Would you consider it a dream to enter a room full of books, only to realize you haven’t read a single one of them? Neither the titles nor the authors sound even remotely familiar. Or would that be a nightmare? For me, it felt like the sky fell on my head, smashing my bibliophile ego into smithereens, much like Chicken Licken. The realization dawned that everything I had read over nearly half a century was minuscule in this vast world of tomes.
The misconception was perpetuated by the run-of-the-mill bookstore chains, whose predictable selections and repetitive displays offered little variety. Nowadays, there seem to be only a handful of Indian writers in English whose names consistently appear whenever you’re searching for your next read. You see the same books displayed in every bookstore and read their reviews or excerpts in every publication—perfectly orchestrated to snag our attention, thanks to their highly competent agents and PR teams. The other option is to fall back on the usual classics and reread them once more. It’s been ages since I’ve randomly picked up a book, bought it on a whim, and felt the satisfaction of a home-cooked meal after days of eating out when I turned the last page.
Bookstores & Train Journeys
I’m not one to believe that everything from the past was better than the present. Yet, I think bookstores and libraries were far more interesting in our childhood. For instance, the book-laden stalls of AH Wheeler, a familiar sight on railway platforms in those days, have a special nostalgic place in my childhood memories. The books were simply laid out or stacked haphazardly, but standing at the stalls and surreptitiously reading Amar Chitra Kathas under the guise of browsing remains vivid in my memory.
Thanks to my father’s anxiety, we always reached the station at least three hours before our train was due. While my mother grumbled quite a bit, my brother and I seldom felt bored because of the time spent at the bookstalls. The two of us could choose one book each, and we took our time selecting that one precious book. My habit of reading quickly may have developed because of AWH, where I would wait for hours while devouring Amar Chitra Kathas, Tinkles, and other magazines. I was the bookworm who could work through any stack of books in a short time. I also have a bad habit of starting in the middle of a book, and only if it appeals to me do I go back and start at the beginning. I guess this was my technique of ensuring the book I chose for the journey would be worthy enough of that privilege. The best part was that the person manning the stalls never frowned upon or discouraged our surreptitious reading. After the Wheeler stalls were booted out somewhat unceremoniously, bookstores and train journeys both lost some of their earlier charm.
Durga Puja & Bookstalls
Another fond memory is of Durga Puja, when the ruling political party (apparently the best way to interact with the public during the festival season) would set up a bookstall near the pandal, mostly with political tomes meant for their own cadres. But the delightful Bengali translations of Russian books for children were my main draw, and I still remember buying my favorite “Rush Desh er Upakathsa” (Tales from Russia) for the princely sum of Rs 8. Unfortunately, when the USSR disintegrated, these colourful storybooks disappeared from the market along with our childhood.
Bookstore Chains
The current bookstore chains bore me—there’s a monotony in how the books are displayed. You just see the same authors and their current releases repeatedly. Where are the books we read in childhood and want to buy for our children? I only find shelves full of Enid Blyton and the usual series of books that currently fascinate our teenagers. Looking around, I wonder how a new author succeeds unless they spend a king’s ransom on advertising.
I read somewhere that only 20 percent of books published are worth reading. As you scan the shelves, you do not doubt the veracity of the statement. Today, the publishing industry appears keen on only established authors. I hope editors still wade through manuscript after manuscript searching for new talent. Otherwise, the joy of picking up an unfamiliar book and finding it to be a gem will become non-existent. When it comes to self-publishing, the books seldom go through the rigorous process that a commissioned work does, and evidently, the end product suffers.
A New Kid on the Bookstore Block
Back to my dream or nightmare (tongue firmly in cheek), walking into the Luna Bookstore in Banjara Hills was a delightful experience. It wasn’t just a shop full of books; it was a house full of books—a double-storey bungalow with five rooms filled with books, categorized by genre. The entire house was tastefully done with photographs, caricatures, paintings, and various knick-knacks. The children’s section was particularly fascinating, and for a child who has just ventured into the world of books, it’s an enchanting wonderland, brimming with endless possibilities and the promise of new adventures on every shelf. At Luna, I rediscovered the fact that books have souls, even personalities, and I felt an instant connection. The leather-bound classics with their printed endpapers and gilded edges were destined to charm bibliophiles.
On my first visit, I managed only to scan the spines of the books. Once again, I felt the stirrings of a faint sense of anticipation that had been absent for a long time. It was like getting your mojo back. This sense of exhilaration can never be replicated when buying books online. Amazon and Flipkart make sense when you know exactly what you want, but discovering a book worth reading in the stacks makes you feel like David Livingstone in a bookstore—each exploration holds endless possibilities.
Rehumanize the Bookstore
Last but not least, I want to read all the handwritten notes stuck on the walls, left by the curator for book hunters. I now realize what I’ve missed the most: the personal bond with the bookstore owner who often recommends the best reads or the newest titles to the readers. And if I wasn’t already sold on the idea of a house full of books, the fruit-laden java apple tree in the front yard, which I gazed upon intermittently while perched on a low stool and browsing books, sealed the deal. I know in my heart that this is going to be my favourite destination in the coming years.
By Anindita Chowdhury
Anindita Chowdhury is a special correspondent of the English daily, The Statesman. She is based in Hyderabad. Apart from reporting, she writes short stories and essays with special focus on history, particularly the social and cultural aspects of the bygone era. She can be contacted at aninditasmail@gmail.com.
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