority of students were delivered to school by their parents in hover cars, or occasionally by an electronic bus. But Santanu walked everywhere.
On a bright day, the youngsters at the playground were noisier than usual, speaking at once and displaying slightly alarmed expressions on their faces.
All of them had their phones in their hands and were attempting to text or make calls, but it didn’t appear to be functioning. In assembly, the reason was made obvious.
As he explained what had occurred to the students, Mister Williams, the headmaster, appeared frazzled.
I am aware that you have all been anxious, but we must maintain our composure, he replied. It appears that there was an electrical issue. We will all find it difficult now that the internet has collapsed, but we must maintain our composure and figure out what to do.
The internet controlled practically every aspect of life in 2042. Nothing could be touched. Information was inaccessible, unlike in Santanu’s book. Light switches, televisions, mobile phones, and laptops all used the internet. Now, nothing is working!
The youngsters were agitated and boisterous. They were frightened. There had never been anything like this before. How would they speak to one another? How would they spend their downtime? What had people been doing prior to television, video games, and email?
Even though Mr. Williams was attempting to maintain everyone’s composure, the kids could tell that he was anxious. He persisted in fumbling with his own dead phone till he eventually left assembly looking extremely confused.
The kids were hurried into their classrooms as the bell rang, still agitated and fearful. Whiteboards weren’t functional.
The computers were inoperative. Instead, the teachers tried to get the kids to practise their handwriting, but they were all awful writers. Nobody anymore used pencils! However, Santanu, whose writing was proficient and exceptionally clean, considered it a rare delight.
The days passed one after the other. Nobody was aware of when the computers will restart. Because they were no longer diverted by television shows, video games, or cell phones, parents were becoming irritated with their difficult kids.
The kids were clueless about what to do with themselves. Because they only ever spoke to their friends over the phone or online, when they stumbled out into the streets, they had no idea where their friends resided.
Eventually, news spread across the school that Santanu had a small book filled to the brim with names, addresses, and phone numbers. An older boy named Kai once followed Santanu home and demanded to know his friend’s address, which Santanu had carefully written down on the inside cover of his book.
If the youngster could accompany him and play, Santanu agreed to give him the address. That was how it began. Santanu devised new games for them all and made a lot of new acquaintances as a result. He enjoyed playing against opponents. He preferred the physical world to technology.
All of the children found enjoyment in his novel. Their phones and screens, which had once been bursting with colour and information, now regarded the outside world as lifeless.
Computer and television monitors had an unyielding dismal grey colour. The book was extremely helpful right now! It was jam-packed with names and addresses, game concepts that Santanu had developed over the years, and made-up tales that he now read aloud to his pals.
On one occasion, it began to rain as the kids were having a game in a remote area of the city. They all sprinted for cover next to the door of a huge orange brick structure.
As the kids piled up against the door one by one to shield themselves from the rain, the door suddenly crashed in, trapping the kids inside one on top of the other in a massive bundle.
The interior of the building was dark, with tall ceilings. It was incredibly dark and covered in dust and cobwebs, making it difficult to see much detail in the shadows. It had a musty, vintage odour.
The first to stand up was Santanu. He rubs his eyes and scans the area.
‘Books! All of these novels are amazing! He sobbed. “What is this location?”
In response, his pal Crystal said, “I don’t know.” It reminds me of an ancient house,
The room’s focal point was a big desk, which had a placard over it. “Returns and Issuing Desk,” it read. An even larger placard hung from the ceiling above that one. “Public Library,” it read.
No matter that none of the kids understood what a library was. Santanu’s eyes were so stunning. He walked the aisles, rubbing the book spines as he went. It resembled a forbidden palace that was only known to children.
More kids started showing up after school in the library as the weeks went by. They would read aloud to one another or to themselves while snuggled up in blankets. They would make up their own stories while playing games of hide-and-seek and pursuit.
Santanu enjoyed perusing the aisles while reading a few passages from each book. He recited passages from books including Thomas the Tank Engine, A Brief History of Time, 1000 Leagues Under the Sea, and The History of the World in 100 Objects. He seized whatever he could.
Just as he finished returning Thomas to the children’s section shelf, he noticed a leatherbound book that resembled his own book from back home. Everything about it was the same, with the exception that it was written in English.
He at last understood the subject of his work. It was authored by a man named Roald Dahl and was titled Matilda.
Santanu didn’t put the book down until he had finished the very last page of the tale of a young girl who loved to read. He considered it to be the most amazing, enjoyable, and sensual novel he had ever read.
He contrasted the Bengali edition of Matilda that he had been carrying around for so long with the English version. He read the book over and over again, slowly learning the Bengali script.
He studied the two works side by side for hours in a quiet corner of the library, becoming more and more comfortable with the Bengali script.
Additionally, he discovered a book in the library’s “education” section that assisted him in learning more and more about the Bengali language.
One Saturday, Santanu arrived at the library after opening time and was struck by how quiet it was. There weren’t any youngsters anywhere. Santanu questioned whether they had all been apprehended by an adult and expelled. Then Crystal timidly stepped out from under the “travel” area.
They have resolved the issue, she claimed. “The internet and PCs are all back in operation.” Everyone has returned home.
She requested Santanu’s passwords before shyly walking out the door and leaving Santanu by herself with all of the books.
The tiny boy regarded the columns of book-filled shelves. He lamented that nobody would ever have the time to read all of the stories included in the books.
He then grinned to himself, grabbed a book off the nearby shelf, and cuddled up in his preferred library corner with a blanket. The Hobbit was the title of the book, and Santanu thought it would be a fantastic read.