海角大神

As part of my prep for interviewing Indian oral historian Aanchal Malhotra聽for my story on the 75th anniversary聽of colonial India鈥檚 partition, I purchased a copy of her latest work 鈥� 700-plus pages of interviews with the survivors and their descendants of one of the 20th century鈥檚 most searing events.

I was still in the impressive tome鈥檚 introduction, reading about Ms. Malhotra鈥檚 own family鈥檚 experience with Partition, when I stopped at this sentence: 鈥淲hen I began these informal explorations, my understanding was limited to the condensed version of events in my school curriculum, and the fact that in 1953 my paternal grandfather had set up a bookshop in Delhi鈥檚 Khan Market 鈥� then a refugee market, created as a commercial initiative for those who had migrated from the other side.鈥�

A bookshop in Khan Market, I wondered. Could it be?

On my last reporting trip to India in 2019, I鈥檇 stayed in a hotel within walking distance of Khan Market, now a collection of mostly tony boutiques and restaurants catering to Delhi鈥檚 well-off.聽

But on one evening stroll, I鈥檇 come upon Bahrisons bookshop, and it quickly became a refuge for me 鈥� from the oppressive 120-degree Fahrenheit heat Delhi was experiencing, for sure. But it also opened a window into Indian society by the books displayed most prominently, or by the books patrons chose to leaf through. I purchased a couple that offered insight into stories I was doing and led me to several new sources.

So when I reached Ms. Malhotra, before we got down to the business of the interview, I shared my experience with the Khan Market bookshop, and asked if it was her grandfather鈥檚. Indeed it was.

I could hear in her voice her delight. She said my experience with the shop would put a smile on her grandfather鈥檚 face, because what I鈥檇 found there was what he鈥檇 always intended 鈥� a welcoming place open to anyone keen to learn new things and to dream. 聽