Only one priority : Books.
Growing up in the 90's was simultaneous with the growth of India, just at the brink of urbanisation. Frequent Air travel was a privilege, only afforded by the affluent. Calcutta was busy boasting of its newly built EM Bypass but was yet to overcome its reservations about the suburbs. Drives to the airport were a joyride, sort of a great substitute to an evening out to the other landmarks of the city. Low cost airlines were yet to make their mark and airports were less chaotic, more simple with almost none of its 21st century state of art additions of Spas, stores and seating lounges. Yet, it felt like true luxury.
You’re probably wondering, what’s the co-relation between this photograph of a bookshop and airports in the 90's? (Well, besides the fact that this bookshop looks much like its counterpart back then)
Today at the airport, right after clearing security check, I walked straight to the book stall, almost without any thought to my action. I was carrying a book to read and had no such reason to go there. At that moment, I felt an almost definitive sense of Deja vu. Unlike kids today, I was raised with extremely disciplined resources. A Library membership was considered the most sensible way in which I could continue my voracious reading habit and buying books was only reserved for special occasions or the days I could cry my way to the book store. For as long as I can remember, I looked forward to the Sunday before my birthday more than anything else. Dad would take me to Oxford bookstore and I was allowed to buy 4–5 books, that was the only birthday gift I ever wanted. Ironically enough, parents today would do just anything to convince their kids to read a book instead of being to glued to their gadgets.
For this reason, rides to the airport were a bonus. I would agree to go see off or receive just about anyone because it would bring me within close vicinity of that tiny overpriced bookshop at the old airport. Dad was always easy to convince and mummy was the strict one. Back then visitors were allowed to venture into the airport and were given a greater opportunity for emotional sappy farewells. While Ma would be busy saying tearful goodbyes to her sisters, I would just mumble something and run towards the store to pick out the book I’d like to buy. The book could not be ‘too expensive’ and I had to have an excuse ready, just in case. Lucky for me, the bookstore was almost strategically placed right next to the exit (that makes NO logical sense, now that I think of it). On our way out, I would look at Ma sheepishly and beg her to just enter the store this one time, and check out this awesome, amazing book that I’d seen and I had to, had to, had to read it and that it wasn’t even expensive! Emotionally sapped, with almost no energy to argue with her extremely persuasive and argumentative daughter, Ma would relent – ‘just one book, that’s it, don’t even think of asking me for new books for the next 2 months, you have a library membership, why don’t you use that’. In my head I would think ‘reading books is only half the hobby, collecting them is the other, but you won’t understand’.
Delirious with joy, I would just say thank you and feel grateful for this latest addition. Feeling victorious, I would rush into my room, once home and delve into a separate world.
