Jewels In The Dust

It was quite a seedy looking outfit, this shop. No different from any traditional raddiwaala that you often encounter on Mumbai roads. The typical heap of Alistair Macleans, John Grishams, Robert Ludlums and of course Harold Robbins (and all their clones) formed the facade of this non-descript tenement.

A few 'readers' stood outside, picking up books while stealing glances at the scantily clad women on the covers of Gladrags and Cosmo magazines that hung from the 'clothes line'.

I sidestepped a stack of newspapers and ventured carefully inside. A rat kept pace with me, scurrying over the shelves of 'thrillers' that lined the walls. I made towards the stack of books rotting in a forgotten corner, covered with that fine layer of dust that you find only on memories.

I spent the better part of an hour rummaging through the stacks of books, drawing back occasionally whenever my back started worrying me too much. I had selected two books when the shopkeeper noticed my interest and materialized himself next to me.

"Carlo ka book hai hamare paas" (We have Carlo's book), he muttered excitedly. With a will, he set himself to task, going through the motley collection for Carlo's book. Shortly, he stood up triumphantly holding the volume in question.

"Didn't I tell you?"', he beamed. I nodded in agreement.

"How much for these?", I asked, motioning towards the books I had selected. Arya had also finished browsing through the books meanwhile.

The man did a rough calculation and came up with a figure. It really was pointless to haggle, though we did give it a shot. The man acquiesced and gave us a 10% discount. As we fished out our wallets to pay him, he said "I reduced it so much because you young boys are reading good books. All that young people want to read nowadays are these", he motioned towards the hacks and magazines. "They have lost interest in dharmik (religious/spiritual) books". He laughed in the direction of Arya's younger brother who was accompanying us and was already turning a shade red.

"Ever since I opened this shop eight years ago, this old man visits me. He has bought over a lakh rupees worth of books already". There was pride in his voice as he continued, "This man has opened a small library in his village for other old people to read and pass their time. It's always good to give books to such people", he concluded.

"Where are you from?", I asked. "From the earthquake torn part of Gujarat, but I was born and brought up here." The conversation continued. "I got married years ago but we couldn't have children. I spent lakhs of rupees on all kinds of tests, I went to doctors and pandits alike, but they could not help me. After the earthquake, my sister gave birth to their seventh child - a daughter. They had no money for her upkeep so I decided to adopt her. I got it done from the court and she came to my house when she was 3 months old. Now she is 4 and a half years old." The man's smile said everything, as he told us how precocious and intelligent she was.

"That was the only time I went to Gujarat", he concluded.

"Ah, we are planning to visit Dwarka", I mentioned.

"You must also visit Somnath then", he ventured. We nodded our heads in agreement. There was not much point in talking about i-Divine to him right then.

Keep such books aside when you find them', I told him, referring to the dharmik books. 'We will come again', promised Arya. "Yes, yes!" our man said happily.

"More books!", my mom was aghast. "Oh they are excellent books!", I replied as I displayed the spoils of the day - Selections from the Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda, The Poetry of Robert Frost (in mint condition!!!) and Karl Marx' Das Kapital (English edition). "Good choice, but how much did you pay for them?", she enquired.

"Rs.150", I smiled.