Books, deep thinking, reflection, and relationship-building

Brewing Knowledge: A conversation between Sneha and Aftab Seth, focusing on his latest book, “Indonesia,” and another titled “A Diplomat’s Garden.” Aftab Seth shared reflections from his extensive diplomatic career, detailing his experiences in Egypt, Germany, Pakistan, Greece, Vietnam, and Japan. 

Aftab emphasised the importance of understanding diverse cultures, learning languages, and building relationships through personal engagement. He also discussed the value of reading, advocating books as essential tools for deep thinking, reflection, and relationship-building, rather than relying solely on digital tools like AI. He highlighted the role of books in preserving memories, sharing knowledge, and fostering meaningful connections. The session concluded with gratitude for the opportunity to share his insights and experiences.

Aftab shared his latest book, “Indonesia,” and his previous book, “The Diplomat’s Garden”. The discussion was focused on how these books connect through the theme of the value of reading. 

Aftab shared reflections from his diplomatic career and discussed his latest book, describing his experiences serving in multiple countries, including Egypt, Germany, Pakistan, Greece, Vietnam, and Japan. He emphasised the importance of reading books rather than relying solely on digital tools like ChatGPT, explaining that books allow for deeper reflection and help build meaningful relationships that cannot be formed through AI.

Sneha asked about the role of reading in developing thoughtful citizens, to which Aftab responded that reading should have a central place in young people’s lives, recommending handwritten notes and limited use of digital devices to enhance learning and cognitive development.

Long Live Books - Sneha

Books have had countless opportunities to become irrelevant, and yet, they haven’t.

What makes this interesting is not simply that books survived technological change, but that they survived cultural change. We live in a time shaped by speed. Everything around us is optimized to be faster, shorter, easier. Attention is fragmented into seconds. We are constantly encouraged to move on to the next thing.

Books resist this. A book does not adjust itself to your impatience. It does not become shorter because you are distracted. It does not compete aggressively for your attention. It simply exists, waiting. And that makes books strangely radical.

Most modern systems are built around engagement. They want to hold your attention, predict your preferences, and reduce the time between desire and satisfaction. Books ask for your time, attention, and patience. Reading is one of the few experiences left where progress cannot be outsourced. No one can read on your behalf, and no shortcut can replace the act itself. 

Perhaps that is also what makes bookstores so interesting. A bookstore is a strangely defiant space; people walk in without certainty. They browse without urgency, they pick up books they may never buy, read a few lines, and move to another.

From a transactional point of view, this makes little sense, and yet, it happens every day because bookstores do not only facilitate purchase; they facilitate consideration, and consideration is becoming rare. To consider something means to pause long enough for curiosity to form. 

Books ask for that pause. Bookstores protect it, and working at The English Book Depot, I get to witness this often.

People still walk in, they still browse, they still pause at shelves longer than they planned to. Books endure not because they keep up with the world, but because they refuse to. 

Long live books.

Lasting Relevance of Independent Bookstores

In a time when almost everything can be bought with a single click, one may wonder why independent bookstores still matter. After all, online platforms offer convenience, speed, and endless choices. Yet, stepping into an independent bookstore offers something that cannot be packaged and delivered. It offers discovery.

Unlike large retailers that mostly focus on bestselling and commercially popular titles, independent bookstores often carry books that are difficult to find elsewhere— rare editions, niche genres, academic works, regional literature, and books by lesser-known authors. These stores make space for stories and ideas that might otherwise remain unnoticed. They allow readers to explore beyond what is trending.

What makes independent bookstores even more special is the experience they create. Buying a book from a bookstore is rarely just a transaction. There is something deeply personal about walking through shelves, picking up books, reading back covers, and stumbling upon a title you were not looking for but somehow needed.

Independent bookstores also offer something that algorithms cannot replicate: human connection. A bookseller (shelf-mates) can understand not just what a reader buys, but what they are seeking.

These bookstores also become an important part of a city’s cultural identity. Places like The English Book Depot in Dehradun are more than retail spaces; they become landmarks of memory. Generations of readers walk through the same doors, carrying different stories but sharing the same love for books.

Independent bookstores matter because they preserve something valuable in today’s fast-moving world: slow reading, reflection, and meaningful connection. They remind us that books are not simply products to consume, but experiences that shape how we think, feel, and understand the world. And no doubt bookstores do more than sell books; they keep reading humans.

-Sneha

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

Book Recommendations by Shelf-mates

A bookstore is, at first glance, a place of abundance. 

Shelves stretch endlessly, filled with possibilities, stories waiting to be picked, opened, and, often, forgotten. But behind this quiet abundance stands the people who work among these books.

They are not just surrounded by choice, they are defined by it.

