Last evening, my sister and I finally made that long-awaited trip to Best Books, the second-hand bookstore in Hyderabad. Having been an ardent devotee of Blossoms's in Bangalore for the longest time, I am acutely aware of how the concept of Time can take a backseat in certain bookstores. But this was something else! I have never seen a larger collection of poetry anthologies anywhere. Wait wait! Let me tell you what I found!
1. The New Poets- Selected and Introduced by A. Alvarez (Larkin, Hughes, Plath, Anne Sexton, and many more. Split into The Americans and The British for irony; there are 4 American poets and 24 British poets.)
2. The Complete Poetry of Henry Vaughn
3. Neruda, Walcott and Atwood: Poets of the Americas (eat that, Mr. Alvarez)
4. Fifteen Poets: An Oxford Anthology (In shocking pink)
5. All Across The Telegraph: A Bob Dylan Handbook (I did say poets. Bob Dylan will always always be a poet and not a singer. No matter how much drugs he took.)
And that's just the tip of the money-well-spent iceberg. It is only the realisation that the ceiling fans in Best Books are victims of disguised unemployment, that will urge you to reluctantly leave the establishment.
As we walked out with heavy bags and light hearts, I suddenly wanted to start paying attention to my second love, food. I decided to be hungry. My all-knowing sister led me in the general direction of a long window-wall, where people were looking out at us as they stood facing the road and eating. Yes! Food and inside-out-window-shopping! I sighed at this novel and heart-warming idea. This, boys, is the good life. Not only do they offer two things for the price of one, I realised as we ordered that this was also a Kannadiga joint. Sri Venkateshwara Coffee House is definitely where it's at. Although all of Hyderabad refers to Mangalore bajji as Mysore bajji, you don't let it alarm you in Sri Venkateshwara Coffee House. The chutney finally tastes like chutney, the coffee is heavenly South Indian Filter, there are books in bags and good in everything.
But that little bit of intangible adhesive that firmly latches on to your heart is definitely the train station at Lakdikapul. For a tiny station with two platforms, it is the most well-thought-out, well-planned and picturesque station I've seen here. Perhaps also the best spot for viewing a little bit of the wooden bridge that gave this place its name. (Lakdi-ka-pul having, over time, been bastardised and proper-nounised into one solid word. Never mind. All water under the bridge now.) I'm not entirely sure if any part of this bridge is wooden anymore, but even if the material is more durable now, this is definitely the geographic location best suited to an uninterrupted viewing of the bridge. You can even buy popcorn at this station, an unlikely item on the otherwise standard menu of railway station eatables.
I do remember deciding to go to Lakdikapul at least once a month, for the book-buying feast at Best Books. But the other temptations that this place has will definitely make it hard to make this a monthly affair only. Between the bookstore, the coffee shop and the holy bridge, I see the beginnings of a convert. I might actually like this city.
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6 comments:
here's confirming that 1/4.5th of your proclaimed readership is very pleased that you're writing regularly. and to the best of coffee and poetry in your new city. virtual hug!
Lakdi-ka-pul? Vaaav, that is so interesting. And kyoot.
PS: I don't the diference between a Mysore bajji or a Mangalorean one. I only know of a Punjabi Bhajji who goes around slapping unsportsmanlike sportspersons. Maybe you have heard of it? It is nothing to look at but it can talk in backhands... (ellipsis)
When I come over to visit, I want to be takien on the Lakdikapul tour. And I want to play with Patchy and Not Patchy. Do tey get along okay with Husbandicoot or is there a palpable social awkwardness?
I don't *know* the difference between. Tchah.
I had this friend who lived in a place called Ghodekakhabar somewhere in the boonies in Hyd. I assume it was lakdikapulized from Ghode ka qabr (grave). Weird name for a place nevertheless. Shudder.
Full enjoy ma, you.
he he talking about 'pul'...in sikkim they pronounce it pool...and when we asked our trekking guide (cum host) to take us to the 'pool' that he was talking about (being the part of the river where water forms a sort of pool).....he walked us a great distance to a (admittedy beautiful) suspension bridge....
not that funny i know...but still...good to know there's good books, good coffee and a picturesque train station...bangalore weather of course is something i've yearned for in bombay, in delhi and continue to do so now in chennai....
the door was ajar so kinda stumbled in.
well ... if book hunting makes your sunday, I would say you might wanna check out the roadside book market at Abids; worth a few visits.
the Lakdi-Ka-Pul etymology reminds me of a certain Kath-Pula (Kath = wood) in a small city up north - of the south. A connection there perhaps between the two lowest forms of masculine life - guess each rung of the ladder does complicate the morphology further :)
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