We the regulars

One of the things I missed last year, during those quick, for-essentials-only outings, was being a regular.

We’re all regulars somewhere. You probably have a jeweller that your family has been going to for generations or a saree shop where your arrival precipitates a hurried fetching of chairs and the “Coffee or cool drinks?” enquiry. If not, you must have at least the vegetable vendor who always keeps aside a half kilo of ooty beans just for you.

“Just for you” is a line none of us can resist. There’s something to be said for the gratification of finding that your preferences are not just acknowledged but remembered. But being a regular is not just about accepting homage and furtively checking if you’re attracting envy among the non-regulars. As we regulars know, sometimes it’s a lot of work to keep your status active.

Take the bookstore, for example. When the familiar man who runs it holds out your favourite author’s new book wordlessly as soon as he sees you, you don’t just thank him and take it. It’s your cue to show why you’ve earned the honours. You cast about quickly and say something like “Ah, I notice you’ve moved Classics to this wall.” Satisfied, he withdraws, and you're left to browse all you want. Just as you round the corner and stop at the re-tolds, he appears by you to pull out a Riordan. “Your daughter was looking for this the last time.”

Your turn now, again. You look around casually and ask, “Boy hasn’t come today?” Never mind that Boy is no longer the spry teenager he was when he was hired a couple of decades ago, and could barely get on the stepladder when you last saw him.

You make your way past Tolkien, translations and travel, and end up at the counter. The owner bends down to get a shopping bag. “Oh, don’t bother, I have this,” you say, whipping out your preferred-customer cloth bag with the bookstore name printed on it.

This kind of long-term fidelity to a shop is sure to become a thing of the past as urban commute becomes harder and shopping online becomes more attractive. And some might say that by sticking to the same haunts, you lose out on the excitement of discovering newer places. But there’s a comfort in going back to the familiar, where you’re also welcomed for being familiar, which makes the experience worthwhile.

As you push the door on your way out of the bookstore, a balding man holds the door open from outside. Is that a glimmer of recognition in his eyes? It’s Boy, of course! He peers into your bag and asks, “Got those short stories you wanted?” You nod and sail out, happy as only a regular can be.