Part 1
I have a fascination with books; old, obscure, beautiful books. Their hold on me began early in my childhood. My home was filled with almirahs containing wide variety of (mostly Manjhle Papa’s) titles. My Badi Phua’s residence was another treasure trove of books, old and new.
Little wonder then, a recurring theme of my (most cherished) dreams is about foraging and finding books.
In those visions of shut-eye, I suddenly find myself in the middle of a mystic market filled with antique, ornate fictions and non-fictions. They are (surprisingly) available for throw-away prices, as most of them are second-hand. Their low-cost is still not justifiable, but who is complaining?
Another kind of titles available are those which went unsold in a wrong market (like a culinary paperback in a high-fashion district). Those are the best sort, being fantastic articles, yet unwanted, rather unsold, and hence available there at giveaway prices.
There is a unique joy in sifting through a thousand titles and finding that one masterpiece. I have had this pleasure a few times in Darya Ganj in Old Delhi, and scores of times near Gandhi Maidan in Patna.
In Delhi, I found old issues of Rolling Stone magazine, an illustrated hardback on dragons, and a Dragonball Z graphic novel (French edition). In Patna, I discovered picture volumes of artists Monet and Van Gough, as well as some items of intrigue- a second-hand dictionary of pest and pestilences and a speculative text quantifying the probable number of casualties in every US city if a nuclear war had taken place in the 1980’s (weird stuff).
Buying a DBZ volume costing 50 rupees provides a certain rush of the unexpected. I spent the whole day scouring the markets, getting probably five great items.
If you have some moments to spare (and you like such a thing), it’s an amazing way to spend the day. Plan excursions to a second-hand market, flea market or antique shop, and embark on a quest for articles with culture, history and personality.
Part 2
But what about the book vendors?
It’s a magical world, and it is my magical world, as rarely do people dream about books. The place and its shape, setting and visuals change at every iteration.
It goes like this……..
While roaming around in a familiar place (last night at Maurya Lok, a shopping center in Patna), I take a turn around a corner (of a road or a building) and reach a magnificent alley filled with tables laden with a busload of books.
The details of the titles, their contents, significance and appeal seem vivid in the fantasyland, but after waking up, I can’t remember the name or topic of a single one; as it is the case in dreams (at least the ones I have).
But at every instance I wake up with immense excitement and adrenaline of the hunt and the haul. I feel materially richer and well off for a few minutes (after getting up).
When things appear too good to be true in the realm of the Sandman, I reflect if the scenario is actually real.
“Of course it’s real”, I tell myself.
The reason for the elation I feel is not merely for having found prized wares. It’s the surprise at serendipitously coming across such uniqueness and value at such exotic locations, right out of a legend.
Part 3
There is a certain marvel and fulfillment associated with these dreams. We are short on these things in our ‘digital’ lives.
It reminds me of how our relationship with books has changed. These days, if I have to buy one, I just browse Amazon for it. If I am really feeling an urge for a physical tryst, I visit a crossword at a mall near me. There is no wonder in these trips. They are bang predictable.
When I was a kid, railway stations were the places for me to get (more like be given with limited discretion) comics and magazines, perhaps because I was too young to go to stores on my own (or to know what to ask for), and also as they would keep me busy on a journey. Here I found wooden trolleys, wondrous vehicles carrying an array of literary merchandise. There was something for everyone there, I realized (as people of all ages flocked around them).
There were also big Wheeler™ boxes containing books and periodicals, all lying on the flat surface of the table, a cascade of fresh issues. The novels were laid out vertically in glass showcases (to maximize the surface area of the shop. They were sources of Nagraj/Doga comics (pre-1997, after which I was not allowed comics by my Father), Nandan, Chandamama, Champak, and Wisdom.
After I grew a bit, I started frequenting DN book store in Alpana Market, and Gyan Ganga, Books En Amee and Maa Shree stationaries in Boring Road, all situated near my home. They are like old friends of mine.
Even now, after growing up proper, I visit them when I am in Patna, like one frequents pilgrimages.
I was never a busy/active/socializing child/teenager, and mostly kept to myself. As a teen, finding issues of Gotham graphic novels or the latest Rolling Stone magazine held a particular thrill to me. When you are a sensitive bird like me, you don’t need a lot to get excited.
Acquisition was just a part of the experience, but the search and the wait fed the intrigue. The instincts have never left.
Part 4
I probably read more than ever before. I use the Kindle device for reading traditional novels and non-fiction and my phone to read graphic novels (which I acquire for free on the getcomics website). They serve me well. I don’t buy as many physical volumes now, except for aesthetically adorned art-based coffee table reference material, or select graphic novels, which I have to own in analog form.
There is still some fascination associated with these purchases, but it’s nothing compared to what I experienced in the late 90s and early noughties. The world adopted digital media in a blink, and while we got a deluge of options, we also developed a draught of appreciation.
In what seems like only a few years ago, media (print, visual, and audio-visual) was meant to be savored. Currently, we are overwhelmed by the overflowing dam of media. I have 20 unread novels on my kindle (ones I intended to read and not just keep). I know there is a higher chance of their count swelling to 30 (unread ones) than retreating to 15. I keep biting more than I can chew. My small brain is not equipped to consume it all.
When will I understand that giving superior material some time and space is the best way to appreciate it? Who cares if I read 10 novels or 20? Is it not important for me to enjoy the select 10 than sweating and panting to finish all 20?
Just packing the mind with gibberish is nonsense. In good bits of writing, words come together to foster context, build-up, allusion, foreshadowing and 50 shades of nuance. Is it worth rushing on to the next sentence without properly imbibing the constituents of the previous one (and visualizing its contents)? Is it the way I want to do things? It doesn’t seem right.
Reading is best enjoyed at a slow burn. In comics, the colors, panel-shapes, and countless other details are used to make a mark. I move on only when I am done visualizing all the details and there is no scope left for me to ponder.
When I read something (non-fiction), I see it as an opportunity to make it a part of me. Who knows when I would come across the topic-at-hand in the future? So I make sure when I encounter it the next time (and the next and the next) I have an intuition about it, and not just an idea.
Again, these may sound like too much work or even unnecessary/obsessive to some people. They are just things that I like to do. You do what works for you.
Part 5
Surely we have digressed a lot. At this point this piece feels like a collection of deviations and detours. Anyways……
…. back to my recurring, pleasurable dreams.
What makes them feel so good?
There is levity in childhood. There is no pressure of a career and performance and one enjoys the sheer exhilaration of discovery. This feeling comes bottled in my dreams.
They have no time limit.
I browse through the stalls, and inspect the bundles to find gems, at my leisure. I am high on anticipation, far from the realities of the world I inhibit. The freedom (in my spirits) and the prospect of owning those captivating, marvelous titles create a warm, soothing, and dreamy (of course) escapade.
My brain knows what I desire. Hence it takes me to this lovely place.
Sometimes, after I wake up from such a peach of a dream, I go back to sleep, as I don’t want to leave this site of blissfulness.
One out of two times I reach right where I left off, resuming the Grade A dreams of dreams 😊.
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