<p>A professor of philosophy and an acquaintance had called us for a rendezvous at his residence in Malleshwaram, Bengaluru. A man of two parts, as he described himself, he was a writer by vritti (practice) and a Hindustani classical vocalist by pravritti (proclivity). </p>.<p>And yet, it was his self-confessed academic interest in Kenya/Africa and Goa that served as the perfect bridge for us to meet. The fact that we had spent three-and-a-half years in Kenya and are currently stationed in Goa made this a coincidental, almost pre-destined, meeting. Over a traditional Melkote meal prepared by the professor himself, we discussed Kenya and books on Africa. That is when he mentioned John Gunther’s Inside Africa, which set off a chain of meetings and events that made for a special Bengaluru day and experience, indeed.<br /> <br />During our stint in Kenya, we had avidly devoured all manner of literature on Africa, but to our surprise, the aforementioned compendium, a 1955 vintage, had eluded us. That is when the professor, in a gesture of magnanimity, called up his source — a friend and collector of rare books — to ask if he had or could procure another copy of Gunther’s Inside Africa. A copy was available, we were told. The professor proposed the next date, at a central location from where he would take us to his oft-patronised rare and <br />second-hand bookstop. He, thus, opens up yet another window of discovery. <br /><br />We find ourselves in the heart of South Bangalore at a busy marketplace with its honking rickshaws and scurrying traffic. Away from the urban chaos, tucked in a quiet cul de sac is <br />a modest dwelling housing an unlikely bookshop. The open terrace leads into an extension room which is brimming with books. Used books and second-hand bookshops often wear a distinctly disdainful and devil-may-care look almost as though proclaiming that they are worth their titles, not their appearance. But not this one; here most of the tomes are neatly laminated and certainly look well-tended. If mere volumes were a measure of a book-shop’s merit, then this would be a roadside eatery. But soon we discover that this is getting to be a fine dining experience. A bespectacled man in his 70s in crisp white shirt and grey trousers is its humble proprietor. <br /><br />Like a jeweller unravelling his collection of rare gems, this gentleman pulls out diamonds. He thumbs the six-volume first edition of Winston Churchill’s rendering of World War II, which earned him the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1953. Entire works, such as Radhakrishnan’s treatise on Hindu Philosophy and translation of Rig Vedas by a Western scholar, grace the shelves. Other eclectic titles vie with each other for eyeballs — Edmund Hillary’s High Adventure and Charles Darwin’s The Voyage of the Beagle, among them.<br /><br />Like any true-blue book-lover, Mr M, the propreitor, collected books to an untenable degree, but unlike most book-lovers he took his passion a notch higher and brought it to an altruistic conclusion. By ‘recycling’ his amassed wealth, he is, in a way, spreading his love of books. But his method of doing this is very subtle. You’ll not find any board outside his house nor any advertisements or promotions to announce his presence. For nearly 15 years, he has sustained his business through word of mouth. At once he pleads that we buy books from him in future, and in the same breath insists that we do not spread the word indiscriminately as he doesn’t wish to handle regular customer traffic. Our surmise is that it is a ploy to sieve in genuine book lovers. <br /><br />I come away with my Inside Africa, a gift from the professor, and a compendium on Indian Climbers and Shrubs, a 1954 BNHS edition, for a meagre sum. I part ways with Mr M, assured in the thought that some of my books now have a refuge too, if and when I seek to declutter my home library. And that they will fall into deserving hands. <br /><br /></p>
<p>A professor of philosophy and an acquaintance had called us for a rendezvous at his residence in Malleshwaram, Bengaluru. A man of two parts, as he described himself, he was a writer by vritti (practice) and a Hindustani classical vocalist by pravritti (proclivity). </p>.<p>And yet, it was his self-confessed academic interest in Kenya/Africa and Goa that served as the perfect bridge for us to meet. The fact that we had spent three-and-a-half years in Kenya and are currently stationed in Goa made this a coincidental, almost pre-destined, meeting. Over a traditional Melkote meal prepared by the professor himself, we discussed Kenya and books on Africa. That is when he mentioned John Gunther’s Inside Africa, which set off a chain of meetings and events that made for a special Bengaluru day and experience, indeed.<br /> <br />During our stint in Kenya, we had avidly devoured all manner of literature on Africa, but to our surprise, the aforementioned compendium, a 1955 vintage, had eluded us. That is when the professor, in a gesture of magnanimity, called up his source — a friend and collector of rare books — to ask if he had or could procure another copy of Gunther’s Inside Africa. A copy was available, we were told. The professor proposed the next date, at a central location from where he would take us to his oft-patronised rare and <br />second-hand bookstop. He, thus, opens up yet another window of discovery. <br /><br />We find ourselves in the heart of South Bangalore at a busy marketplace with its honking rickshaws and scurrying traffic. Away from the urban chaos, tucked in a quiet cul de sac is <br />a modest dwelling housing an unlikely bookshop. The open terrace leads into an extension room which is brimming with books. Used books and second-hand bookshops often wear a distinctly disdainful and devil-may-care look almost as though proclaiming that they are worth their titles, not their appearance. But not this one; here most of the tomes are neatly laminated and certainly look well-tended. If mere volumes were a measure of a book-shop’s merit, then this would be a roadside eatery. But soon we discover that this is getting to be a fine dining experience. A bespectacled man in his 70s in crisp white shirt and grey trousers is its humble proprietor. <br /><br />Like a jeweller unravelling his collection of rare gems, this gentleman pulls out diamonds. He thumbs the six-volume first edition of Winston Churchill’s rendering of World War II, which earned him the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1953. Entire works, such as Radhakrishnan’s treatise on Hindu Philosophy and translation of Rig Vedas by a Western scholar, grace the shelves. Other eclectic titles vie with each other for eyeballs — Edmund Hillary’s High Adventure and Charles Darwin’s The Voyage of the Beagle, among them.<br /><br />Like any true-blue book-lover, Mr M, the propreitor, collected books to an untenable degree, but unlike most book-lovers he took his passion a notch higher and brought it to an altruistic conclusion. By ‘recycling’ his amassed wealth, he is, in a way, spreading his love of books. But his method of doing this is very subtle. You’ll not find any board outside his house nor any advertisements or promotions to announce his presence. For nearly 15 years, he has sustained his business through word of mouth. At once he pleads that we buy books from him in future, and in the same breath insists that we do not spread the word indiscriminately as he doesn’t wish to handle regular customer traffic. Our surmise is that it is a ploy to sieve in genuine book lovers. <br /><br />I come away with my Inside Africa, a gift from the professor, and a compendium on Indian Climbers and Shrubs, a 1954 BNHS edition, for a meagre sum. I part ways with Mr M, assured in the thought that some of my books now have a refuge too, if and when I seek to declutter my home library. And that they will fall into deserving hands. <br /><br /></p>
