When I was in school, during the 1980s to the mid-1990s, I had a dictionary in my possession. It was a small paperback Oxford dictionary. The dictionary was a second-hand purchase made by my uncle in the 1960s, later used by his younger siblings, and then passed on to my elder sister. It travelled through many hands before reaching me.

I often referred to the dictionary to find the meaning of any newly encountered English word. My exposure to English vocabulary was mostly through school textbooks, the books I had access to, and the English daily newspaper. I never felt the need for Hindi or Bengali dictionaries, though I used these languages in daily life. My exposure to other languages was limited.

In the days when the internet, laptops, and mobile phones were beyond imagination (at least for me), the dictionary was one of the few ways and means of accessing knowledge. Sometimes, I would randomly pick a word, then read its meaning. It was something to pass the time. Many times, this dictionary astonished and amused me. One day, the randomly picked word was “maroon.” As an eleven- or twelve-year-old, I knew that “maroon” is a colour. The dictionary told that there was another meaning of the word “maroon”: to abandon someone in an isolated place. This old Oxford dictionary was an ally for many years.

By the mid-1990s, I went to university for my undergraduate studies. I remember the dictionary was with me at that time as well. The university library had physical copies of periodicals and books. The library had an elaborate reading section filled with many newspapers. But in those days I referred to the dictionary less often. I don’t know if my vocabulary improved or if I simply constructed the meanings of newly found words from the context of the content or sentence.

During my post-graduation, in the early 2000s, computers with internet access were available in the university’s computer labs. Internet cafés were booming in those days. These were places that had desktops with internet access, and one could use these facilities on a pay-per-use basis. I never used the computer lab or an internet café to find the meaning of a word. It was mostly used for broad searches related to assignments or research. I am unable to recall if I ever used my old dictionary during those days.

My work involved travel to various places in India, mostly to rural or remote locations, and developing survey or project reports. Thankfully, Artificial Intelligence was not there to autocorrect sentences or to offer assistance in changing tones while working on a Word file. The Word file had spell check, a basic level of grammar checking, and offered synonyms for the chosen words. This felt sufficient. I forgot about my little old dictionary.

Almost a decade back, turning 40, I had more time to myself. Around four or five years ago, I turned to books again. This time, I turned to books not to pass the time, but because of a newly found interest in reading and knowing the world and life from someone else’s perspective. Suddenly, I realised that I was turning to my smartphone a few times to find the meaning of any newly discovered word.

I haven’t seen that old Oxford dictionary for ages. Maybe I lost it, or maybe I handed it to someone. When I was a child, access to knowledge and information was so limited that discovering a new word felt like a tiny spark. Now almost everything I wish to know appears with a single click—though often without that tiny spark. The world is changing, and so is the dictionary. It feels like, with time and changing technologies, my dictionary and I moved apart and got lost. But nothing replaces that Oxford dictionary—old, a little torn, which existed physically with me for many years.

(Views are personal.)