T S Shanbhag: The 'premier' bookseller

Soon after I graduated from college, I was offered an internship at a private firm which I accepted more because of the central location and remuneration rather than future career prospects. It was a bright, airy, ground floor, glass-fronted office with a great view. Next door was a bookshop.

One morning, a swanky car screeched to a halt in front of our office and a good-looking man got out and walked into the bookshop. He looked familiar.

Curiosity got the better of me and I casually ambled across to the bookstore. The owner, a genial-looking balding man, sitting amid stacks of books and papers on his table gave me a warm, welcoming nod. I politely reciprocated and pretended to browse, stealing a glance intermittently at the handsome man, who was quietly browsing.

Soon he picked up some books, went to the owner, exchanged quick pleasantries, paid up and got into the waiting car.

As I was leaving, the owner asked me if I was looking for a specific title. I candidly confessed why I came by. He told me the man was actor Kamal Hasan. "Did you want his autograph," he queried. I said perhaps not but I wouldn’t have minded a quick conversation with him. He added that Kamal, a book lover, visited the book shop whenever he was in Bangalore.

Read | More than just a bookseller: Remembering T S Shanbag

That was the first time I met Mr Shanbhag, the owner of Premier Bookshop.

In the short time, I worked next door and as a habitue to Premier, Mr Shanbhag endeared himself to me with his amiable persona. Curiously enough, we discovered that he and my parents hailed from the same place, Kundapur in Mangalore, and often chatted about this coastal place.

After I quit that office, I frequently dropped by Premier to buy books and avail generous discounts he offered until I moved overseas to work. I recall vividly how I once spotted Bollywood actor Sarika browsing but didn’t find Kamal in the shop. The last time I met Mr Shanbhag was on a visit to Bangalore in 2008. I bought some books, had a long conversation and left, assuring him of dropping by on my next visit. That was not to be. In 2009, Premier shut shop. I felt sorry and disappointed.

Now, more than a decade later, I got news of Mr Shanbhag’s demise on May 4. Covid-19 claimed another life, a much-respected man I knew. It saddened me but soon I felt light as fond memories flooded my mind— of his benevolent smile, his knowledge of books and personally digging up a book I was looking for from heaps, of the many unhurried moments of browsing and flipping through magazines, of running into our college English lecturer Mr Govinda Rao and indeed of Premier, the higgledy-piggledy bookshop with its eclectic collection that became a haven for bookworms in Bangalore.