24 February 2024
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Ever since I can remember, I have sought consolation inside bookshops. Rows upon rows of books, all of them available to open anywhere and read and a space that, ideally, holds nothing but books, have been my easiest escape from reality. Even if there are other people in the bookshop at the same time as me, they don’t want to talk, either.

After moving to Delhi from Kolkata, two specific bookshops offered me this sanctuary. The first was the now-defunct Bookworm in Connaught Place, and the second was, well, The Bookshop, in Khan Market and later, in just the sleepy market of Jor Bagh. Back then, these shops were refuges from the relentless aggression and rudeness that I – everyone – encountered on the streets of Delhi.

Abdul Gh Lone

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