May 02, 2003 11:47 PM
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(Updated May 03, 2003 09:15 AM)
I was born in a tiny room in a little lane off Brigade Road, Bangalore. My earliest recollection of the room was that it contained hundreds of rectangular objects – my mother was to tell me later that they were books. They were of all sizes – small, thin, big, fat, tiny and bulky ones. And there were more of these books in the two smaller adjacent rooms. They were everywhere – arranged on the shelves, stacked on the floor, piled up on tables and chairs, occupying every place in the room where they could be propped up against something.
“Consider yourself lucky”, my mother said – “that you have so many riches around you. You will never starve as long as you have these for company”.
“This one is particularly rare” she said. “It’s an old edition of M K Gandhi’s ‘My experiments with Truth’, and it was sold for Rs. 3 in those days. See, it says so on this cover”.
“And look at this one – it’s a treasure, that’s what it is. East India Company records – you will probably not find another copy outside this room”
“But what does the owner of this place, Mr. Murthy do with these, Ma?” I asked one day. “He collects them and sells them” she replied, “like his father before him did. You see, this place is more than 50 years old. Your great grandmother was born here. I have heard that she particularly liked to delve into the art books, and would spend hours darting between the pages, looking at the works of the Masters. Your Grandfather was very fond of the scholarly works on music. You dad and I have spent several hours enjoying the contents of the books on Poetry, or the old novels of Thomas Hardy.”
“And I could tell you so much about the famous people I have seen here – why, once Ruskin Bond visited the shop and walked away with a handful of books. Your granduncle once saw Dr. C V Raman step in to browse – when he left, your granduncle went with him because he could not bear to be parted from his favourite book on Indian Mythology.”
“What kind of a person is Mr. Murthy, Ma? Doesn’t he mind us wandering around his books?” I asked. “Oh, he’s a very nice man, Mr. Murthy is” she replied “but mind that he does not catch you tampering with his precious books. He will throw you right out if he spots you.”
“And who are all these people who spend so much time here looking through these books, Ma?” was my next question. Pat came the reply “They are all book lovers – young and old come here to find a particular book which is out of print, or books that will help them with their research. Some come hunting for those old Times Crossword collections, some for old coin and stamp catalogues, others for novels that they can buy at rates that these novels were sold for 20 years ago. And Mr. Murthy indulgently lets them all browse – for he knows they will take care of his books when they take them home.”
“But how do they find a particular book in this mess, Ma?” I continued. “Oh, they may not be able to, but Mr. Murthy will. Ask him for a particular book and he will tell you which edition, how many copies he has and which pile to find it in” she replied. “I once thought a first edition copy of Alice in Wonderland that was at the bottom of a stack of books in the back row, was a safe hiding place and forgotten – but when a visitor came in and asked for Alice in Wonderland, Mr. Murthy unerringly walked towards the book and dusted it off for his visitor. I had to scurry into a collection of old lithographs”. “That was a near thing” she added.
“I hope no one chooses to buy this book, Ma” I nervously exclaimed. “Don’t worry even if they do”, Ma answered wisely “When the buyer takes you to his home, you will probably meet up with more relatives who have left this place earlier. People who have come here once keep coming back for more, to add to their collection. And they tell their friends who have similar interests.” “In fact, that is how people get to know about this shop – through word-of-mouth” she added.
“And what is this place referred to as, Ma?” was my final question as I slid under the covers of a huge tome, having decided to call it a day.
“It is called Select Bookshop, dear. Good Night” was her answer.
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