The friendly neighborhood book vendor
I vividly remember my weekend walks to Matunga (with my father). I had just moved into 5th standard when I moved to Wadala from Andheri (one Mumbai suburb to another). Matunga was a 20 minute walk from Wadala, a pleasant walk through “Five Gardens”, with roads lined on both sides by large, old trees and forming a canopy on top, just dense enough to filter out the harsh Mumbai sun and let some pleasant light through.. One of the old banyan trees was a favorite abode for parrots (hundreds of them). Another old tree was home to hundreds of large bats. We would walk to Matunga every weekend — to buy vegetables (it was great fun and learning to watch my Dad hand-pick the best vegetables), and coffee (a smell that cannot be replaced) and Tamil magazines, and most importantly, second hand story books for me!
I used to wait all week for the little expedition and words cannot describe the kind of excitement that I would feel as the book shops would approach nearer and nearer. There were 2–3 roadside stalls, nothing much to speak off, just small sheds with some wooden shelves and a blanket spread out on the pavement, with books neatly arranged in rows and columns by author names and book series. One of the vendors was a bit “khadoos” (grumpy), so we would go to him only if the other vendor was out of :new stock”. The books wold cost 3 to 5 rupees based on size of the book (required bargaining), and that’s when I guess I got used to small font sizes in books (they were much more value for money!). I still cannot bear the sight of large font sizes in books.
I also got used to books without pictures in them, one picture is literally worth a thousand words, and such a waste of space in a book — the pictures, I mean! By the same rule, comic books were out — you were through with them in a matter of minutes, and what’s the use of a book which cannot be your companion for a few hours at least?
Anyway, after finishing our regular shopping we would, on our way back, stop by these stalls at leisure and go through the stacks of books. It was important to stop at the book stalls on the way back (not in the beginning). Going through all the books was a major part of the overall experience. A maximum of 3 books could be purchased in a single trip and it was always difficult to figure out which 3 books to buy. Usually, it would be one Enid Blyton, one Hardy Boys/ Nancy Drew (preferably Hardy Boys) and one classic (abridged version) — Dickens, Stevenson, Poe, Verne etc. Selection needed time and patience, and some quick reading. Some morons would scribble all over their books (very irritating)! It was critical to check for torn or missing pages — nothing can be worse than reaching page number 135 in a 150 page book and find pages 136–146 missing!
At the same time, there is something about a second hand book that makes it special, more special than a brand new book. It has been read before and therefore worth reading again. It caries small markers of its previous readers and owners, a ketchup stain here, a dried petal there, a thoughtful underline, a rare comment (only rare comments are valuable), pages whose importance has been marked by folded corners etc.
I have to thank my father for his infinite patience — it must have been extremely boring for him to wait while I went through this lengthy ritual. It never showed, though. Once the selection was complete, I would hand the books over to him and he would then negotiate the price with the vendor. The bargaining process was ritualistic — the vendor knew us well and would eventually hand us the books at the price we would demand, but perhaps there was something incomplete in selling a book without a round of bargaining.
The walk back was anticipation and torture. You have the books, but you cant read them while walking. If I could have, I would have! These would be the longest 20 minutes of my typical week. Yet, strangely, it was a walk that I wouldn’t exchange for anything in the world! It is a walk I have always enjoyed, even long after these weekend trips with my father tapered off as I entered my teens. The reasons kept changing and the frequency kept reducing. Even now, whenever I go to Mumbai, I cannot help retracing these steps at least once and reliving those wonderful experiences, although it has been a while since I went to see if those roadside book stalls still exist — probably not.
Once home, I would jump into the book world, eat with them, sleep with them and live with them over the weekend, to emerge out only after completing the first reading, and I would read them again over the course of the week.
Some habits are for life, I guess. When I moved to Bangalore in 1999, the city was still quaint, M.G.Road was still beautiful; there were many roadside book stalls selling second hand books. I rediscovered my reading habit. Over the next few years, these stalls also started selling low quality copies of brand new books (not second hand), along with pirated CDs and DVDs. Somewhere, in the subconscious mind, these books were equated with second hand books, hence there was no hesitation in buying these books at cheaper prices. The subconscious mind can play tricks!
To be sure, there is nothing wrong in purchasing second hand books. It is always better to purchase from a proper bookstore like The Bookworm, off Brigade Road, or even smaller book shops sprinkled right across the city. I do wish though that the old roadside vendor would make a legitimate comeback as well, and make books accessible to younger generations near their homes and in their neighbourhoods. Happy reading!
