A Place of Familiarity

I have always believed that some places become part of people’s stories without even trying to.

I met a couple from Roorkee who came all the way to Dehradun for their pre-wedding shoot. It made me curious, why travel for a bookstore when there are endless locations to choose from? Especially when they themselves own a cafe in Roorkee, a beautiful space they could have easily chosen instead.

But their reason was simple.

They used to come here together.

Long before wedding planning entered the picture, before responsibilities and routines settled in, this bookstore had quietly become a part of their time together. During visits to Dehradun, they would stop by, browse books, spend time, and make memories, probably without realising that one day they would return here for something as special as a pre-wedding shoot.

In a time where pre-wedding shoots are often about destinations or themes, there was something incredibly meaningful about choosing familiarity. They picked this place because it already existed in their story.

Watching them return to the same shelves, the same corners they once casually walked through, felt like witnessing something much bigger than photographs being taken. It felt like a memory coming full circle.

This also made me think about what legacy really means for a place like The English Book Depot - becoming part of people’s lives in different ways.

For this couple, the bookstore was never just a bookstore. It quietly held a part of their story.

And perhaps that is what makes places stay relevant across generations, not only what they offer, but what people attach to them over time.

Some people visit for books.

Some come back for memories. And sometimes, both become the same thing.

-Sneha

Humans, actually!

Being here at EBD Bookstore has taught me so much. One of the most important things I’ve learned is that people don’t just come here to buy books.

They come to be heard.

Every day, people walk in with searching eyes, carrying a quiet mix of emotions—happiness, sadness, confusion, hope or may be all at once. And somehow, between the shelves and the familiar smell of paper, they allow it to spill.

Just yesterday, an aunty came in asking for book recommendations for her daughter—someone my age. At first, it felt casual. She flipped through covers, asking questions lightly. But soon, the conversation slowed. She wasn’t in a hurry. She lingered.

She told me her daughter loves reading but has been feeling a little lost lately. She wanted books that could feel like company. And as I suggested titles, I realised something: she wasn’t only looking for recommendations.

She really wanted to talk.

So we did. We talked about books, yes—but also about growing up, about how confusing this age can be, about how parents sometimes struggle to reach their children. She listened quietly, nodded often, smiled softly. For a moment, the bookstore stopped being a shop. It became a pause.

When she left, she thanked me—not just for the books, but for the conversation.

That’s when it truly struck me: bookstores are not just about transactions. They are about relationships—small, gentle ones. The kind where strangers trust you with pieces of their lives simply because you’re standing between stories.

I think that’s the most beautiful part of this place.

Here, books begin conversations that stay between the shelves.

-Sneha 

Intern at The English book Depot