BENGALURU: I was just four when I received a simple, yet very relevant gift. A travelling uncle had returned from Germany, and among the trove of trinkets from his large suitcase, an atlas was revealed. ‘It’s a Big Big World Atlas’ – A mammoth 10-page work for children, made of cardboard, with vividly captured and coloured continents, with references to their physical features, natural resources, and political boundaries, this was my surprise. So captivating was this great piece of academic art, that at such a tender age, the beauty of geography and the enchantment of the world turned into a lasting love affair.
Maps and atlases have played a prolific role in cementing my affinity with our world. The atlas that I was gifted quenched my curious thirst about fascinating places and their hidden secrets. My daily routine involved dedicating a little time after school in this big atlas, so big that it’s magical display of the lands and the seas played in front of my eyes with each geographic feature embracing the other in an earthly symphony. The more I gazed, the excitement of reading and deciphering maps only increased, with a large collection of atlases getting added to my bookshelf. In time, I managed to memorise capitals, flags, and even country shapes and borders.
Maps have left an indelible mark on human history. The zeal to explore new lands, in turn discovering the new world. Whether it’s the great migration, the spice route or the silk road, or crossing of the Atlantic on the Spirit of St Louis by Charles Lindbergh, to the longest passenger flight traversing Singapore-New York in 19 hours, or a simpler map used by a delivery agent to get you hot food, there’s always a map. Maps bridge places, join the dots between two unknown locations, and simplify our perception of an otherwise incomprehensible planetary topography. Philosophically, maps also remind us of our position on Earth and where we belong.
When I sift through an atlas, I spend at least 15 minutes minutely inspecting a single page. Take the map of Russia for instance. In his seminal work, Prisoners of Geography, Tim Marshall says, “Wherever we are, there is Russia, perhaps to our east or west, to our north or south.” This six-million sqm nation spans two continents and 11 time zones, and even in a regular atlas, requires more than a page to be spread out. Why is Russia so vast? Why is Chile so narrow? How does Norway have the most (2,39,057) islands? There are several such questions that boggle my mind each time I open an atlas. And the sheer romance of it is not restricted to just unearthing interesting trivia, but also comprehending massive geographical scale. As I sit at home in Bengaluru, and spot the Himalayas in an atlas, I imagine how far the snow-clad mountains would be from where I am. It’s a splendid, mesmeric feeling of yet so near, yet so far.
How marvellous is an atlas and the maps within, for it folds the entire world in a few sheets of paper, and yet unfolds the intricacies and vastness of that very world. Whatever the projection (Mercator is the most-widely used), maps present us the Earth in her full glory. Whether it’s plotting India on a map in school geography or pursuing cartography itself, maps are an essential facet of our life – which the wise proclaim as itself being a map, where we are guided by destiny from one moment, place and experience to another.