Ishoo looks at an Issue of his book treasure.
Tunnel of Books; Tons of Books
Book lovers are attracted to books like honey bees to flowers. My city, Chandigarh has a unique area allocated for the resale of old books in Sector 15. Chandigarh is the first planned city after independence and designed by famous architect Le Corbusier.
I remember when I was studying in the Punjab University the book sellers were located on the pavements right opposite the exit gate on the dividing road between Sector 15 and the Univ as it was called then. I spent many pleasant evenings looking for a work of fiction to read at my leisure.
Today, alas, the works of fiction for sale are not so interesting, famous or classical. These books are merely the flotsam and jetsam of quick fiction readers. After an hours search I found two books. One was ‘The Clock Winder’ by Anne Tyler and I bought it because I loved her book The Accidental Tourist. The other I took because the cover claimed it to be a New York Times Bestseller. The name of the book is Hugger Mugger. Maybe the name intrigued me. It is written by Robert B. Parker. So this weekend it is going to be Hugger Mugger.
The real book buyers here are students from the University who want cheap second hand course books. They have my sympathies for books are very expensive. You can really find all course books for school, college and university. If you tell the seller he might even find a particular book from some source. Software programming books are displayed prominently and must be much in demand.
This pursuit of fiction is not for those who have the OCD of dirt-fear. I give the books a thwack and a bang and that is reasonably clean for me. The price of course is atrocious. This guy Issue (rather an apt name for a book seller; maybe he spells it as Ishoo) gave me a flat rate of Rs. 40 per book of fiction. That is two thirds of a dollar. I’ll wash my hands every time I hold the book. I asked Issue if book sales have declined because of the arrival of the World Wide Web. ‘No Way’ he said happily as if he had just killed a dragon. The Internet does not scare us. I looked doubtfully at him and then slinked away.
One complaint in passing from an almost founder citizen of the city- the underpass I had to take from fifteen to sector 11 is filled with rain water and I am sure in their fight against dengue the Chandigarh Administration will show some alacrity in drying this hell hole. This must be the Paradise of mosquitoes.
Let’s hope some official takes notice. Don’t modern cities have informers like olden times Kings used to have? I suppose I can be considered an informer. Anyway banish the negative thoughts I am happy, I am set for the weekend with two books to read.
Secret is a hot favorite
Zounds even the Hounds
A Prayer for Owen Meany
What the Dickens?
A Fictional Life
Buy and Sell
Paradise of Mosquitoes Under Pass Sectors 15–11
These corridors of power
Have sunk into the ground.
There’s not a sound.
The steps to the throne
Have seesawed and felled
They descend to Hell
A haven for bats and rats.
Even the great city of Delhi is quiet
At a distance.
Nothing matters where once swords
These building blocks of stone
Petra, were power rocks to build
Now fallen sire so epileptically
So silently perhaps in the dusk
Gnashing teeth of time chew rubble to dust
So belligerently, brashly grows the grass.
The seconds tick away slowly with such disdain
For Kings and reigns, alas
The ruins frown now at
This ghost town.
Time the Destroyer of Pomp and Pride –Tughlakabad
Entering the fortressed walls of this third famous ancient city of Delhi I could not but remember these almost 200 years old lines from Shelley’s famous poem Ozymandias (A traveler finds the ruins of a great statue built in honour of a proud king. Alas the head of the statue has fallen into the sand. Time has conquered even this great king.):-
“—‘My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty and despair!’— (This is written on the pedestal of the king’s headless statue.) But alas time does not spare even the mighty. Shelley writes:–
“Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
The King’s head lies sneering in the level sand but time will soon erase even the sneer from his face. Time is all powerful.
Thus it is at Tughlakabad. Ghyasuddins’ great venture has fallen on bad days. It has succumbed to the curse of Nizamuddin Aulia—‘Ya rahe hissar, ya bassey gujjar.’ The saint said that this walled settlement of yours will become a city when gypsies decide to settle here. Gypsies of course will never decide to settle in one place thus Tughlakabad will never become a successful city. Nizamuddin is a saint still revered by the people of Delhi. He was building a large well for the benefit of the people. This was in the period of Ghyasuddins reign from 1320—1325. The saint cursed the Emperor because he diverted all the men working on his ‘baoli’(well) to the construction of his massive venture of building a fortified city of Tughlakabad. Ghyasuddins had fought the Mongols and beaten them in battle. He feared that they would soon attack him and therefore he built the city with walls rising as tall as fifteen meters. The battlements and watch towers made the city an impregnable fort.
Emperor Ghyasuddin in this period went on a conquering crusade to Bengal. He was successful. Soon he was on his way back to Delhi. Informed of his imminent return Saint Nizamuddin Aulia said another of his famous mystical lines—‘Hunuz Dilli dur ast’—Delhi is still far away- and the insurmountable distance remained thus because Ghyasuddin died in an accident where a big wooden construction built for welcoming him fell upon his entourage. People believe it was a conspiracy between his son and some courtiers. Ghyasuddin thus died bereft of the benefits of his great city which soon slipped into days of neglect. Although It is true that still some gypsies and shepherds live in the fortified city. You can still see goats climbing the proud seven hundred years old walls of this Indian Ozymandias.
I found this wonderful and apt quatrain from Bahadur Shah in Ahmed Ali’s book Twilight in Delhi:-
“Delhi was once a paradise,
Such peace had abided here;
But they have ravished its name and pride,
Remain now only ruins and care.”