Scarcely a kilometre away from the famous Clock Tower in the verdant Doon Valley lies Dispensary Road, named after a veterinary hospital once located there. The dispensary and hospital have been shifted from there but it is still called Dispensary Road. Of the many shops on either side, selling books for schools and colleges, there was one of which I have many a warm memories.
That little ramshackle shop stood quietly, many many years ago, in a nook along the lane and was a haven, a kind of dreamland, for book loving adults as well as children. Presiding over the shop was an eternally cheerful elderly man, lovingly nicknamed ‘PG Wodehouse’ by my father, brother and other regular visitors.
This name came from a combination of our enjoyment of Wodehouse books in the shop and the old man’s uncanny resemblance to the great “King of Humour”. When we were at junior school in Doon, our father took us to PG’s shop every weekend to buy illustrated comic book versions of great classics like A Tale of Two Cities, The Time Machine, lorna Doone, The Red Badge of Cover and Don Quixote.We thus, owe our first brush with the greats of English literature to our beloved PG.
Our collection of these classics grew fast and father had them bound in smart red and gold volumes.Today these volumes lie safely in my father’s study as reminders of our wonderful childhood in the Valley. Father left us many years ago but his study, with all his favourite books, is like a temple for all of us. Any one of us who wish to spend some time in a tranquil atmosphere goes and sits there for a while, leafing through the old volumes. These books are enjoyed by our children and I am sure that even our grandchildren will read them some day in father’s study. Even now whenever I hear or read about any eminent character from the world of English literature, I see vivid pictures from those illustrated volumes flash through my mind’s eye.
As we grew up, father introduced us to authors such as PG Wodehouse, leo Tolstoy, Thomas Hardy and George Eliot. As soon as I glimpsed the wonderful world of Wodehouse’s humour, I was hooked. From then on, it was a keen contest between my brother and me to find the rare PG titles on the shabby old shelves of that old bookshop. Behind almost every book in that shop was a story which our dear old PG always made sure we got to know about. As Doon and Mussoorie were once home to Europeans, the number of books our PG had bought from them and Anglo-Indian residents was large. Some of these people, he told us, had just left boxes full of priceless classics with him before returning to England, finding consolation in the knowledge that the books would thereby reach appreciative readers.
Each visit to the shop left us a little wiser, more aware of the wonders of the beautiful realm of literature. We were sad to note that some of these books had been birthday gifts and left behind by the recipients. Reading the names written on the first pages of these books, we would conjure up imaginary circumstances in which the book had been bought by the original owner or given to that person and how it came to be sold to our PG.
When I returned to Doon around twenty years ago, after a gap of a decade, I looked for dear old PG, only to find that the shop had been sold by him and was now selling electrical goods. A fairytale world had vanished, giving place to mundane activity. I called up my father and brother and told them about the sad development. They were not happy. Then one day, as I was walking down Dispensary Road, I met good old PG. He was very happy to see me and asked about my father and brother. His eyes shone as he
remembered the days when we used to come to him every weekend. He said he was not keeping well and had thus, had agreed to sell his shop and rest at home. But I could see a faraway look in his eyes. as if he was missing those times of work and happiness. when he was important to so many book lovers. His shop’s name had been New light Bookshop. He had spread a lot of light in many people’s lives. Including mine.