From Fiction to Classics: outgrowing books

I recently went back to a book that used to be my favourite, but this time, something felt different. There was a time when I read fiction mainly for escape. I was drawn to stories that pulled me in quickly, where emotions were clear and everything felt a little more intense and certain than real life. Those books gave me comfort. They simplified things. But now, I find myself looking for something else in what I read.

I don’t just want to feel a story, I want to understand it. I’ve become more interested in ideas, in the way people think, and in the deeper meaning behind what I’m reading. Because of that, I’ve gradually found myself moving toward classics.

Classics are different. They’re not always easy to read, and they don’t always offer an immediate connection. They make me think more, question more, and see things from different perspectives. 

I think that’s why my favourite book doesn’t affect me the same way anymore. It belonged to a time when I needed simple, emotionally direct stories. Now, I’m more drawn to books that are complex and a little more demanding. Outgrowing a book feels strange but it also reflects growth.  

Readers do not merely collect books, they evolve through them. Some remain significant, while others gradually lose their relevance. Maybe that’s how reading works.

-Sneha

Thinking In Paragraphs

Thinking like the Buddha! (Photo courtesy Sandeep Dutt)

We live in fragments. Notifications arrive in bursts. Opinions form quickly and dissolve even faster. Our thoughts are trained to exist in sharp, declarative sentences — efficient, immediate, complete.

But books ask us to think in paragraphs. To think in paragraphs is to resist immediacy. It is to allow an idea to unfold rather than announce itself. A paragraph does not rush toward its conclusion; it builds. It contextualises. It revises itself midway. It holds contradiction and nuance in the same space. It moves with intention.

I have begun to realise that reading is less about finishing and more about staying. A paragraph demands patience; it asks me to remember the sentence that came before and anticipate the one that follows. It refuses to be reduced to a single reaction. It insists on coherence. Sometimes I reread a line not because I failed to understand it, but because I felt it rearrange something quietly within me.

Reading trains the mind to stay with complexity long enough for it to clarify itself. And in doing so, it reshapes how we understand the world.

To think in paragraphs is to become less reactive and more reflective. It is to approach disagreement with context rather than volume. It is to recognise that most truths are layered, not linear. The discipline of moving carefully from one idea to the next begins to seep into how we form judgements, how we speak, and even how we listen.

In a culture that rewards brevity, thinking in paragraphs is an act of depth. And depth, more than speed, is what endures.

- Sneha
The English Book Depot

The Design of a Bookstore

At first glance, a bookstore feels neutral — wooden shelves, soft lighting, neat stacks arranged with quiet precision. But the longer you stand inside it, the more you begin to understand: space is never accidental.

A bookstore is not simply arranged.

It is designed.

And design carries intention.

The position of shelves, the books that face outward, the ones placed at eye level, the genres near the entrance, the quieter sections deeper inside — all of it shapes how a reader feels before they even open a book. Space guides emotion.

When you walk in, you do not move randomly.

• You are guided.
• Front tables invite attention.
• Displayed covers draw the eye.
• Hidden shelves reward patience.
• Open spaces encourage wandering.
• Architecture becomes choreography.
• But behind this choreography is a person.
• The shelf-mate.

A bookstore does not organise itself. Every placement is a decision. Every display reflects thought. What is visible is visible because someone chose to make it so. What stands at the centre stands there intentionally. Visibility shapes what we notice. What we notice shapes what we pick up. And what we pick up shapes what we carry home.

The shelf-mate understands this.

They do more than manage inventory. They read readers. They observe hesitation. They sense moods. They match books to moments. They balance what will sell with what deserves to be seen. They think about flow — how a reader will move, where they will pause, what might catch their attention without them realising it.

In that sense, the shelf-mate is the quiet choreographer of the bookstore. They arrange not just shelves, but experiences. To recommend a book is not simply to sell it. It is to enter someone’s inner world — their private hours, their thoughts, their becoming. That requires attention. It requires care. It requires trust.

A bookstore, then, is architecture guided by intention. It is space shaped by someone who understands that placement matters, that visibility matters, that experience matters. And at the centre of it all stands the shelf-mate — quietly directing the movement of stories, and the movement of us.

Sneha

-The English Book Depot

Searching & Browsing for Books

I’ve realised that searching and browsing might look similar on the outside, but they feel completely different from the inside. 

When I search for a book, I already know what I want. Maybe I’m in the mood for classic literature because I want something timeless and layered, or maybe I specifically want contemporary fiction because I need something immersive and easy to get lost in. I walk into the bookstore with that category in mind. I head straight to the section. I scan the shelves with focus. I find what fits my plan.

