January 21, 2012
Despite a moderately painful stiff neck, I ventured out yesterday afternoon. In the pavement across the mainroad from the exit of our housing colony, there is a used book sales set up. I had never seen man of the stall before but the blue color tarpaulin tied up with dirty white plastic rope that hid his stash was a permanent reminder of his presence whenever I walked in that direction. It appeared that he closed around 5pm and my walks happened only after 6pm. But in the bright sunny afternoon, I managed to be in his presence. Business was in progress. Few factory reject fresh hardbound volumes relating mostly to Hinduism, around a hundred browned by use non-fiction and five or six columns of well thumbed through pulp fiction pieces.
I found Will Shortz's Sodoku Delight. $4.99 original price. A sticker on the cover said $2.99 as reduced price. Amma enjoys doing a sodoku daily and today is her birthday according to the Malayalam calendar. So I picked it up for her. "How much?" "3 for Rs. 100" he said waving across the columns of the fiction. Without much hope, I shuffled through them. Nothing worth wasting a hundred rupees. I displayed some prominent gestures conveying my decision to leave empty handed. He got the message. "You can have it for Rs 30". I did not want to bargan. 60 cents is a fair enough price for an unused used book of 150 puzzles.
My destination for the afternoon was DC books building at statue junction. After reading a glowing review in the Madhyamam weekly of "Chavu Thullal", a new novel by Raju K Vasu, I had to have it. Climbed into a KSRTC bus only to be told that it will take me only till Palayalam. Got out at Palayalam and walked into the long row of used book sales shack that border the wall of the Public Library.
Here the sales dudes are very aggressive. "What do you want?" they ask in a borderline threatening way. I couldn't think of anything. It looked like they will attack if I was going to waste their time. "Do you have any Malayalam books?" I asked the first stall owner who clearly didn't have any. "No, but I have plenty of English". In all the book stalls, used book shacks and book fairs that I have visited so far, I get the impression that Paulo Coelho is the most popular writer in India. I walked two shacks down. Here the guys actually had Malayalam books, so I changed my demand, "Do you have anything by R. K. Narayan?" "Of course!" Bummer! Biting onto the cigarrette, the mundu-clad sales man led me deep into his castle of old print. Walls of used and abused authors. Spineless texts, faded fairness, dotted covers, cracked edges...this was an empire in despair.Luckily none of the bricks of the tottering towers belonged to that master of Malgudi.
I decided to walk till Statue junction. The neck sprain meant I spent more attention on the ground level. There are two distinct patterns on the red cement bricks used for the pavement. There is also a four grey brick larger pattern that repeats at regular intervals. Shoe and watch repairmen still do squat on the footpath. A cart vendor with trinkets in plastic trays sat under his ancient washed out umbrella. A slanted deep brown carboard with clips on the edges holding tickets of fortune. 10 crores, 5 crores, 50 lakhs, cars, karunya, sikkim bumper, lakshmi lotteries.
At 3pm, Thiruvananthapuram has slightly more traffic than College Station but the heat never reaches the Texas dry assault level. Nevertheless, getting to the airconditioned TBS books was a relief. Each time I visit this shop, my belief that they don't have a bright future strengthens. The sales staff is spectacularly unenergetic. I think they have a academic book division next door that props up the general books section.
A flight of stairs to DC books. It is always busy there. There was a computer being repaired at the counter. The other elderly short bespectacled man at the counter was busy on the phone. A repetitive conversation about the importance of matching ISBN numbers in an order of 350 books that are meant to travel abroad. I scanned the news books section for Chavu Thullal. No luck. A sales boy divinely intervenes. He rushes off to the right side shelves as soon as I mention the name. I follow him. He hands me the book and disappears. I stick around the section. M.T. Vasudevan Nair's slim volume of 5 essays titled "Kathikante Panipura" (Story teller's workshop) was available. Rs. 30. "Chavu Thullal", the novel comes at Rs. 120.
City bus back home. Since it was just past school time, plenty of laminated bus-pass waving kids in the bus. The conductor gives me a 5 rupee coin hidden along with the ticket. I drop it and upset him. But a silly joke is enough to cheer him back up. His cellphone ringtone resembles a whistling bird song. I think he frequently blames it if caught whistling at the young female travelers.
Read the first two essays by the great M.T-ness and started off "Chavu Thullal". I will have plenty to write about that novel in the coming days.
Went to do the monthly grocery shopping at the Margin Free shop at Sasthamangalam with Amma this morning. My stiff neck pain had traveled a little south and changed into a back sprain. Amma insisted on getting plastic bags at the check out. I protested. Insisted on parking the car near by and carrying the already packaged stuff as they are instead of adding more plastic consumption. "But they have already charged us for the plastic bags," Amma pointed out the economics. "Please let us at least pretend to be responsible human beings once in a while" I grew irritated. She wanted to avoid a scene. No plastic bags. Small victories.
Cousin came around noon to narrate more sordid tales of deep corruption and irresponsibility at the city corporation office. It is difficult to avoid being hopeless and angry hearing the sort of things that go on. Anyways, looks like we finally have permission to launch the construction project at our old home's site. Thanks to my hospital stay, this project has been running a month late than planned. I completely fail to understand is what exactly these corrupt people hope to do with their money in a country like India! There is very little that can be done for enjoyment here without attracting attention. I guess greed is blind as well as illogical.To calm myself down, finished a short story that I had started working on yesterday morning. Silly stuff, but writing is therapeutic!
Yet another edition of the abomination called Celebritiy Cricket League began this afternoon. The cameras are focus less on the unhappening bounce on the pitch than those of the boobs of the actresses who are "brand ambassadors". Hardly any spectators, but both the Kerala Strikers team and Chennai Rhino teams have their own white-girl cheerleaders in mini skirts. I wonder how cricket was ever played without the help of these ladies.
Nishangandhi Arts Festival kicked off yesterday at Kanakakunnu Palace. Since the neck situation feels better, will check out the Odissi dances this evening.
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