JOIN USThe quiet, contemplative life of a bookstore sales assistant
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a bookworm in possession of a dreamy disposition must want to own a bookshop. Jane Austen would sneer at this inelegant theft of her famous opening line, but she would certainly approve of the sentiment behind it.
When I volunteered to work at The Bookworm on Church Street, and write about the experience, it felt like a teenage dream coming true. I would experience being among books all day, sniff and sort them, feel their spines, and hug them (all in secret, of course).
When I walked to the bookstore on my first day as a sales assistant, it was drizzling. I was worried the rain would dampen my adventure. I expected the store, spread over 5,500 sq ft, to be yawningly empty. Who would slosh around puddles to visit a bookstore?
Krishna Gowda, owner, knows me well (see box). As he welcomed me into the store, which he set up in 2016, the first thing I did was eavesdrop on three young people. A girl and a tall boy were discussing whether a book with upturned chairs on the cover was an appropriate buy. “Japanese is good,” the girl advised. He was unconvinced. “It’s not fantasy, bro, she will like it,” the girl continued, recommending it with conviction. I moved closer unobtrusively to take a look at the title. ‘Before the Coffee Gets Cold’ by Toshikazu Kawaguchi. Ah. One of those new-age must-reads.
I left them to their indecision and walked further inside. Store assistants were sorting and arranging books. About eight work at this store, in shifts of around eight hours. I climbed up a flight of winding stairs to where I knew rare and first editions were kept, mostly biographies and volumes of history.
Quietest corner
For those who know, this is a sanctuary within a sanctuary, the place where the bookshop is at its quietest and yet feels most alive. The mustiness hits you nice and square, the air is still, and the silverfish vanish in a flash. Here, in the heart of Bengaluru’s central business district, you can actually hear chirruping mynahs and the distant call of the koel. Most importantly, here are books, delighting in their disorder, unsorted and primed for happenstance — the raison d’être of bookstore romances.
Bookstores are romanticised in Hollywood. They play a big role in pop classics such as Tom Hanks’ ‘You’ve Got Mail’ and ‘When Harry Met Sally’. The latter made me steadfastly believe that I would look into the eyes of the love of my life as I moved a dusty tome aside. In reality, I would have sneezed in his face!
But the allure of bookstores comes not just from the chance of meeting a soulmate. Being a book lover is about believing in serendipity, even in this age of algorithms and ‘You may also like this’ recommendations. ‘Moby Dick’, considered one of the greatest novels of all time, was resurrected from obscurity — book critic Carl Van Doren spotted it at a second-hand bookstore, wrote about it, and catapulted it to classic status. Khushwant Singh chuckled in one of his columns that he found a copy of his ‘Train to Pakistan’ that he had signed and gifted to a dear friend. An ardent Auden fan, I stumbled on a clothbound edition of his collected poems on the first shelf I touched at a Charing Cross bookshop in London.
Slow-living joy
No one understands this romance better than the independent bookseller. Indie bookstores don’t just sell books. Unwittingly, they have become a part of the global slow-living movement and are flourishing, despite dire predictions, not just in urban India but also in cities like New York and London.
Good independent bookstores don’t stock all books… the titles have to earn their space on the shelves. And booksellers like Krishna know their customers and their tastes, and recommend titles that do not appear on bestseller lists.
Krishna says he used to display fiction prominently earlier but lately, it is non-fiction that sells more and so he has changed tactics. “Japanese pop philosophy books like ‘Ikigai’, easy-to-read psychology/self-help books and works on AI sell the most,” he says, adding current affairs and biographies too are catching up fast. What happens to books that are unsold? “Since we handpick books to buy, that does not happen much. But, once in a while, we donate books that remain unsold for long,” he adds. While he obtains the new books from regular distributors and publishers, 90 per cent of the second-hand books he sells are sourced from customers.
“People spend hours looking at the books. Some tell me it gives them peace just to be around books,” he says. Do they steal as well, I ask, only half in jest. “Oh yes… it is a big problem. Especially Manga comics! We keep these near the billing counter but still lose them.”
He loves his job, and says it has given him knowledge and wealth. “But sometimes, customers can be cranky! Some want a particular edition with a particular cover. Some ask about a book without knowing either its title or its author. But we try! That’s why they come back,” he says.
Do they have a strategy to deal with rude customers? Says, shop assistant Shashidhar, “We don’t get too many rude people but when we do, we deal with them politely or simply leave them alone. People who come to bookshops are generally well-behaved madam.” Krishna says disputes are few and far between but when they do arise, it is about discounts. “We politely tell them to look elsewhere if they are dissatisfied... In fact, we even give them directions to other bookstores in the area!”
