Booked

Books? O books... yes, I'm really not sure where to find them here but you could start with www.amazon.com!

You know what's heartbreaking?

And really annoying?

A bookshop that's lost its way.

And how do you identify a befuddled bookshop?

Well, if you have to fight your way through confectionery, jewellery, 'gift items' (whatever that means), statues and statuettes, a smattering of 'electronics', couture accessories, perfumes, after-shave and a whole bunch of trivia to get to that large area filled with what looks suspiciously like books – chances are you are in a bookshop that has indeed lost its way.

There's a word that's much in use these days –' Fusion' – defined as 'the process or result of joining two or more things together to form a single entity'.

It works great – sometimes.

With cuisine, with music, and certain art forms.

But some things are best left alone to do what they do best, for they, like the cheese in that old poem, stand alone.

Like books, for instance.

You want to 'fuse' books with coffee and comfortable seating?

Great.

With ear-rings?

Not so much.

Not that you have anything against bric-a-brac.

Wading through a veritable Aladdin's Cave of may-buy-ables – what a great way to spend time and money.

(Long live retail therapy!)

All you are saying is don't bring books into this mix.

'Going to a Book-Shop' has to be a stand-alone experience. Walking into a bookstore means entering a world that's both familiar, yet bursting with the promise of new experiences, fresh surprises, and sheer adventure. You meet old friends; you make new ones. You browse; you buy... and when you think no one is looking, you bury your nose in a new book because that fragrance, like that of the earth after a shower of fresh, new rain, contains the essence of all the living you have done so far, and all those expectations and dreams that stubbornly refuse to die.

How can you stand any attempt to dilute this?

Equally, why would anyone decide to start a bookshop – a decision so wonderful, so Humankind-friendly, you just cannot praise it enough, only to suddenly turn around and conclude that what the bookshop needs most is... cologne?

As for staffing in these places...?

Now, you hate taking pot shots at those who are trying to earn an honest living.

You want to respect their workspace, and appreciate their efforts.

All you ask is that they do the work they are supposed to do.

People-in-charge-of-training-people-who-sell, please note: Staffers in bookshops don't need couture-level uniforms or smartly designed IDs. They don't even need to know each book.

What they do need is a working knowledge of their workplace – that's it.

Looking at a customer with an expression of total incomprehension when asked about an author or a title has the worst possible effect of making potential buyers feel they had no business coming to a bookshop... asking for books.

Wandering around certain bookshops these days is becoming a little like being a bit player in a particularly un-funny farce... a feeling that intensifies when you find they've moved the books around yet again, something they seem overly fond of doing.

You walk in, turn sharp left and head straight because that's where they've had 'Humour' for some time now – and find yourself looking at something that looks perilously close to Self-Help. A second to re-orient, then you swing around and bravely negotiate the rows....with little success. So, given that there seem to be lots of staffers around....number is apparently not an issue...you ask for help.

First, it takes a few minutes for you and these young people to understand each other. "Humour?" a couple of them ask, looking at you suspiciously. Clearly, they think you've made up that word this instant just to harass them. Then, the light bulb switches on, and one of them asks you to follow him, the two of you setting a brisk, promising pace....only to run smack into the Sports section.

Having gazed at these books for a few seconds, he takes off again, with you galloping determinedly behind. Along the way, you run into another group, being similarly led by a young lady prone to nervous giggles and a slightly distressing habit of screeching for help across the rows to some invisible colleague she obviously has faith in. You look a query, and are told that this group has been searching for Romance – literally – for the past twenty minutes. No one has a clue where these books have gone.

Strange – this utter lack of information, given that there are bunches of staffers lounging around, most of them with enough time to chatter, giggle, attend to personal calls on cell phones, or conduct conversations over the shelves like they are calling cows home at twilight.

If finding books is challenging, it gets even crazier when you mention authors. Nobody seems to know who these guys are.

Even staples of Indian bookshops, like, say, Agatha Christie, elicit responses beginning with a clueless (bit of irony there) 'Huh?', followed by a "Can you please spell name, please?" and by a rapt gazing at mute computer screens, while holding seven simultaneous discussions with an equal number of colleagues on who this author is, where to find him/her, (yes, really) and whom to ask for instructions.

Sometimes you get moved from staffer to staffer, feeling a bit like the parcel in a game of 'Passing the Parcel'.

Oh, by the way, do watch yourself when you go past all those perfumes.... enthusiastic young staffers tend to spray stuff randomly....so you could get zapped inadvertently by generous doses of elixirs that not only give you a distinct pong that makes the family wonder what you've been up to, but can also bring on impressive sneezing fits of about 57 sneezes per minute.

At the 58th sneeze, accepting with resignation that this visit has been a wash-out of truly impressive proportions, you decide you've had enough.

Going rogue, you hasten home to TV serials.

Very sad – this increasing confusion in defining what a bookshop actually means; what it needs; and what it is supposed to be about.

See, the trouble with losing your way is that you invariably end up losing your soul.

And that's always bad – for books... and Humankind.