SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! A dull monotonous sound although it
shatters the peaceful quiet of the Saeed Book Bank as I push open the heavy
glass doors and enter my idea of heaven – 3 storeys of books waiting to be
discovered!
SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! As I peer up the nearest aisle I catch sight of flying feathers. The attendants are carrying out their morning ritual. Sweeping away the fine layer of dust that has settled during the night on the shelves and thousands of volumes.
This is my first visit and I am initially overwhelmed, but quickly logic kicks in and I turn left into
the first aisle, planning to weave my way around one side of the room.
I find myself surrounded by the glossy covers, of what are
commonly known as coffee table books – textiles, jewelery, pashmina and shawls;
architecture, geography, people, cities and countryside; Pakistan, China,
Nepal, Afghanistan and India – it is all here. Luckily many are wrapped in
protective plastic so my selection for browsing is limited. I settle myself on
the floor and pull out a couple of volumes and for the next 20 minutes or so I
am immersed in the peoples, culture and history of this fascinating region.
SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! – I am suddenly aware that the duster has
entered my aisle and is standing over me. Not that he is concerned with me
sitting and reading. I have always thought that the sign of a really good book
shop is when the staff are happy for customers to read and appreciate the books
rather than rushing in and grabbing the first thing that comes to hand. Books
are like people – when time is taken to choose wisely, they are friends for
life.
I realise that I am actually holding up the proceedings so
with a history of the paisley shawl clutched tightly, I move on.
Travel guides and how to look after a wide variety of pets
from goldfish to horses and on the other side ring binders and an assortment of
stationary items (I slot this away in the memory for future reference). The
wide variety of international magazines is tempting but not in today’s budget.
Interesting to note Pakistan does have its’ own edition of ‘Hello’; this week
is the bridal issue and it weighs over 1 kg!!!!
The back wall is lined with reference titles ‘The History of
Islam’; ‘Understanding Islam’; ‘Women in Islam’ and editions of the Koran in
Arabic and English. I linger here; Our Western perception of Islam and the
peoples that live by the teachings of the Koran are so influenced by what we
see on news bulletins and read in the papers. But the people I have met in the
past few weeks, the friends I have made who have welcomed me to their country,
are so far from the public picture of fanatics that I need to read and have my
own understanding. I add a few books to my pile.
Pakistan is only 67 years old as a country but the number of
titles on the next shelf would do a country 4 times that age, proud. The short
but tumultuous history has been documented in minute detail.
‘Taliban, Jihad and Terrorism’ announces the sign hanging
above the next aisle – not sure I really need to spend time here, tempting as
it may be to see exactly how one writes about these subjects! Surprisingly, at
the end there are two boys sorting through Christmas decorations – electric
tree lights, shiny glass balls, tinsel, glittery stars and a memory from my
childhood – multi-coloured tissue paper bells The ones that you have to fold
back on themselves and secure with a paper clip. I make notes for future
purchase.
I am just heading to the novels and paperbacks, having spied
two whole shelves of P.G. Wodehouse when my phone rings. It is Helle. She is
coming to pick me up to go out to lunch. The next 2 floors of the shop are
going to have to wait for another weekend. I sort through the books I have
accumulated and choose 4 – History of the Paisley Shawl, Birds of Pakistan, A
memoir of Kashmir and Women in Islam – they are packaged up, I hand over 4,500
Rupees (about $40), and reach the door just in time to see Helle pulling into
the car park.
‘You must have known’ I say to her, ‘the next aisle was the
cook books, you would never have got me out!’
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