Sunday at Abids on 3rd June 2018

I was going to Abids after three or four months.  Usually, I decide at least four to five days in advance, but this time I was not sure till the morning of the 3^rd whether I wanted to go or not wanted to go.  It was the heat, probably.  I like to hop on to a bus to Abids on a Sunday morning; the roads are clear, the buses have few passengers, and it is a nice long ride for twenty rupees from my house.  I had planned a couple of stopovers at Secunderabad to buy my staple magazines and also Kannada and Tamil newspapers and magazines for my parents.  In fact, this Secunderabad trip was my only plan for the Sunday; Abids was an afterthought.  So, with all this on my mind, going by bus was not going to be very convenient; what with the heat and all.  I called up Anand on the morning; he comes to drive on Sundays.

So, here I was at Abids at around eleven in the morning; after finishing my magazine and newspaper shopping at Secunderabad.  There is a usual route I (others too, Vinod, Umashankar…) take at Abids on Sundays and I was looking up and down – books on shelves, books spread out on the pavements – at the first stretch of our search.  I then saw Umashankar in the distance, looking dapper in his Ray Ban.  So, we chatted for a while and then waited for Vinod at the Irani café.  Vinod was unusually late and anyway, he came straight to the café and we talked over two cups of tea each and samosas for quite a long time.  We covered books and films, but politics was the longest.  And then we set out, but I saw that it was already 12.15, and I had only around half an hour to forty five minutes at the most at Abids.  We began the second stretch, but I saw that some regular Abids shops that were usually closed on Sundays were open and so some of the booksellers weren’t there because they couldn’t spread out their wares on the pavement in front of their shops.  Aah … Id-ul-Fitr is coming close … that’s why … 

I didn’t find anything even remotely interesting even after half an hour and wondered if I’d go home empty handed from Abids that day.  I had reached the bottom of the road and I had checked piles of books and now, I was ready to throw in the towel.  With heat increasing and interest declining, I saw a book by Ngaio Marsh on the shelf.  I had read about the author earlier and knew that she is a crime writer and that she has created her own detective.  Though at that time I didn’t remember the detective’s name (I should have seen the back cover … it is there … A Roderick Alleyn Mystery).  I was not very hopeful, but I asked the price.  He said 80.  I kept it back on the shelf.  He said 60 de do.  I said bhai, tab se dekhroon, ek bhi kitaab nahin mila, abhi ek dikha hai, chalees detoon.  For some reason, he agreed.  Good chap.  That was my first book … Ngaio Marsh’s Opening Night …  

I was relieved.  The last time at Abids was dismal; I returned empty-handed.  I crossed the street and wanted to take a last look at the ‘Rs. 20’ pile on the pavement.  I saw a familiar name, McBain, on a book cover.  Could it be Ed McBain?  I opened the cover and saw that it is indeed.  Again, I had read about the author.  While doing some online reading about Police Procedural crime fiction, Ed McBain’s name came up often as one of the pioneers of this genre.  But on this book it said A Matthew Hope Mystery.  I thought I’d check on the spot.  On what else should I use all that mobile data?  Oh, Ed McBain was a prolific writer; apart from a number of standalone novels, he has two series’ – the 87^th Precinct series and the Matthew Hope series.  The former novels were police procedurals and Matthew Hope is a lawyer-detective.  I was a tad disappointed that I did not land an 87^th Precinct novel, but I picked up The House that Jack Built anyway. 

I found another book with another familiar name on the cover … Sara Paretsky … the book titled Women on the Edge.  And then in small print on the cover it said “and 14 classic tales of mystery and heart-pounding suspense.”  I saw the contents page and only one other name was familiar … John D. MacDonald.  All stories were about “women on the edge,” the blurb on the back said.  I decided to buy it.  For twenty rupees, it would be total timepass.     

Arre bhai, for three books, you made us read through this whole thing??