Searching feels efficient. Controlled. Intentional.

It’s like I’m executing a decision I already made before I even stepped inside.

Browsing is softer. Slower. Almost accidental.

When I browse, I don’t limit myself to classic literature or fiction. I wander. I pause at shelves I didn’t expect to care about. I pick up a book because the cover design feels intimate. I read a random paragraph and decide based on a feeling rather than a plan.

Browsing allows room for curiosity. There’s no checklist, no urgency to “get what I came for.” Sometimes I walk in thinking I want something serious and literary, and I leave holding something completely different. Not because I changed my mind — but because something unexpected caught my attention.

That’s the real difference.

Searching is about certainty. Browsing is about discovery.

When I search, I’m reinforcing what I already know about my taste. When I browse, I’m expanding it. Searching reflects my preferences. Browsing challenges them.

In a world that constantly pushes us to be efficient and decisive, browsing feels almost rebellious. It’s an act of patience. It’s allowing the shelves to speak before I do.

And honestly, the books that stay with me the longest are often the ones I never meant to find.

Between searching and browsing - Woodstock School Book Exhibition.

Sneha

-The English Book Depot

Since Forever

Certain people do not enter our bookstore, EBD, as customers alone. They return as familiar presences, carrying years, memories, and quiet loyalty. They have been coming here for decades. Time has moved on, the shelves have changed, faces behind the counter have changed, yet they continue to walk in with the same ease. Many of them are older now, but their connection to this place remains unchanged. Almost instinctively, they ask for the 10 per cent discount—something they were once offered without question, and that has become a small but meaningful symbol of trust.

This gesture was introduced by the late Snehlata Ma’am, whose presence shaped the bookstore’s shape. She is no longer with us; her influence continues to live on through those who remember her.

They share stories with us.

Stories of conversations she held, of books she recommended with care, of how this bookstore once felt like an extension of her own personality. To many, she was not just the person behind the counter; she was the heart of the space. When they speak of her, it becomes evident that her absence has not erased her presence.

Among these long-standing patrons is Ratna Manucha (author, columnist and someone whose association with the bookstore goes beyond routine visits). She has her own memories here in ebd and has also been part of our Brewing Knowledge Session, attending the meet-and-greet. Her continued involvement reflects what this space has always aimed to be—a place of reading, reflection, and relationships.

At EBD, relationships have never been transactional. People return not only for books, but for familiarity, recognition, and the comfort of a place that has grown alongside them.

So when someone who has been coming here for years asks for that small discount, it is never viewed as a request—it is understood as continuity. A reminder that some bonds are built quietly over time and are sustained through shared respect and memory.

This bookstore stands today not only for the books it holds, but also for the people who continue to return to it, carrying its history forward.

This photograph is from Ratna Manucha’s meetManucha’sat EBD. The gentleman seen here has also been part of EBD for a long time.

Sneha
Intern at The English Book Depot

A Reader's Pace

I don't usually read one book at a time.

There's almost always a small pile beside me—some books open, some half-read, some simply waiting. 

Somewhere along the way, we started believing that reading only counts if a book is finished. As if the last page is proof that the experience mattered. As if anything unfinished is incomplete. But most readers know—that's rarely how it actually works.

During one of our Brewing Knowledge Sessions at EBD, during a meet-and-greet with Ratna Manucha, this very idea surfaced naturally. We spoke about how reading doesn't have to mean committing to one book at a time. Reading can be layered. It can involve many books at once, each serving a different purpose.

Many of us read multiple books at once. One for comfort. One for curiosity. One, we keep telling ourselves we'll finish soon. Some days, we reread the same few pages because they feel familiar, and almost like returning to a thought we don't want to let go of. Other days, we feel stuck in a book because we aren't in the right headspace for it. And sometimes, a completely new book catches our attention. We pick it up, read a few pages, just enough to understand its voice, and then quietly place it back, or they're meant to be carried. Nestled in your bag, against a notebook or water bottle, like a quiet companion with no demands.

Leaving books half-read isn't a failure. Neither is switching between them, nor pausing midway. Reading isn't a race, and it certainly isn't a checklist.

Reading is slow and time-consuming.

But even then—even like this—it counts.

Sneha 

- Intern at The English Book Depot

Writers Writing for Writers

#BrewingKnowledge

I was talking to one of the staff members at EBD today — a shelf-mate, and we noticed something quietly interesting. Almost everyone who walked in and struck up a conversation with us was writing something. A novel in progress, a poetry collection saved in a notes app, a blog on Substack or thoughts spilling into Instagram captions.

