In 1998, when I was in school and discovered Henry David Thoreau in our text book, I was excited. For the first time in my life it felt I discovered a kindred soul, even if it was across the oceans and across time. I loved nature. I rushed to my school library to find a book on him or the book he had written and was famously known for – Walden. But, unfortunately, the book was checked out. When I enquired as to where I’d be able to get a copy, my librarian said, ‘Walden’. I thought she just repeated the book name. But, she smiled at my bewildered face and replied, ‘in a store named Walden’. That’s when the love affair started.
Over the years, I frequented Walden as much as my limited means allowed me to. I became their steady customer and it became a home I escaped to, whenever my home felt like anything but a home. I began building a small collection from the books I picked off their racks – classics, business management, self-help, psychology, fiction, non-fiction, etc. It was THE store for book lovers at the time with its vast collection and space to stand and read a few pages before you zeroed-in on your purchase. I introduced my friends too to it. I’d like to believe it made a difference in their life too, as much as it did in mine. It was a permanent structure in Hyderabad for me. Hyderabad would be a lesser place in its absence.
I had on the side, discovered other book stores (Book-point, A.A. Hussein’s) and rejoiced at new ones that were opening – Odyssey, Landmark, Crosswords. It was a glorious time to be a reader in Hyderabad.
Then, times changed suddenly. The internet happened. iPhone happened. Mobile revolution happened. Flipkart, Amazon followed quickly. With it came dizzying array of collections of books that were never before (easily) available to purchase and massive discounts. I gravitated to it; it even had what you didn’t know you needed. Time passed and my visits to Walden had come down. The topography of Hyderabad was also changing. Traffic snarls became an everyday ever present phenomenon. I reasoned, ‘why step out if I could order the same online for a much lesser price?’ For a middle class person, I wanted the best bang for the buck and online I could purchase two books for the price of one. My visits to Walden were now out of nostalgia.
But, I was guilty all the while. I knew how businesses work. I knew Walden couldn’t offer the same discounts as online stores that had the backing of multinational conglomerates. I knew if people didn’t buy from them, it was only a matter of time. One such nostalgic visit left a profound impact on me. I stopped by the store on an evening and realized it was now a shell of its former self. Like an old person biding time before the final goodbye. I decided then that I would return buying in the bookstore.
But, it was too little, too late.
A month back I was reading a newspaper in the morning when I saw an article on Walden. The store, after 29 years in operation, was closing at the end of the month. Something in me wailed. It felt like someone close to me had died. I tried to reason with myself, ‘how can you have such a strong reaction? it’s just a store. Get a hold on your emotions.’ But, that day I felt sorrow that I had not known for sometime. It felt like a home was being snatched away from a homeless person. Why such intense reaction? I loved books. Books held me together when I couldn’t do it on my own. They were there in my loneliness, they never judged me, never abandoned me. They taught me how to live, laugh and understand people. They made me a better person. I wouldn’t have been able to survive this long, if not for books. And, Walden was a place where these books lived. And, it was closing. It was like someone decided to switch-off my life support.
I visited the store, my last time, that weekend. The accountant there walked up to me, recognizing me as an old customer, told me that the store was closing. All I could was shake my head in disbelief. ‘Habits have changed sir, people are reading less, traffic has increased, we lost our parking space to road expansion, and we cannot compete with online discounts, it has become untenable.’ I was mute with overwhelming emotion. I walked through the aisles, recollecting a fond memory – when Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was released, I had stood in a line that stretched half a kilometer outside the book shop early in the morning to get my copy. If that was the summit of my memories when I think about reading and books, this reality was the bottom.
Will there be any bookstores in the future to facilitate such memories?
Bookshops like libraries are culture bearers. When they close, we lose an irrevocable part of ourselves. Is mine, just an overreaction? Bookshops are now relegated as collateral damage in the relentless march of time – relics of a bygone era. I walked out of the bookshop with my last purchase – a dictionary, a book so out of place in these times, like the bookshop that was closing, like the writer penning these words.
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