An open and honest love letter to my natural habitat - Blossom Book House

To my dearest Blossoms,

I miss you. I miss you terribly. I didn’t have the chance to meet you before the lockdown was announced in India. Every day when I look at my stacked book shelf, it stands as a reminder to all the treasures that you have so generously given me. More than 85% of my bookshelf are gems that I have picked up from you. And I will forever be grateful for that.

Being an avid reader as a child, I always had a book in hand. I read volumes of the magic school bus, Enid Blyton and of course, Roald Dahl. As a teenager, I picked up the Percy Jackson series and even the Egyptian god series. I gorged down series of Tintin comics from my school library. When I entered high school though, all of a sudden I gave up this habit that I had so meticulously cultivated. It didn’t even occur to me what I was losing out on by not reading regularly. All this while, I continued to visit you, while bringing along an occasional cousin or friend.

After a long 5 year hiatus of not touching any book, apart from the volumes of RS Agarwal’s, RD Sharma’s, the endless series of NCERT books, I knew it was time to start reading again. While in college I finally decided to turn to reading the books which I wanted and not those that were handed out to me like flyers for PG’s outside colleges.

One fine day, when I was motivated enough to start reading again, I visited you alone on a Saturday noon. I walked one row after another, not being able to recognise most of the books, because I had little to no exposure of the literary gems that you held so dearly. Your other fans sat along the bookshelves with at least 4-5 books in each hand. While I didn’t have a single book in hand.

I stood in front of the shelf that I had some familiarity with. You held more than fifteen copies of the Godfather, neatly stacked one over the other. I bravely picked up the 595 page book, flipping across pages aimlessly.

I walked a little further and saw Malala Yousafzai’s autobiography; I am Malala and remembered one of my childhood friend’s serious recommendation for it. I now held two books in my hand, The Godfather - 595 pages, fiction, classic, no recommendation from anyone and priced at Rs 320. And the other being, I am Malala - 293 pages, non - fiction, autobiographical, yes recommendation and priced at Rs 280.

Here came the first dilemma you ever presented me with. And you continue to do this to me every time I come visit you. The infamous question with no right answer - which book should I pick?

I prefer fiction, so The Godfather is the right option, but I have no one recommending it to me, so what if it’s boring or dull? And isn’t 595 pages a bit much to start with? Won’t it be too heavy on my hands and eyes?

So then there is I am Malala. Its nonfiction (not the most ideal), but I have a recommendation for it. Also, 293 pages is quite ideal for both my hands and eyes.

Ultimately, I picked up I am Malala over The Godfather. And B, I think you know why. I am Malala was 40 rupees cheaper than The Godfather. As a college student, Rs 40 made a difference, because that Rs 40 could be used for an auto ride from Palace Road to MG Road (And I would get some change which could then be used to buy ice cream).

But anyhow, I thoroughly enjoyed the book. I read it slowly and patiently taking in all the details mentioned in the book. It is such a well written book. Now I’m happy to tell you that I have read both the books now, I am Malala and The Godfather.

And shortly after that, my visits to you became more frequent and the short 15 minute visits became 30 minutes and then an hour or more. Soon enough you became home.

As I visited you more frequently, I started becoming aware of the different literary works out there. I looked up Goodreads and the Amazon Kindle App for more recommendations. Some of the recommendations were so interesting; I just had to read them immediately. However, I was always really apprehensive about the availability of these books. But you being you, never failed me. Any book I named, you held.

One of the reasons I was able to read so many Indian authors is because of you. You presented to me the worlds of Manu Joseph, Anuja Chauhan, Prayaag Akbar, Diksha Basu, Anand Neelakantan and many more Indian authors.

Today I am able to appreciate literature in different Indian languages, purely because you had the books of these stellar authors. From Tamil authors like Perumal Murugan and Sujatha to the Kannada author Vivek Shanbhag to the Marathi author Sachin Kundalkar and many more, whom I am yet to discover.

I became completely immersed in the wonderful works of fiction and fantasy by foreign authors. The Help by Kathryn Stockett is a book I hold so dear to me. I still remember how I finished that book. I was on my way to college and was supposed to get off the bus at a stop before the terminus - Majestic. But I was so close to completion that I couldn’t just get off the bus and carry on like nothing happened. So I sat on the bus till the end, weeping my eyes out while also laughing at the subtle humour in the book. The conductor looked at me confused but gave me the solace that I needed at that point. I got off the bus and took an auto to college, while still taking in what the book had left me with.

Tomi Adeyemi’s Children of Blood and Bone was another book that I look at everyday just to remind me of the world that the book created. It was so fascinating and I hope she comes out with the sequel soon.

If I were to talk about all the books that you have given me then this letter would never end. And honestly, I have some books that you have given me that are half read or I haven’t even started (I’m sorry, I promise I will read them).

B, you’re beautiful. You’re messy, you try to be organised but it doesn’t quite work out. With piles of books that adorn the floor and books reaching high into the ceiling, I constantly fear an entire stack of books falling down on me while picking a book or walking straight into a pile of books that lay on the floor. And this fear is actually a reality for me and you are witness to that. Yet you are warm and cosy and it’s always tough to leave, without taking (multiple) final glance(s) at you.

I had a chance to visit you before this lockdown was announced. I would’ve come to meet you in a slightly different avatar. Instead of my usual navy blue jeans and a tattered tee, I would’ve come in a pristine white sari (with a pasta stain on it) and my hair decked with flowers. Quite the attire for the last visit, huh? Too dramatic though. Not our style.

Nevertheless, I’m hopeful now and I think I can visit you soon enough and that makes me delightful. When I come next, I will be loaded with legal tender, my book recommendation list long and the smile behind my mask big enough to be captured on camera.

Till I meet you next, take care. And wait for me to come back.

With lots of love,

Veena Suryanarayan

Picture credit for the first image - Isha Hiremath