By – Dr Srabani Basu
Associate Professor, Department of Literature and Languages
SRM University AP, Amaravati.
Ananyasat hunched over her laptop in a small café in Kolkata. She was an engineer by profession, trained to solve problems that could be coded, measured, or debugged. Yet, every evening after work, she would return to the same café, order the same cup of coffee, and open a worn-out copy of The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran.
One evening, her friend Ruhi, asked, “Why this old book? Haven’t you read it a dozen times?”
Ananyasmiled, tracing her finger along a line that read: “Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.”
“Because,” she said softly, “every time I read it, it speaks to a different part of me.”
That is the secret. Literature doesnot age because human consciousness doesnot stop evolving. Each time we revisit a poem, a play, or a novel, it reflects a different shade of who we have become. The ink doesnot change, but wedo and that is why literature will never go out of fashion.
Fashion changes with seasons; literature changes with souls.
Clothes, devices, and even languages evolve, but the human heart still beats to the same ancient rhythms of love, loss, fear, desire, hope, and transcendence. From Homer’s Odyssey to Toni Morrison’s Beloved, literature remains our longest mirror, reflecting the ceaseless dialogue between what we are and what we wish to be.
The beauty of literature lies in its timeless ability to ask the same questions in new ways. “Who am I?” “What is the purpose of life?” “What is love?” Shakespeare asked them through Hamlet; Rumi danced around them in poetry; Virginia Woolf whispered them through the stream of consciousness.
Every generation rediscovers itself through these questions. Technology may provide us with answers, but literature gives us meaning. It helps us interpret the data of existence through the metaphors of being.
In an era dominated by digital brevity where our thoughts are squeezed into 280characters, literature remains the last sanctuary of depth. It reminds us that language is not merely a tool for communication but a bridge to consciousness.
When we read, we slow down. We breathe with the words. We feel the pauses. The rhythm of sentences becomes the rhythm of thought. The narrative is not just about characters; it becomes a mirror neuron experience.We live what we read.
This neurological empathy is precisely what the world needs today. Research in cognitive psychology and neuro-linguistic programming (NLP) shows that stories activate both emotional and sensory regions of the brain. That is why reading The Kite Runner can make one weep, or Pride and Prejudice can make one smile with an ache of recognition. Literature, therefore, is not an art of words; it is an art of awakening.
Before there were cities, there were fires; before there were schools, there were stories. Storytelling is older than civilisation itself. It was how we remembered, imagined, and evolved.
Even today, our conversations, advertisements, and scientific discoveries are built around narrative frames. The story of Newton and the apple, Einstein’s thought experiments, or Steve Jobs’ “garage;” these are not mere facts but modern myths that give science its soul.
Literature, therefore, is not an “extra” to progress. It is its condition. It keeps us human amidst our mechanical pursuits. It allows empathy to co-exist with efficiency. In a world that measures everything, literature still dares to ask, “What is the worth of a human life?”
Every great book is a time machine disguised as paper. When we open War and Peace or The Mahabharata, we enter a universe where epochs collapse, and emotions remain eternal.
Through literature, we travel not only through time but through consciousness itself. Reading Macbeth in adolescence feels different from reading it at forty. The words remain the same, but their meanings alter.Ambition that once looked heroic, at a later age it looks tragic.
In this way, literature is not bound to a time; it transcends it. It teaches us history not as a sequence of dates but as the evolution of desire and despair. It lets us live multiple lives in one lifetime and perhaps that is why no virtual reality headset can ever outdo the emotional immersion of a good book.
Trends in entertainment shift every few years.What was binge-worthy yesterday becoming passé tomorrow. But literature never competes for attention; it commands devotion.
Jane Austen’s heroines still inspire modern rom coms. George Orwell’s 1984 continues to define the vocabulary of politics and surveillance. Tagore’s poems resonate in the digital age because they speak not to an era, but to an essence.
Fashion thrives on novelty; literature thrives on truth. And truth doesnot need rebranding. It only needs recognition.
Critics often dismiss literature as “non-utilitarian,” something that doesnot contribute to GDP. But without imagination, no innovation can exist.
Every breakthrough, whether in technology, medicine, or design, begins with the same creative spark that ignites a poet’s heart. Reading fiction improves cognitive flexibility, emotional intelligence, and problem-solving skills; precisely the traits that AI still struggles to emulate.
Literature trains us to think metaphorically, to see patterns, and to connect dots that are not obviously related. A scientist who reads literature doesnot just think.He feels his hypotheses. A leader who reads literature doesnot just command; he connects. In this sense, literature is not a luxury; it is the architecture of all innovation.
When grief strikes, we donot search for a manual; we search for meaning. Literature has always been our therapy long before psychology gave it a name.
From Rilke’s letters to the poems of Pablo Neruda, words have soothed broken hearts, anchored wandering minds, and provided courage to those standing on the edge of despair.
Modern “bibliotherapy” or the use of books for emotional healing, is grounded in this ancient truth. Reading about others’ struggles helps us reframe our own. A line from Camus can save a day; a stanza from Mary Oliver can save a soul.
Literature doesnot just tell stories;itrestores wholeness.
In an age where algorithms decide what we read, literature remains our rebellion against automation. Streaming platforms feed us what we “might” like; literature gives us what we didn’t know we needed.
Artificial Intelligence can summarise texts, but it cannot suffer or yearn. It cannot create a metaphor that bleeds. The soul of literature lies in its ambiguity; the spaces between words where silence breathes.
That is why even when we move to e-books and audiobooks, the essence remains. Format changes, but feeling doesnot. Literature adapts; from palm leaves to printing press to pixels, yet it retains its pulse.
If classrooms ever replaced literature with only data, we would be producing machines, not minds. Literature teaches what no STEM subject can- the nuance of human behaviour, the ethics of choice, the courage to question.
When students read The Diary of Anne Frank, they donot just learn history; they learn humanity. When they engage with Shakespeare, they donot just study drama; they encounter the architecture of the psyche.
The goal of education is not just to prepare us for careers but for consciousness. Literature remains its most profound teacher.
Perhaps the most beautiful truth is that literature is never finished. Every reader becomes its co-author. The moment we interpret a poem, it changes form; it breathes anew. That is why no two readings are ever identical because no two readers are.
As long as there are hearts that ache, eyes that dream, and souls that question, literature will remain alive. It will whisper from dog-eared pages, echo from digital screens, and resurface in a child’s bedtime story.
The fashion of words may change; emojis may replace adjectives, AI may generate verses but the hunger for narrative, for meaning, for connection, will never vanish. Because literature is not a product of culture; it is the pulse of consciousness itself.
Ananyastill visits that café. The coffee still tastes the same. But each time she opens her book, a different truth reveals itself: sometimes tender, sometimes terrifying.
And somewhere, across centuries, Gibran smiles, for his words have found new wings.
That is the triumph of literature: it never belongs to an age; it belongs to the ageless within us.
