I Remember by Leela Soma
I remember when I was little, my Dad used to take us kids to the bookstore whenever he needed to buy a book for himself, or had read a good review of a new book and he wanted to buy it. Higginbotham in Madras on Mount Road was an old colonial bookshop. Higginbotham; the huge bookstore with Italian marble floors, the splendid staircase, wonderful stained glass windows, was a treat to go to. It was the oldest bookstore in the country. It was alleged that a stowaway, who was pushed out in Madras port by the irate captain of the ship, started the store. But the stowaway managed to get a job at the Wesleyan Book Shop started by Christian missionaries. When they found that the bookstore was a losing venture, they sold it to a Joshua Abel Higginbotham for a small amount. The visit of the Prince of Wales in 1875 highlighted the importance of this shop to the Empire. It has the unsolicited honour of being appointed booksellers to His Royal Highness, a mark of favour not conferred on any other booksellers in India. The very thought of these visits makes me shiver with excitement. My dad was a voracious reader, as was my granddad. They were writers and editors of the top law journals in India, but both were passionate seekers of literature. My dad read all types of prose and poetry; mainly English authors. My grandfather would start his day with the Bhagavath Gita, the incomparable Sanskrit scripture that encapsulates all universal truths.
There were five of us kids and Dad relished taking all of us. The only ‘domestic’ job he did. He loved the trips so much that he had to share it with us. The smell of new books is still palpable to me. The old building spacious with bookshelves lining all the walls of the bookshop was a perfect escape from the hot sun and a place where you could pick up comics, novels, cards for your friends’ birthdays. To me as the second youngest it was an Aladdin's cave. The huge ceiling fans created a gentle breeze to waft over us making the afternoon heat bearable. The dark wood of the shelves contrasted with some bright children’s books in the section that we used. There were old big benches that we could sit on and read the few copies left out for children to look at. The old salesmen, all wearing glasses, kept a stern eye on us. We were extremely well behaved. This was always a great outing, we may not all get books but my Dad was meticulous in making sure that each one of us had a book or comic collection to treasure. Some of the most colourful comics had Indian legends, the Panchatantra tales were enjoyed by all of us , and still remains at home in a black bound form to be passed down to the next generations.
The outing was made more enjoyable as we all knew how it would end. Dad would drive us to Madras Marina at the beach and we would stand as the blue waves lashed against our legs. We would look hungrily at the guys selling snacks on the beach, nuts, pieces of coconut, but that was one thing my Dad did not give in to. He was so sure that they were not prepared with proper hygiene and we would get back to the car, wet, sandy and a bit disappointed but knew there was something else to look forward to. Elphinstone's was the highlight of the whole trip. Elphinstone’s Soda fountain was an ice-cream shop on the way back from the beach. They had the most delicious chocolate delight and Peach Melba ice creams. To this day, no ice cream has surpassed that taste. Baskin Robbins, eat your heart out.
