It started a year ago, on a rainy afternoon. I had a headache and desperately needed a coffee — that’s how I first stumbled into Barista and EBD (The English Book Depot). I ordered a cold caramel coffee and a slice of chocolate cake, then looked around. A cafe and a bookstore, together, under one roof — I had never seen anything like it in Dehradun.
That first visit turned into a habit. I’d buy a book, come back, buy another. Somehow, every time I was near Barista, I’d end up walking into EBD instead.
A year later, I decided to actually join.
Day One
On my first day, I met Dutt sir, who introduced me to Santosh uncle — the man everyone calls “the encyclopedia of books.” He knows every title, every shelf, every story tucked inside every cover. He became my guide.
My first task was simple: fix and clean the classic and literature shelf. Santosh uncle stayed close the whole time, quietly checking in — how I was feeling, whether I was doing okay, showing me exactly how the books should sit. That day I learned the classics go up alphabetically. Once the shelf was done, the rest of the time was mine — I could read whatever I wanted. That, I think, is the best part of this job.
Day Two, Three, and the Days After
Day two went much the same way. On day three, I didn’t show up — my grandfather had been admitted to the hospital. When I walked back in on day four, the store felt warm and welcoming, like it had been waiting for me.
Vikram sir, the manager, asked why I’d been away. Word had already gotten around, though — everyone in the store somehow knew about my grandfather, and each person asked after him. That small thing meant a lot.
I went back to cleaning and rearranging shelves like nothing had changed.
Today — August 20
After finishing my work, I settled into my usual corner, right next to Vikram sir’s table, to get some of my own work done. That’s when Kabir walked in — a six-year-old bundle of energy and curiosity, waiting while his mother sipped her coffee.
Kabir lives near FRI and plays football every day after school. Today, though, he hadn’t gone to school — his class had a competition running, and sitting through hours of it in the auditorium had bored him completely.
For a six-year-old, he communicates remarkably well. He picks up random topics, tells you exactly what’s on his mind, and somehow never throws a tantrum while doing it — calm, clear, and surprisingly obedient. He took my hand and led me around the store as if it were my first time there, even though he clearly knew every corner of it better than most adults. He wanted to know everything, and when I explained things to him, he listened carefully and actually understood.
Then he went outside with his mother, and I got back to editing something on my laptop — until he wandered back in, sat down beside me, and asked what I was doing. He offered to help with my editing, which was sweet, considering he has no idea what editing even is. Still, the gesture caught me off guard.
Then he told me he knew how to work a rug-making machine at five years old. I was floored.
He left with his mother soon after, and I went back to my desk — but the conversation stayed with me the rest of the day. I hope he comes back soon. I’d like to hear more of what he knows.
Anjali Chinwan
At the Book Cafe of The English Book Depot
