Have you ever bought an old book over a new one?

As I reflect on my love for reading, I recall the days when I would eagerly devour books of all kinds (except for the technical ones or those meant for competitive exams). Books were always a cherished gift from my parents on my birthdays, and they even rewarded me with more books. Each year, after the annual exams, I would receive a special book. However, during my college years, obtaining extra money for books other than textbooks was a challenge.

Studying English literature was a blessing, as it exposed me to remarkable novels, literary histories, and diverse works from around the world. Nevertheless, these books primarily served as study material. Despite the tight financial constraints my middle-class family faced in supporting my education and stay in Kolkata, I always made room for books. To save a few extra bucks, I tutored students and earned a modest income.

During those days, I discovered that old books could be found in the streets of Gariahat or Golpark. Similar roadside shops in College Street and Park Street offered an array of options, including the latest bestsellers in paperback. Admittedly, they were photocopies, but the prices were incredibly reasonable. I would stroll through those streets, exploring the pages of old books, reading snippets, and eventually purchasing them at half the original price.

What made these books truly enchanting was the fascinating story they carried from their previous owners. They exuded warmth, and one could sense the time they had spent with different individuals. Sometimes, I would come across short notes or highlighted lines, which added to their charm. The old books had a distinct aroma and color, often adorned with stains from turmeric, tea, or coffee. On occasion, I would even discover a dry flower nestled within their pages.

Titles like Eric Segal's "Love Story," "Life of Pi," "The White Tiger," and "The Namesake" were treasures I longed for but couldn't afford. It was a source of pain. However, one of the booksellers from the street presented me with an excellent offer. I could deposit a certain amount of money and borrow books from him—an opportunity that made those days the best days of my life. I was young, had ample time to read, possessed an inquisitive mind, and had limited access to mobile devices. My financial resources were scarce, but the experience was all the more fulfilling.

Nowadays, I have the means to buy books, but time has become a scarce commodity. Honestly, I am unable to read as much as I did in my youth. With age, my patience to complete a book has diminished. Whenever I reminisce about my younger self, I find her wandering the streets of old bookshops at Golpark, forever captivated by the allure of literature.