Everyone had a story they wanted to write.

Nowadays, we see more writers than readers, especially online. Words are everywhere, constantly being produced, shared, and posted. Yet rarely does someone walk in and say, "I'm a reader."

Somewhere along the way, being read began to feel better than reading. Validation became easier than attention. Writing offers visibility & reading asks for patience. And in a world chasing instant responses, sitting with someone else's words feels almost like a lost habit.

This creates a quiet contrast between writers and readers, a widening space where stories are written endlessly, but not always received with the same depth. A world full of voices, yet fewer listeners.

Sneha

Intern at The English Book Depot

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Ratna's Nostalgic Bookstore Return

Ratna Manucha, a writer, poet, and educationist, expressed her honour and nostalgia at returning to The English Book Depot, where her family's five generations have shopped for books. She shared fond memories of the store's staff and her long-standing connection to the place, which inspired her to attend their first hybrid meet-and-greet event. Despite personal challenges, including her granddaughter Tara's illness caused by pollution, Ratna was eager to engage with the audience and discuss her journey as a writer and educator.

Embracing Personal Communication Over Texts

Ratna discussed her book "Unfiltered: The Little Things," which explores Indian quirkiness through short articles. She read an excerpt about her experience with emojis, highlighting her initial misunderstanding of their meanings. Ratna expressed her preference for personal communication over WhatsApp groups, criticising the trend of sending generic messages devoid of warmth or depth. She emphasised the importance of meaningful connections and the value of longer, more thoughtful messages.

Ratna's Humorous and Civic Insights

Ratna shared two humorous stories, the first about the bond between women friends and the second a spoof on "Confessions of a Shopaholic" that reflects on modern consumer culture. She expressed concern about Dehradun's transformation and the decline in civic consciousness, noting that she can only write effectively there. The discussion concluded with Ratna sharing her strategy of not sharing phone numbers with shops to avoid receiving promotional messages.

Body Positivity Through Storytelling

Ratna shared her experience of writing a story about alopecia for an anthology titled "Hug Yourself," which focuses on body positivity for young adults. She read excerpts from the story, which centres around a character named Ramona who struggles with hair loss during the COVID-19 pandemic. Ratna emphasised the importance of acceptance and self-validation, drawing on her experiences with height and thinness as a child. She highlighted the role of reading in shaping her aspirations and encouraged parents to cultivate reading habits in their children by modelling it themselves. The session concluded with participants agreeing with Ratna's views on the importance of reading and sharing personal experiences about books.

Ratna joined us for Brewing Knowledge Friday on 26th December 2025, at The English Book Depot. 

In Waiting For Faces

At The English Book Depot, the shelf-mates spend most of their day waiting. I call them shelf-mates because they have been here for years—long enough to know the shelves by memory, recognise which books sell without being asked, and sense whether someone walking in is a serious reader or just passing time. Their familiarity with the store is not written anywhere, but it shows in how quickly they locate books and answer questions.

Despite their experience, they often tell me that most of their day passes slowly. The bookstore remains quiet for long stretches when no one walks in, and nothing changes except the clock. Sometimes boredom settles in not because they dislike their work, but because there is little to do without customers. What keeps them engaged is people. When a customer arrives, their posture changes. They enjoy recommending books, explaining editions, or sharing what they know about an author. When asked about the store’s history or the owner, they speak with the confidence of those who have watched it grow over time. These interactions matter more than the sale itself, and that is what The English Book Depot is really about.

In many ways, the shelf-mates are observers. They notice patterns—the regulars, the students, the occasional tourists. Entertainment comes not from anything in the store, but from human presence. Through years of routine, they continue to show up, sit between the shelves, and wait for conversation. That waiting, repeated day after day, quietly defines their experience of the bookstore.

Sneha 

- Intern at The English Book Depot 

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

The Stack That Stayed

The stack of books that never left the bookstore...

They’ve been here for years.

Quiet witnesses. Time-keepers. But you loved them once, these stacks of stories,

these stubborn little bricks of memory.

They were always good books,

solid, physical, real.

Tough. Bath-resistant. Hard to destroy.

Warm in your palms in a way screens will never learn to mimic.

They’ve never tried to be anything other than what they are: books.

And somehow that has always been enough.

There will always be a place for them in a world running too fast,

they are the ones that ask you to slow down. There’s no race here. No finish line.

You can breathe. Read at your own pace.

Buy a book a day. Or maybe two.

They will still be here,

waiting, soft spines, patient, ready to welcome you back like they always do!

Sneha Pundhir

- Intern at The English Book Depot