A pleasure some urban activity

One of the more pleasurable activities of an urban lifestyle is browsing through a bookshop. The minute you step inside, you are greeted by a distinct air of calm and the heady smell of new books, piles and piles of them waiting patiently to be picked up by the curious reader. There was a time when I would read anything that came my way apart from books – labels on bottles, advertisements and even discarded newspapers that were used to wrap something in. But gradually, as my days got busier and busier my reading time decreased. What was once a pleasure became a luxury and sometimes a chore. I only read books that really interested me or labels that I had to read. and soon my apathy extended itself to bookshops and I only visited the bookshops when I HAD to . It didn’t help that I had to dig out my reading glasses before reading anything. Gone were the days when I could casually pick up something and read it in a jiffy. Now the whole thing had become a production, right from searching for my spectacles in my cavernous old lady handbag, opening the case, wiping the lenses,, putting on the glasses and then reading what had caught my eye. This doesn’t help for spontaneity does it?

So, no matter how swanky the bookshops had become and no matter how enticing their coffee shops or attractive their window displays or even expansive their range of wares, I stubbornly resist the urge to step inside .

Rediscovering the joys of a Bookshop

But it was only last week that I came upon a book that spurred my interest to pick up a book and actually read it. ‘The Personal Librarian,’ is a delightful tale about a young coloured woman who passes off as white and works and flourishes in the rarified world of the rich and famous NYC 400, as the personal librarian to no less a person than JP Morgan !

This tale not only deals with the racial inequities that still existed in early 20th century USA , but it also stirred in me a desire to re-visit the world of books and explore more such gems.

I must confess that for the past decade or so, I’ve perceived books as potential dust collectors and have reduced my purchase of books. After I’ve finished reading a book , I’m loathe to keep it on my shelf and prefer passing it on to a friend or even more sacrilegious, selling it to Chandu who comes once a month to buy my old papers, magazines, bottles and other re-cyclable trash. Appalling as it may sound, I honestly feel that to have piles and piles of books that you never revisit seems like a total waste of real estate . After all , far from being a room full of books , my library actually consists of a single bookshelf on a wall, and space being a rare commodity in my city of Mumbai, every inch counts.

But occasionally, I miss the smell of new books and peep inside as I walk past the local bookshop. Luckily for me “Crossword’ is literally a hop, skip and a jump away so last week I actually walked in.

I love this bookshop because it was the first to break away from the mold of the musty, dusty bookshops that I grew up with. Growing up in Pune, Saturday mornings were often a treat because we were taken to the legendary book store off Main Street, ‘Manneys’ ,to browse around and pick up a paper back or two of our favourite author to devour over the weekend. That huge, big shop was like an Aladdin’s cave – dark and musty with row upon row of books while the owner, Mr. Mani, a tall thin gentleman with a moustache to match wandered through, ready to help with a recommendation or pull down a book that was out of reach. It was a great place to be lost in especially as there were often piles or cartons of books that were yet to be sorted and kept on the shelves, lying around, behind which we would hide and stealthily ‘leaf ‘ through a book. I must confess that there were many an Enid Blyton that I read in this way – especially having mastered the technique of speed reading .

Manney’s was replaced by ‘Strand’ when we moved to Bombay, and which was minuscule compared to the gigantic Manneys but equally fascinating with its vast collection of books. And of course, like Manney’s the Sales Staff were conversant with each and every book they had in the store and would happily recommend books to their customers.

The New Age Bookshop

But ‘Crossword ‘ was completely mind boggling . It was spacious , bright and air conditioned! Plus it had comfortable reading chairs so that you could openly browse through books and magazines. No more reading surreptitiously! I couldn’t have been happier with this new trend in book stops.

New Age book shops also have a range of goodies to browse through like stationery, soft toys and stuff that is ideal to gift.

So last week, when I had a bit of time to spare, I stepped into the store and rejuvenated my spirits with the wonderful books that I was missing all this while .

Going beyond the book

Crossword is a typical example of the new age book shop with its gift shop section that has quirky handbags, stationery, chocolates and even potted plants . The best part is the little café on the mezzanine ‘Third Wave Coffee‘ where one can meet up with a friend or just settle down to a nice refreshing cup of coffee or even catchup with a few emails on your laptop.

Crossword also hosts authors like the Sudha Murthy even that I took my grand daughter to last year and truly goes beyond the book.

There are many such charming bookstores all over the city but I find spending hours in traffic just to browse through a bookstore quite difficult to handle. So I will keep myself happy with the local bookstore.

And this time round, I found my anxiety vanishing away as I saw all the familiar names like Jeffrey Archer, James Patterson and Haruki Murakami share space with newer authors who piqued my interest. I felt so refreshed that I succumbed to the temptation of buying Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni’s latest book ‘An Uncommon Love: The Early Life of Sudha and Narayana Murthy’.

With this slim, hardcover edition tucked away in my bag, I walked out of the shop, happy and content, with the look of a cat who licked the cream.

Ciao