Searching for books in a bookstore

I recently travelled back to Bengaluru, the place I both love and hate. On most days, I abhor the damp, moist and cold climate that goes throughout the year here. Especially during the winters, when my heart longs for the sun soaked mornings in Bhopal. Sitting on the little balcony of our flat there, I would sit down on a dari, with my back facing the sunlight, waiting for it to slowly defrost while I sipped on some basil and ginger tea.

But then, it's this very weather that takes a romantic turn sometimes. Like last Sunday, when it was  cloudy and a light chilly wind ruffled through the pink flowers on the canopy clad roads of Indiranagar. Sitting across the window in a prim sea green room of Hanoi, I ordered some drip coffee and patiently waited for it to fill above the layer of sweet condensed milk, drop by drop, as I revelled in the poetry of the moment. 

Eventually it started to drizzle and it was only when I was sipping and biting and fishing through the delicious hot mess of a Pho, did it hit me that I had missed this. And I don't mean just the capitalistic pleasure of eating at a fancy restaurant, but the naive, raw moment of exposing myself to the sounds, sights and smells of a new place. Of letting my mind wander off from every pressing issue and pointless question related to work and life, just like the clouds floating by in the beautiful eggshell blue skies of the city I had learnt to love so much.

Looking for these little easter eggs of life's moments, has been one way I like to break the monotone. Sometimes I go searching for books in a bookstore - the old way. I would spend a whole Saturday morning rummaging through old and lost books through the dusty racks at the back of Blossoms bookstore in Church street, trying to find books with hand written notes and library records. Books that have never been heard of, books that are probably not on amazon and won't be judged ever by their review on Goodreads. Books that will only be read for the story they convey on the first skim. And then there are those beautiful hard bound books that have been sitting forever on the racks of forlorn sections like gardening, cooking and architecture, with pictures depicting a totally different era. 

It's almost whimsical and some may say a very impractical way to live. But it's the only way I feel I can catch real glimpses of this infinite world.

Afternoon walks and midnight conversations,
XOXO

-T





Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

First hand accounts of Patriarchy

Image
I was a tiny girl who loved to play hide and seek. One day I decided to hide behind my parent's bed to scare my Ma when she would come inside. Ma and Dadi came into the room and I heard Ma saying to Dadi, "Lekin mujhe mera beta hi zyada pasand h" ( I like my son more). I jumped up frightening myself instead. "Kyaa?" I asked in astonishment. Don't get me wrong, I am the apple of my Mum's eye. She told me later that she had to say it for my grandma. You should know why. I didn't know what that statement really meant back then. But over the years I couldn't help but see the deep held roots of patriarchy suffocating the society. Growing up, the favourite plot line for most of the TV shows was pretty much like so - girl is forced into a marriage, girl hates the guy, eventually girl learns to fall in love with the guy and be a good wife to him. Permutate the age and background, for the girl and boy and this formula would end up fitting into most of the...
Read more

Between two worlds

Image
I have always been into art. But could never identify myself as an artist. Because those were the ones who could sketch a perfect portrait. Or colour a real life scenery to the finest of detail. I on the other hand, mostly just had an eye for art, that had no rules. Which was abstract and flowing. More bohemian than modern. More form than function. And to me somehow, Art has never been liberating. But rather burdening. Making me feel like a liar, an outcast. Someone who has been hiding their true colours when in a pool of engineers. And at the same time I was someone who distanced herself from the artists. As they always appeared un-relatable and different. This is what I call being stuck between two worlds. Never fully here, never fully there. Floating somewhere in the void. You could call me a jack of all traits and master of none. And I have had big time commitment issues throughout my life. I would always want some thing really bad. Like a book or a gadget. And would feel that it c...
Read more

Delusional reality

Image
I have had a hard time dealing with reality, tending to always find solace in the comforting world of fiction. In enchanting tales of magic and in vivid stories of places unknown. Growing up, there was no other book that satiated my hunger for adventure and exploration like "Secret Island" did. The story of four kids discovering a secluded island in a beautiful lake, protected from the real world, caught my imagination every time I read it. In the later years, this was replaced by the mystic lores of the boy who lived. My favourite escape from the daily doldrums of doing homework and other petty issues of that time. Dark and dingy alleys, leaky cauldrons, murky quills and candlelit hallways made clean and shiny seem totally obsolete.  Rowling's universe of chocolate frogs, moving pictures and every flavour beans became so profoundly convincing that it was inevitable for it to not pour some of its magic into my earthly endeavours. Little does my mother know, that I used to...
Read more