It was a so-called heaven for book lovers, and I had read about it everywhere. I had seen photos and heard accounts from visitors as well, and I knew it at least seemed like heaven. Now, as I stood inside the very heart of the place, I still couldn't believe what I saw.
I was indeed at the Daryaganj Old Book Market/Kitaab Bazaar in Delhi.
This bazaar is as magical as the stories it tells; as transient as words. Early morning on Sundays, when the shops are closed, a market conjures itself out of thin air. And then till late into the evening, an entire kilometre of roadsides stretching from Kasturba Hospital Marg/Netaji Subhash Marg intersection all the way to Delhi Gate, lay adorned with books.
It is said that this first started happening in mid-1960s.
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As I moved down the market, I saw about as many people as there were books. Lots of them, standing in first this position, then another, but always, with eyes glued on the pages.
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The books were cheap, too, not to mention abundant — both used and new ones. I preferred old books so I knew I was going to have a great time here. Stopping at a stall, I'd start randomly going through the books lying there, or ask for a specific author and the shopkeeper would find me all the ones he had from that writer.
This continued for a while. Books that I had been searching for so long, I finally found them here (and at some bargain, I must add!).
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I noticed a rather classic hardcover among the paperbacks. I picked it up. It was a collection of poetry by Ezra Pound. Though I hadn’t read much of his work, I knew I had to buy this. So I told the seller to add this to my pile. It was then that I realised that if I didn’t stop now, I’d be broke for the rest of my trip.
With a heavy heart and after quite some effort, I finally stopped myself, paid the guy for the (pile of) books I was given, and moved on.
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As I walked through the crowd (making sure my cell-phone and wallet were safe) I noticed books weren’t the only things on sale here. There were electronics, gadgets, toys, all sorts of stuff. I saw a man selling old postage stamps and coins, and went ahead to buy myself some. Then I stopped for a cup of coffee at a coffee house.
Daryaganj is where everything from the classical novels of Jane Austen and Charles Dickens to the contemporary works of John Green and Jhumpa Lahiri are available for a cent or two, literally. There are old comics, magazines, textbooks and what not. I also spotted books by Pakistani authors, Mohsin Hamid’s Moth Smoke being one. The market simply keeps going on and on.
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But the best part of the whole trip was simply how it felt to be there; how it felt to be among so many people who were there only for the love of reading. Aficionados like you, all over the place; some haggling, some quietly looking at the books, some busy in conversations with other people.
I visited the market the following week, and ended up buying more books. The best bargain happened when I found William Dalrymple’s The Last Mughal at a stall. Hardcover, brand new and still sealed in a plastic cover. After a lot of haggling, I finally ended up getting it for a price that one can only dream of.
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This one time, a middle-aged man picked up a book titled How to Get Rich. He turned to me and asked: “Can one really get rich by reading this?”
“I wish I knew,” I said.
“Didn’t know it was this easy to get rich!,” he quipped.
If you ever get the chance of visiting this wonderful place, you must.
If you’re in Delhi, and it’s a Sunday, don't think twice. Just do it!
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Photos by author