There are many faces to joy.

Here’s one of mine: Books.

I am not the Bangalorean who roams pubs. I am the Bangalorean who haunts bookshops. We may not have the halo of Kolkata or the sweeping sprawl of Delhi, but we do have our own Street of Books. Church Street, it’s called, so named because of St. Mark’s Church. The Bengali reader may turn his nose down at our humble road, but hey, it’s our place of joy.

For booklovers like me, this road IS our Church. Start from the beginning where you find Blossoms and Gangarams. Then to your right, a Bookhive. Walk further, past all the ice cream (I would tell you exactly where each ice cream outlet is also on this road), and to your left you find Bookworm. Here, Krishna greets me. Preetham knows just what books sell and where to find them even though he doesn’t read a single book. Someone will get me chai.

I enter the mustier sections, dust rolling off the words. Old book jackets preen with the past on their spines. Someone else gets me a stool. No VIP membership with a fancy credit card will get me this unabashed hospitality borne of loyalty.

You pick a few, perusing Goodreads to see if you have read them before. What do the reviews say? Or you don’t care, the blurb looks good enough. Or maybe, the cover draws you in. You get a free bag to pour your books in, liquid molten words jostling for your attention, wave a bye to Preetham, and walk further down.

Here, a crowd stands in front of Bangalore’s favorite bookstore: Blossoms.

Hundreds of postcards strewn carelessly on the tables in front. Walk inside, and take the stairs, plastered with posters. Sneeze if you must, although one can’t really be allergic to book dust, me thinks.

Old comics, shelves piled so high that you wonder who would even reach there. There’s no space for two people to stand side by side. Network is patchy, the books jealous for your undivided attention. And so you listen.

To their voices, the wisdom. The humor, passion, and love they evoke. You turn the pages, and whisper gratitude.

You know this feeling.

It’s joy. You are home. Where you belong. A book can’t judge you, can’t leave you. It just is.