walking in the city
The Park was rather nice. It was on the same road, but a bit farther away. The park was a bit green, and it was quite sunny and then it got grey and cloudy and cold. Then we walked some more in the park, and it was still green. There were some statues of a man with glasses and he looked quite funny. But he was smiling, and I smiled back.
Metro seems like a salted, toasted, charred affair. Loves me, loves me not? There is a lot of nostalgia, yes. So, there, see, something else for you.
There a snake and ladder that you can play and win and cheat and lose in, or you swirl around in one of the swings. There is probably something happening there- like a book fest, a performance or something, you can slink in the shadows or stay by the door with your friend or go up to the first seats or sit on the ground if there aren’t any.
You can still walk up or down or on the plateaued boulevard (the new one.) They might try to kick you out from there after 10 or if you loiter, but you can still give it a glance. There is artwork that you can look at the day (maybe you can count the colours) or you can race up to the plateau that is on the height (it doesn’t matter who comes first, though).
Maybe you want to sit on the cold stone, and look up, find yourself among trees and concrete (and the metro swooshes by) and look at the many storefronts on the MG Road.
The Lakeview Milk Bar has lost its lakeview, but nonetheless it stands decorously on the door with the black panes. It stands looming with all the stories of all the people and their dates and their ice cream choices and the night drives with families or tales of the late-night walking-bys, and of course the stories of the flavors, how they came to be, stories of the name, stories of the people working there, eating there, sitting there, walking-by there, oh so many stories.
If you are a reader, too, then, chances are that stories will collide and merge and interfere. You’ll see them in new stories. Lakeview likewise Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory? Candied dreams, you, too felt like the creator time to time, when that spoon dipped into the bowl of ice-cream, or not? Or if you are someone who’s seen the city get its new looks with some concrete highlights, then stories talk about the old times and the new times. So, what all does a scoop hold then? I smell the flavor of these stories being whispered, chirruped in the ear cheekily, shriekily loud and bouncing in the window-ed store, or in shy smiles and glint-y eyes. I smell the scoop of flavors of ice-cream and stories blended, served best cold.
Higginbotham's is not difficult to find at all. You just walk straight into the whitest of the buildings, with color fuming inside of it.
The color from the different jackets of different books, stationery and paraphernalia, and people flitting in and out of the building like wispy little versions of themselves, having devoted themselves to the reading monster, consuming as it is. I see the white and then I see the color, the windows are whimsically delightful and so is the staircase, and the place smells of paper and words.
It has carried the same homeliness for readers for a very long time (since 1844 ). It is interesting that there are numerous bookstores with wider collections in the same area, prices and that are irresistibly unpassable, you can find the delectable old, second, hand-me-down-from-one-reader-to-another or you can talk to the excited bookshop owners who will burrow in the depths of their collection and find the book that needs to be found for you. But Higginbotham’s is still being found, it was found by myself, and I enjoyed the white, pearly building.
Oh, yes its old. Its not as pearly either, actually. And it sucks to have the metro in the front of it, makes the metro uglier, and perhaps, Higginbotham’s too. And the Boulevard is not there anymore, but the books, they will always be there.
No, they didn’t flow out of the store, as I thought they would. Instead, rows of all kinds of bric-a-brac rested there. There were toys, and figurines, things that turn, that curve, things pretty to look at, things with color.
There is an abundance of delicacy: the rosewood offers a sandier look of idols, or the brass for animals, you can talk to people etched in rosewood inlay work (they might fancy a chat around tea time (which really is just coffee time)), or you can trace the intricate patterns of Bidriware, or pick up a shiny lacquerware toy with a mocking smile (I suggest, don’t take it personally). The store has a lot to offer. Then, there is too, something about being a part of the Mahatma Gandhi Road experience, you walk and find it at the crossroads, you find it straight ahead, you find the red boarding stand out under the cloudy sky, you find people walking in and out of the store with bags empty and bags full.