I don't think there is any proven link between one's profession and the number of books one owns, but using my job in this way is easier than explaining my obsession with books. Or, more accurately, this uncontrollable urge I have to buy books.

On the other hand, I am a collection development librarian. I have spent many wonderful years developing the collections of two medical school libraries. What a job, eh? Brand new, hot-off-the-printing-press books would roll into my office each week. I'd crack them open for the first time, skimming their contents while running my fingers over smooth, untouched pages.

I was paid to read books. Talk about your dream job. Especially when you get to spend someone else's money to buy hundreds of books each year.

Years ago a librarian told me I had a knack for collection development -- unofficially defined as selecting books for a library before someone comes in and asks for them. I don't know if she was right, but I did have a system. Purple anywhere on or inside a book was a sure bet. Dermatology books with yucky skin-diseasy photographs on both covers? No thanks. And anything heavy enough to sprain my wrists had to hurt a student's back, so back to the vendor that book would go.

I'm joking of course (not about the purple part, though), but I think I must be genetically predisposed to this field of librarianship. Collection development has now spilled over into my personal life and landed in every corner of my living room. Even though I no longer select books at work, I am constantly developing my own library's collection. It's much more enjoyable, actually. I'm not limited to a certain subject area and, at home, I occasionally find time to read the books I buy.

I mainly collect fiction and cookbooks, both somehow linked to the Indian subcontinent. I am also a recovering Harlequinaholic (that's Mills-and-Boonitis for some of you). Sometimes I veer off toward current events or travelogues. If the cover catches my attention, the subject may become immaterial, like when I see those huge coffee table books on art, cars or architecture.

Oh, who am I kidding? It doesn't matter really. Subject, size, color, whatever. I just can't resist books.

During the week, if I finish eating lunch early, I go to the university bookstore for 'dessert'. I try to stay away from the bargain books table because I usually find a book I just have to have. I spend hours browsing in bookstores on weekends when I should be doing something more constructive, like working out at the gym or writing columns. I surf online bookstore sites often, typing in subject headings to see what the search engine will spit out. When local charities hold used book sales, my neck hurts from leaning over sideways to read hundreds of spine titles.

So, whether it's Wheeler's in Allahabad, Universal in Lucknow, Fact or Fiction and Galgotiya's in Delhi, the office bookshelf of a rediff editor, a bookstore at the Singapore airport, Amazon and... what's that other one? rediff.com? Anyway, wherever there are books, I just have to browse, select and collect.

My friends have noticed this addiction. It would be difficult not to since I keep telling them about the books I buy. I compile lists after my book-buying expeditions -- 45 from my 1999 trip to India, another 35 this year, four more from a library association meeting, two at lunch today and so on. The question "What should I get Reeta?" rarely comes up. They know. Special occasion or not, my friends spoil me with books, bookstore gift certificates and sometimes both, all year round.

It's heartwarming to know that, as they browse in bookstores around town or around the world, my friends are on the lookout for just the right book to add to my collection. So when Raj was in Kathmandu last month, I knew he'd come back with a book. Just like he did last year.

My friend Raj is a book nut like me. Or, maybe he's just a nut. He has to be to bring back the book he did this year.

Expecting a lightweight paperback or two, I nearly dropped the parcel Raj sent last week. I picked it up from the manager's office, grumbling and mumbling as I walked the 100 yards or so back to my apartment. Without opening it, I emailed Raj, "What have you sent me? It weighs a ton! How heavy can one silver bracelet and a book be?!?" Raj's wife gave me a beautiful silver bracelet from Nepal awhile back, so that's all I'd really asked him to bring (but I knew he wouldn't be able to resist picking up a book also).

After I unpacked the box, I sent Raj another message. "Are you crazy??? You lugged THAT all the way from Nepal??" I actually used CAPS for the whole message, but I'll spare you all this time around.

What did he bring back? Before I get to that, I have to tell you that Raj is the ultimate movie buff. You mention a movie, Indian, American, European, Latin American -- anything -- and not only has he seen it, but he'll immediately make a copy of some article he has stashed away and mail it to you. Luckily for me, he's a major Bollywood movie fan also.

Could you find a more wonderful friend? A pal who loves movies, books and has a wife who gives you jewellery?

I don't think so. Because only a friend like Raj would bring back the 1999 revised edition of the Encyclopaedia Of Indian Cinema by Ashish Rajadhyaksha and Paul Willemen. Weighing 6 lbs, with 658 pages, this tome has to be the mother of all coffee table books. I know it's found a permanent home on mine, but I'll seriously injure anyone who brings a cup of any liquid within five feet of it.

For years Raj has been sending me bits and pieces from the first edition of this most impressive work on Indian movies. Last year, he tipped me off to the revised edition that had just come out. But all I could find then was the original edition in a Delhi bookstore. When I saw its dimensions, I decided there was no way I could fit a book so large in my suitcase. This year, he asked me again if I had brought the new edition back. I truthfully replied that I hadn't seen it in any bookstore. I didn't add that even if I had, I would have sighed longingly at it, but made room in my baggage for pottery instead.

I am so ashamed now. Not only was I too lazy to bring this incredible book back for my collection, but I had the nerve to complain to Raj about carrying it to my apartment. I felt worse when he finally replied to my Are-you-crazy? message. He said he must be, since he carried the volume in his handbag. Two of them, actually. One for me and one for him, or some other lucky friend.

I owe you, Raj! You have no idea how thrilled I am to have this beautiful book in my collection. It sits on my coffee table and, already, I've flipped through it many, many times. Usually, I close my eyes and open the book, it doesn't matter which page. When I open my eyes and start reading, I'm literally transported to another world, a different time and place.

For example, if I do that now, I find Apur Sansar, Kaagaz Ke Phool, Dil Deke Dekho and Goonj Uthi Shenai. This section of the book lists films released from 1910 through 1995. Each movie's entry includes its year, language, the cast and a brief commentary. The first half of the volume is devoted to the people and institutions of India's filmi duniya. The encyclopedia also includes a chart that breaks down the number of films made each year (1931-1995) by language. Most fascinating is the Chronicle section where the political and filmi events of each year are briefly described.

As I close the book and return to the real world, the future looks warm and cozy. I see years of reading ahead, days and nights filled with hundreds of movies and stars. In between the reading I'll try to find these films somehow, for I'll just have to watch them all now. But, best of all, each time I look at this wonderful book, I'll be reminded how lucky I am to have a nut for a friend.

Thanks, Raj, for a gift that will last a lifetime.

Columnist Reeta Sinha plans to spend the next decade or two curled up with a few good books.

Illustration: Lynette Menezes