I cannot sit on a book!
And here’s what I discovered about the ‘why.’
I also cannot step on or lie down on any printed paper or paper that can be printed on.
That rules out many things besides books. Things like newspapers, flyers, posters, notebooks, ruled paper, graph paper, pamphlets, flattened cardboard boxes, Starbucks or Tim Horton’s paper cups, papyrus scrolls. Okay, I made the last one up because I have never seen one, but I am pretty sure I won’t be able to sit on them either.
I became aware of this five years ago when I was watching a PowerPoint slide in a class at university. I forget what the class was about, but I remember that the slide had the image of a person sitting on a stack of books.
I remember a feeling of extreme discomfort, a rising nausea, the kind of feeling that one gets when seeing something very objectionable.
Yet, it was only an image of a person sitting on a stack of books.
My professor must have noticed something in my demeanor that gave my discomfort away because she asked me if there was anything wrong. She thought that it must be something she said to the class, though I had not heard a word of hers after the disturbing slide appeared on the screen.
I had no idea why I was disturbed until I opened my mouth to speak. It dawned on me then that sitting on a stack of books was antithetical to a core value that was ingrained in me after years of cultural programming.
We spent the next few minutes in class analyzing my uneasiness, and this is what I learned about myself.
My fear of stepping on printed matter must have begun when I was about three or four years old. One of the first things I did after waking up every morning was a dash from bed to hug my father, who would be sitting on the floor, sipping his tea and reading the newspaper that sprawled on the ground in front of him.
Every so often, I would run on top of the newspaper, and my father would nudge me aside and around the newspaper to his lap. Across the room, my mother would gently admonish me for insulting Ambaatty.
“The newspaper has Ambaatty in it, and one never steps on Ambaatty.”
I was then asked to reverently touch the newspaper and then touch my forehead.
‘Ambaatty’ is a Malayalam word that is used by adults when speaking to very young children to refer to a generic god.
My mother was therefore telling me that the newspaper has the divine in it and one never tramples on the divine.
Later in my childhood, I learned that she was referring to the Hindu deity Saraswati, who was the goddess of learning, knowledge, music, and the arts.

Saraswati is believed, by Hindus, to be present in any printed repository of knowledge, such as books. Therefore, laying one’s foot (which is generally regarded unclean) on a book or any other printed material was showing disrespect to the goddess. One must immediately apologize to the goddess for the sacrilege by reverently touching the book and then one’s forehead.
Furthermore, as long as she was alive, she insisted that we, as children, diligently conduct the ceremonial worship of our books during the annual three-day Saraswati Puja. This was the only Hindu ritual that we conducted regularly in our house.
On the morning of the first day of the puja, we would place our school textbooks and notebooks in front of an image of the goddess. For the next two days, we did not read or write anything. I must confess that we were only too happy to oblige because it meant that we did not have to study or do our homework during that period.
On the morning of the third day, my father would sit by our side and guide our right index finger to trace out a Sanskrit mantra and the Malayalam and English alphabets on a plateful of raw rice. Then, we opened the books with deference and read a little from each of the books. This ensured that the goddess was propitiated and willing to bless us children with learning.
The ritual may have been quaint and funny for us, but it was serious business for my mother. My mother believed that, for unknown reasons, she had been denied the goddess’ blessings very early in her life. When my mother failed her ninth form, she was so ashamed that she quit school. Perhaps, my mother believed that she had unknowingly disrespected the goddess at some point and incurred her Kobbam (anger).
However, my high school dropout mother valued education and the systematic acquisition of knowledge very highly. She often repeated the following saying to us:
“Vidyaadhanam Sarva Dhanaal Pradhaanam” (The wealth of knowledge is the most significant of all wealth)
Vidyaa, or knowledge and the act of gathering it, were always put on a pedestal in our home. Most importantly, books as repositories of knowledge were always objects of veneration in our house. They were not to be trifled with or disrespected. They cannot be left lying on the floor, or carelessly thrown around, or stepped on.
My mother did not want her children to also incur the goddess’ Kobbam, knowingly or unknowingly.
However, that was a long time ago.
My mother has been dead for forty-six years.
I became a non-theist and a rationalist in my mid-teens.
I have not performed a Saraswati Puja since my mother’s death.
Yet, after all those decades, I retain that instinctual fear of committing the sacrilegious act on Ambaatty’s most tangible manifestations around me: books.
I have always unconsciously and automatically avoided stepping, sitting, or lying down on anything containing printed words. But it was only that evening five years ago, in a university classroom, that I realized and formally acknowledged that I did so and why.
Despite my rationalism and my mother’s stern but loving admonishments still resonating in my subconscious, I can’t step on a book, sit on a stack of books, or even watch someone else do just that on a PowerPoint slide.
I can’t do it! I just can’t!