Where Books Once Lived

Yesterday, I visited a nearby city after a long time. The first thing I felt was how much everything had changed. New buildings stood where old houses once were. There were new cafés and restaurants, lots of new branded stores, bright signboards and glass-fronted shops. Though sadly, many old architectural gems were gone. Those old buildings had been pulled down to make way for shopping complexes and malls. I didn’t know whether to be happy about the progress or feel sad about the loss of the soul of the city.

My first stop was a place where people once sold second-hand books. I had gone hoping to find old children’s magazines in Hindi that I grew up with – Lotpot, Chandamama, Madhu Muskaan, and some old English books by the likes of Agatha Christie, Alistair Maclean, and maybe some superhero comicbooks of the era that seems now gone by. But when I reached there, not a single bookstall remained. I asked around. One man told me he himself used to sell old books, but now he sold mobile phone accessories and bluetooth speakers. Another former bookseller in the next stall now dealt in second-hand mobile phones and tablets. What a strange change it was. They were amused that someone still wants to browse through old books. I stood there for a while, feeling both shocked and very sad.

Then I went to an old bookshop I had known for years. It once carried a fine collection of classics, from Franz Kafka to Ernest Hemingway. I found the shop, but it was a shadow of what it used to be. The shelves were thinly filled. The shopkeeper himself looked older than the years that had passed. It was clear that business was not too good, and that people hardly came in to buy books anymore. I could still spot a few old books that I liked on those shelves. He too affectionately found the books that were of my taste and fished out some old comics too from behind the counter.

I did see some new bookshops though and felt happy, though the happiness lasted for only a short while. These new bookshops that seemed busy were those selling school textbook guides and solved sample papers for entrance examinations. It felt like people now read only to pass exams. Even these books were not for reading, really, but just for practising how questions are usually asked. Knowledge has taken a back seat in comparison to performance in these exams.

Reading itself has become a task for many, and not a pleasure. Most people no longer seem to know the difference between Charles Dickens and Jules Verne, and have no intention of knowing either. For some, the captain of the Nautilus could easily become Oliver Twist, and no one would blink an eye.

This loss of second-hand bookstalls, and the fading life of old bookshops with change in culture from books to electronic screens in a city once flooded with culture and literature, shook me more than I expected. We now live in a world that wants everything to be instant and short-lived. A person might watch a film based on a book if it is already streaming somewhere, but picking up the book itself feels like an old-fashioned habit.

Still, I hope that one day the love for books will quietly return. I hope that people like me will once again wander through dusty bookstalls, hunting for forgotten treasures, or walk into small bookshops where the owner has actually read the books he sells, and knows his readers by the look in their eyes. And as a request to all book-lovers, please do not let this lovely part of you fade away. Keep reading !

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