At the Bookstore…


Every time I step into a bookshop promising myself to only ‘look’ at them and not buy anymore until I complete the unread ones piling at my bookshelf, I unfailingly step out with one or two in my hand. So I was not surprised with what I did last Saturday afternoon.

Traffic jams are everywhere, not just Hosur Road.

After lazing around in bed till late morning, we squeezed our way through the heavy Saturday traffic and drove to the Easton Town Center for lunch at the California Pizza. But not before we spent twenty frustrating minutes going around three levels of the parking lot looking for a parking space. Knowing little that, three hours later, we would spend another twenty minutes trying to remember where we parked it.

All was fine with the Tomato and Basil Pizza and the fresh lemonade (that I got refilled twice) and we were all set to drive back home when my eyes fell on the Barnes and Nobles bookstore. Ah, the sight of books! Aesthetically lined across the aisles, the stylishly written titles, the scrambled music of the turning pages, the scent of the pages filled with infinite permutations of alphabets forming sentences that seems to have a life of its own, the extremely inquisitive exercise of reading the back-cover summary forming first impressions and the mysterious wobbling of my intestines the moment I come across a book of interest.

Did I miss my Golfing interlude?

It’s such a fascinating thing – this walk around a bookstore. And I aimlessly walked around picking up books at random, running my fingers over the covers, reading their summaries and heaving a sigh of strange contentment. Sometimes it doesn’t even matter if I’ve already read that book, I would still pick it up and run my fingers.

All resistance to buying a book was lost when I saw Salman Rushdie’s The Satanic Verses. The book – a 1988 Booker finalist – which earned the author a death sentence for alleged blasphemy,  is banned in India (and many other countries). After picking myself a copy, a kind old lady helped me to the Virginia Woolf section where I picked up Mrs. Dalloway.

Another thirty minutes later, I picked my mobile, dialed my friend who was sulking in some corner of the shop waiting patiently for me to finish romancing with the books, and – like the man who had to leave his wounded friend behind to proceed into the war – told him, “Hey, I’m at the first floor, literature section, next to the escalator, adjacent to the reading lounge. Can you come over and drag me out of this shop, please?”. Needless to say, he was more than pleased to do so.


5 Responses to “At the Bookstore…”

  1. I liked that bit about the traffic jam! Probably the traffic jams may be similar, but probably it doesn’t feel so bad like here. Or is it?

  2. 2 Sailaja

    running my fingers over the covers, reading their summaries and heaving a sigh of strange contentment.

    Ahhh! So therapeutic. Nothing can beat that.
    Amazing, right? :)

  3. 3 Kishore

    It’s a long wait for the traffic to move, nevertheless.

    Yep.. Amazing! :)

  4. is that you in the pic ;)

    go put some warm jumpers on! didn’t your mummy tell you to keep yourself wrapped up huh?

  5. 5 Shanae

    Nice shoes. Mr. Pimp. :)

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