India, Sept. 30 -- Vacations, for me, have never been entirely about travelling or sleeping late. They usually begin with the less glamorous business of cleaning cupboards, dusting shelves, and deciding what deserves to stay and what must finally go. Inspired by the Japanese 5S philosophy of sorting and organising, I decided to tackle my overflowing bookshelf. What began as a routine afternoon of decluttering soon turned into a journey back in time. Hidden behind rows of newer books were two old companions-a large, hardbound dictionary and a much-loved pocket dictionary. The moment I picked them up, I was transported to my school and college days. There was a time when a dictionary was almost as vital as a notebook. The pocket edition travelled with me to school every day, tucked safely into my satchel. Whenever an unfamiliar word appeared, I knew exactly where to turn. There were no smartphones then. No search engines. No instant answers. There was just the book-and the patience to look. And looking was half the fun. We did not simply find meanings. Dictionaries introduced us to pronunciation, spelling, grammar, and etymology. During free periods, my classmates and I would challenge one another to spell difficult words, explain their origins, and debate their nuances. Reading comprehension exercises often turned into treasure hunts. Every new word felt like a tiny discovery. My love for dictionaries was nurtured at home. My father never began his day without the morning paper. I would sit beside him, and whenever a difficult word caught my attention, out came the dictionary. Together, we would look up its meaning and usage. Those quiet moments remain precious. The newspaper opened a window to the world, while the dictionary gave me the vocabulary to understand it. Perhaps that is why, when given the chance to choose a college prize, I chose a dictionary without hesitation. To me, it was more than a reference tool; it represented pure curiosity and the comforting knowledge that there would always be something new to learn. Today's students have wonderfully convenient digital dictionaries. A word can be defined, pronounced, and translated within seconds. Yet I sometimes miss the old-fashioned pleasure of searching. There was something magical about turning those thin pages, running a finger down dense columns, and accidentally discovering three interesting words while looking for one. Printed dictionaries allowed for surprises. Serendipity cannot always be programmed. As I finished reorganising my bookshelf, the two dictionaries reclaimed their place of honour. The 5S exercise had not merely organised my books; it had dusted off memories I had almost forgotten. Watching me carefully wipe the old covers, my son smiled and said, "I hope they contain the meanings of all those Shashi Tharoor words." I laughed and, naturally, put him to the test. "Floccinaucinihilipilification." A long pause followed, before we both burst out laughing. The dictionaries may be old, but they are far from obsolete. They have become something far more precious than reference books-they are repositories of childhood, family, curiosity, and forgotten moments. Technology may help us find words faster, but some words are worth taking our time over. And some books are worth keeping simply because, when we open them, we find ourselves again....