Baba, Park Street, and Me

The facade has changed, the porch is gone, but it is still the same shop...

Park Street and I share a special bond. Baba and I used to make regular trips to Family Book Shop owned by Burman uncle. Located at 1A Park Street, it is a stone's throw away from where Oxford Book Store stands today. It was a cosy shop with a porch-like extension in the front designed to resemble a tiled hut.

I have vivid memories of Family Book Shop. Baba had actually bought me a book from there—for me this was a novelty because I never needed to have books bought for me. I had Katha-O-Kahini to read from. This latter added a strange dimension to my reading because I knew I did not possess the books that I read. This is what also taught me to take care of books. I would reach each book very carefully, opening it only as much as I needed to to be able to read, so that the spine of the books would not split. I was extra cautious with the edges to avoid dog-earing the books. Baba had drilled it into me that these books were for sale, and I was privileged to be able to read so many books without having to buy any.

So, when a book was bought for me from Family Book, I was overwhelmed. I had, in my customary manner, accompanied Baba to pick up books for Katha-O-Kahini. I was quite young at this time, probably 8 or so, and my passion for books was just building up. Apart from the fact that I loved going out with Baba who is an excellent companion, I was attracted by the little treats Baba inevitably gave when he took me out. If we went to Park Street, I knew he would take me to either Kwality or Flury’s. I loved the juicy chicken rolls at Kwality and the soft, buttery, raisin-studded cup cakes that were Flury’s speciality.

That day, we had gone to pick up books from Family Book. I meandered through the shelves and added a book now and then to the growing pile Baba was collecting. Suddenly, a strange book caught my eye. I remember being fascinated by that book—completely mesmerized by its exterior. This book was shaped like a car—a jeep to be exact—with plastic red wheels, windows cut out on the side from where the driver’s head was visible. This head was the most enthralling part of the car/book—it was a rubber head with a blue navy cap jauntily perched on it. I recall the actual content of the book very sketchily but its appearance is indelibly etched in my memory. Till then, my concept of books had been that they come in different sizes but the basic shape is the same—a rectangle. This book threw my notions completely out of gear. Baba must have seen my fascination with the book. I never dreamed of asking him to buy it for me because as far as I knew, I never bought books. I had plenty to read without buying any. But Baba bought me that book.

We had finished gathering all the books we were going to take back to Katha-O-Kahini with us. Burman uncle’s younger son was preparing the bill and uncle had gotten himself and Baba tea in tiny clay pots that are so typical of Kolkata. He offered me some cookies that I remember declining. I did not want to be distracted from that book. Then, just when everything had been packed, Baba got up, took the book from my hand, and instead of placing it back on the shelf as I had expected, he asked uncle to pack it separately and make a separate bill in his name. Then, he came and handed me the book and said, “This is for you.” My surprise bordered on shock. He laughed and said, “Let’s go to Kwality; you must ne hungry.” I think, in retrospect, I can easily say that this was one of the happiest memories. Can you imagine a wish that you never dared to articulate even to yourself, that you didn’t even know you had the power or the right to express, being granted? The feeling can be overpowering, almost devastating.

Now, when I walk into Landmark or Crossword, I see books in the children’s section that resemble animals, cars, birds, and everything conceivable. They have hard covers, soft covers, can squeak if pressed, can be dissembled, rearranged, rebuilt… children are no longer awestruck by this display of a book’s ability to be a soft toy, a jigsaw puzzle, and a book as well. They are not satisfied and clamour for different and more unusual stuff from their doting parents. I watch amused and also a little sad. I lament today’s children’s inability to be captivated by simple things. I regret the loss of imagination that makes them powerless to imagine more into something than meets the eye. They have to have everything held up, out there to see. For them, everything must be flamboyant, ostentatious.

No child of today will hold a car-shaped cardboard book with plastic red wheels and spend hot summer noons lying on her stomach, gazing tirelessly at the book, imagining herself taking a trip in that car to unknown, faraway places.

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