An Unsuitable Boy And Other Short Stories

Well stocked books sales give me the same kind of thrill that full to the brim candy jars give to young children. I look around the delightful place. An ocean of dopamine, that too at discounted price. There are books everywhere – on the racks, tables and floor. They are still setting the place up and the volume of the books suggests that the sale is going to be there for some time. People in this city don’t consume books with as much eagerness as they consume food and clothes. The landscape is dotted with food outlets serving low quality, overpriced food. These places are usually jam packed with customers devouring the oily and spicy biryani and curries with the stretchy nans as if they are the very elixir of life. This place has just one more customer beside me.  

The fans overhead- there are a dozen of them- produce a synchronous drone turning the place into an invisible cocoon. Although the main road is barely a couple of yards away the relentless whirr of engines and the cacophony of horns seem to be coming from a great distance here. Secure in the sensuous environment, I run my fingers along the thick and shiny spines of the books. One of them I pull out of its stack and bring close to my face to inhale the splendid smell of its fresh pages. The high I experience thereupon instantly places me in the category of substance sniffers. As I pull away my face, I notice the sale manager noticing me. On his face is suppressed amusement that he swiftly discards and prevents a prolonged embarrassment for me.  

‘How may I help you madam?’ he asks politely while keeping his gaze glued to the floor. In the world full of persistent oglers, men who keep their gaze low are a rarity. I like men who honor in this subtle manner the barriers that nature has placed between them and us – men and women - a compliment, a support and a trial to each other. The members of the male species on the other end of the spectrum – the perennial seekers of female attention and validation - I loathe. All mothers of growing daughters do unless they themselves haven't outgrown the amusement these men offer. They are like sheep in sheep's clothing with the suppressed desire to be a wolf.  

Walking towards me with a confident and professional gait the sale manager asks what kind of books I was looking for. 

‘Umm,’ I hesitate, ‘do you have a catalogue?’