Hybrid model
It is a mistake to assume that indie bookstores, full of old-world charm, are caught in a time warp. They are tech-savvy, and know how the business is panning out online. After the second lockdown, Krishna tweeted that his store was open for business, and his post went viral. “That was a big surprise and it encouraged us to try out delivering books. Now, a hybrid model has come into practice,” says Krishna. On an average, he couriers 10-15 parcels a day. Even as we chat, he gently tries to persuade a regular customer to buy an “entire set” instead of just one book.
For well-known writer Vivek Shanbhag, a regular to indie bookshops, the appeal is in the whole package: “When you pick up a book and you know that it has passed through a few hands, it connects all of us. Then there is the element of surprise. I look for a book and I find something else. That is how I have found many new writers. This doesn’t happen online. And you always bump into someone you know or you make new friends — because once you are in a bookshop, you know only book lovers come in!”
On my first day as a sales assistant, I browsed to my heart’s content, chatting with Krishna and his colleagues and smiling at the occasional customer. So at home I felt among those shelves that I had to remind myself that I was there for a story!
Second day
The season is wet, but thankfully, the rain let up a bit. Krishna was already in. On a typical day, he comes in at 10.30 am, about half an hour after the shop is open for business. Trusted assistants such as Preetham and Shashi come in earlier. Krishna’s first job is to go through his WhatsApp messages and sort out requests for online deliveries!
“I reply to every one of them, check addresses and get the packages ready,” he says. Once that’s done, he looks into the pricing of second-hand books. His assistants first check the books for damage, glue them up and repair what they can. Krishna then determines their prices. Labels are stuck accordingly.
He spends his afternoons taking stock and ordering books from distributors and publishers. Since he is expanding his online business, he is busy rearranging his stocks. “This is everyday work… what I truly enjoy is recommending books to my customers and hunting down books in response to unusual requests,” he says.
I am now eager to talk to customers, but it is a lazy afternoon. A few customers walk in, including an apparently bad-tempered regular — one of their oldest customers. He admonishes an assistant, “Grow your knowledge.” He turns to me and gives the same advice.
After two hours, I feel strangely antsy. Am I bored living out my childhood dream? Or am I not as secure with silence as I imagined I would be? Bookselling is a curious business — not only does it ask you to be comfortable with long bouts of stillness, but it also demands that you be a people’s person. I now wanted to try and sell something.
I sold a book, or did I?
I walked up to the children’s section in the hope of finding a kindred soul. A young girl walked in, looking lost. I smiled at her tentatively. She did not respond. This was more difficult than I imagined. I pretended to be busy, but kept an eye out. She was certainly
looking for something specific. I gathered my courage and approached her. “Any particular book?” “Yes. ‘Harry Potter and the Cursed Child’.”
Ah, the relief! The serendipity of which I have been thinking so much about! That Harry Potter should come to my rescue in a quiet corner of an indie bookstore says it all. Of course, it was a book I, a Potterhead, had read. I felt like a qualified sales assistant. We both hunted for the copy together and found two! She smiled. I did too. Perhaps my first (and only?) sale.
Potterhead story
In 2002, I had not heard of Harry Potter. Just out of an English literature course, I had stuck to my Thomas Hardys and George Eliots.
Krishna, who then used to sell books on the pavement near the now abandoned Shringar Complex on M G Road, was becoming my go-to bookseller. One day, he picked up a fat book with a dragon on its cover and gave it to me: “Read this, madam. It is nice.” It was ‘Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire’, the fourth book in the series. That evening, I didn’t read it — I devoured it. The next morning, I ran back to Krishna and bought all the earlier books in the series. Thus was born another Potterhead and a friendship that has lasted two decades.
Book streets
Every cultured city has a book street. Kolkata has College Street, Mumbai has ‘Book Street’ near Flora Fountain, and London has Charing Cross Road. Church Street did not set out to become Bengaluru’s book paradise but it is one now.
The credit goes to Premier Bookshop and its owner T S Shanbhag, who offered a 20 per cent discount and had an unerring ability to find what you asked for. Once it closed in 2009, its patrons found solace in stores like Blossom Book House and The Bookworm. Goobe’s Book Republic and Book Hive followed. Of course, there was always Select Bookstore off Brigade Road, known only to bibliophiles.