The Importance of being the first one
Emma Bee loves Mumbai. As much as one loves one's own new house. And almost as proud of it. She is eager to show me around... and show me all in a single day. We go to Wadala and Malad and Bandra and Andheri and VT and Marine Drive and Colaba and what not. At the end of the seven-hours-roaming-around-the-city routine, I can't feel my legs. Or the weight of my wallet.
"Let us go and sit somewhere", I insist.
"No", she refutes, "Because I have not yet shown you the place you will love the most".
"And what place is that"?
"Mumbai's biggest book shop".
I am obviously interested. We take another ride to some place called Flora Fountain. I have a picture of a swanky crossword-kind-bookstore in my mind... just ten times bigger and strewn with cushiony comfort couches. Where I will pick up a Neruda, sink in a chair, read some poetry to myself and go off to a nice wonderful nap.
"Here we are", she announces with a hint of pride in her voice.
"Where are we? I can't see any book shop".
"What rubbish! See so many!" She points to the temporary book shacks lined on the pavement of the street.
"What! These look like second hand book shops to me!" I am horrified.
"Don't be so hoity-toity! You will get rare titles here. Entire city buys from here".
I don't care if I appear like a page three prick who pretends to have done a PhD in sophistication. I don't care about the rare titles. I don't care about the entire city buying from these ten shacks. I simply can't buy second hand books. Period.
Emma Bee is the woman with the plan. She will not let us leave till I purchase a book. She talks me into buying one. I flip a few pages. And stop dead at the very second one. I tell her I will never be able to read this book.
"Why? Why! Are you insane"?
"No, and here's why".
Because this book was held by Ayesha. A person I don't know. And it was gifted to her by Bijaya. A person I don't know. And the rift between Ayesha and Bijaya will haunt me... because who in her right mind sells a birthday gift?
And also because I wasn't the first one to hold it, possess it and smell its newness.
"Let us go and sit somewhere", I insist.
"No", she refutes, "Because I have not yet shown you the place you will love the most".
"And what place is that"?
"Mumbai's biggest book shop".
I am obviously interested. We take another ride to some place called Flora Fountain. I have a picture of a swanky crossword-kind-bookstore in my mind... just ten times bigger and strewn with cushiony comfort couches. Where I will pick up a Neruda, sink in a chair, read some poetry to myself and go off to a nice wonderful nap.
"Here we are", she announces with a hint of pride in her voice.
"Where are we? I can't see any book shop".
"What rubbish! See so many!" She points to the temporary book shacks lined on the pavement of the street.
"What! These look like second hand book shops to me!" I am horrified.
"Don't be so hoity-toity! You will get rare titles here. Entire city buys from here".
I don't care if I appear like a page three prick who pretends to have done a PhD in sophistication. I don't care about the rare titles. I don't care about the entire city buying from these ten shacks. I simply can't buy second hand books. Period.
Emma Bee is the woman with the plan. She will not let us leave till I purchase a book. She talks me into buying one. I flip a few pages. And stop dead at the very second one. I tell her I will never be able to read this book.
"Why? Why! Are you insane"?
"No, and here's why".
Because this book was held by Ayesha. A person I don't know. And it was gifted to her by Bijaya. A person I don't know. And the rift between Ayesha and Bijaya will haunt me... because who in her right mind sells a birthday gift?
And also because I wasn't the first one to hold it, possess it and smell its newness.
Labels: Reading
