Browsing in book shops

My love for reading was fostered by my older sister albeit unintentionally. She was a lot older than me and did not wish to spend time ‘playing’ with me or keeping me entertained. She loved to read and so would tell me to go read a book and not bother her. Slowly I began to love reading books. It allowed me to dream, escape in the world created by the words of the author. Every time I read something it was new as my imagination allowed a slightly different world to be created.

I have always enjoyed browsing in a book shop. When I was a teenager I was allowed to buy a couple of books every month and going to buy them was a exciting event. I would generally go alone to the ‘India Bookhouse’ which was the nearest book shop. The walk to the shop was something I could never remember as I was busy thinking about what I would buy! Would there be any new books to thumb through or would I have to choose from the ones I could not buy before.

My interest has always been in reading fiction. The early read of Enid Blyton’s soon gave away to Agatha Christie, Earl Stanley Gardner and Alastair MacLean. While I did avidly read romantic novels it was not something I spent money to buy. The ones to buy were those I would read time and again. I would skip into the shop with joy and have a quick look at what books were out in the front. Then I would slowly look through each shelf checking the authors on it. After this initial browse, I settled next to the authors that I wished to read. I would take time to read the abstract at the back of each book. Move from author to author. If I had read all the books then I skipped the books unless there was a different front cover. I would need to read the synopsis then for I recognised most books I had by their cover itself.

It took quite some time to make a complete round of the shop. Not that it was a large shop when compared to the ones I visit now. I would finally short list a few books that I wanted. Now came the big decision making time….. I could only buy two and so would read the synopsis of all books again. Often it was a difficult decision as to which one I wanted read as a priority. After much debating I would reluctantly put the other books back. I knew I would return next month and buy them but it did not stop me from feeling a little sad as I returned them to the shelves.

After paying for the books and wrapping in a paper bag I would still linger in the shop before starting to walk home. All the way thinking of the information I had read in the synopsis of my books and planning which one was going to be read first. Such a simple but deeply satisfying pleasure in indulging my passion for reading. By the time I turned 18 the collection of books bought by myself and my sister was 300 strong. The authors varied from Agatha Christie to PG Wodehouse to Neville Shute to Alistair MacLean to Pearl S Buck to Ian Fleming. All my books were marked by the date of purchase and my name. One of my cousins’ commented that from these dates one could plot my changes in taste and development of thinking. I had certainly not realised that indeed the books I had showed my own development.

Then I went to university and my parents moved to Mumbai. Sadly they gave away all my books and with it my memories and personal history. I took me a long time to stop grieving over the loss of my books. When I moved to UK I restarted my hobby of buy books. I did find some of the books I used to have in second hand shops and bought them again. My taste in fiction remains with thrillers, spy novels and murder mysteries. I go to the local library in short bursts and read books from there. I still can visit a books shop and get lost in a different world of imagination. I have begun to find e-books and so a virtual library has also started. The joy of reading and visualising the story unfold will always remain more precious than movies of the same.