Every day, they handle dozens of titles. They know what sells, what lingers, what gets recommended too often, and what quietly slips past unnoticed. And yet, when asked to choose a single book—one that, in their view, must be read at least once—their answers are not shaped by popularity, but by something far more enduring: personal conviction.

It is this act of choosing, out of excess, that makes their recommendations worth pausing for.

For Santosh, the choice rests with Twelfth Fail.

It is telling that this is not a book he has read once, but twice. In a space where new books are constantly within reach, returning to the same text suggests something deeper than casual appreciation.

Twelfth Fail does not rely on embellishment. It does not dramatise the struggle for effect. Instead, it presents an unvarnished narrative, almost austere in its honesty. Perhaps this is why the book endures for him, because it reflects persistence.

If some choices emerge from recognition, others arise from a sense of expansion.

For Shankar, that choice is The Alchemist.

He describes it not through analysis, but through effect: it offers another world, one that invites exploration. The Alchemist operates less as a story to be consumed and more as a space to think within. It gestures toward ideas of purpose, coincidence, and the pursuit of something intangible without insisting on a singular interpretation.

In this sense, its value lies not in what it says, but in what it allows the reader to consider. Then some choices return us, not outward, but inward toward familiarity, language, and lived reality.

Javed’s recommendation, the Hindi translation of Heart Lamp, is significant for this very reason.

To read a text in translation is always to encounter it differently, but to read it in a language that feels closer to one’s own is to experience a shift in intimacy. The stories in Heart Lamp do not depend on scale or spectacle. They move through quieter spaces like domestic, social, and deeply human. 

What unites these selections is not genre, theme, or style. It is the fact that, in a place defined by endless options, these books were not just noticed but chosen.

To choose, in such a context, is an act of filtration. It requires setting aside the noise of trends, the pull of novelty, and the weight of expectation. What remains is something quieter, but far more deliberate.

These are not books that demand to be read. They are books that have, in some way, already proven themselves to the individual who returns to them, reflects on them, and offers them to someone else.

And perhaps that is reason enough to read them. Copies of these books are available at the Book Cafe and The English Book Depot.

- Sneha

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

India's Forest

We often imagine forests as still, untouched spaces. Green, silent, distant. Something we visit, admire, and leave behind. But India’s Forests: Revisiting Nature and History book by Arupjyoti Saikia and Mahesh Rangarajan unsettles that comfort. It shifts the lens entirely, revealing forests not as passive landscapes, but as places deeply entangled with power, history, and human lives.

Because forests, as the book insists, have never been empty.

Long before they were mapped, they were lived in woven into the everyday rhythms of communities who understood them not as resources, but as relationships. This balance, however, was fractured under colonial rule. Forests were reimagined as assets—timber for railways, land for expansion, territory to be controlled. And in that transformation, the people who belonged to these spaces were recast as outsiders within them.

What emerges is not just an environmental history, but a political one.

The book carefully traces the tension between conservation and survival—a tension that continues to define forests even today. Protection, in its institutional sense, often comes with boundaries, restrictions, and exclusions. But for those who depend on forests for their livelihood, survival cannot be separated from access. The idea of a “protected” forest begins to feel complicated, even contradictory.

And yet, within this conflict, there is resistance.

The Chipko Movement stands as a quiet but powerful reminder that environmentalism does not always come from policy or authority. Sometimes, it comes from those who have the most at stake. Villagers—especially women held onto trees, refusing to let them be cut down. Their act was not symbolic. It was intimate, immediate, and deeply political. It redefined what it meant to protect nature not by distancing humans from it, but by asserting a different kind of belonging.

What lingers after reading this book is a shift in perception.

Forests no longer feel like neutral spaces. They feel layered marked by histories of control and resistance, shaped by decisions that extend far beyond ecology. They carry the weight of everything that has been taken, protected, fought for, and remembered.

Perhaps the most striking realization is this: forests are not just about nature. They are about the ways we choose to see, use, and value the world around us. And in that sense, they are not silent at all. They are constantly speaking through the lives they sustain, the conflicts they hold, and the histories they refuse to let fade.

-Sneha

An Afternoon with Dr. Supriya Bansal

Tuesday, March 10, 2026, I had the opportunity to meet Dr Supriya Bansal, author of Mysteries, Mountains, and Mythology, at The English Book Depot. It was a thoughtful and engaging interaction, during which I had the chance to learn more about her book and the ideas that inspired it. Dr Bansal spoke about the interesting concept behind the title of her book. She highlighted how the letter M connects the three central themes of her work - Mystery, Mountains, and Mythology. According to her, each of these elements carries a kind of magic. Mountains often hold hidden stories, mystery keeps readers curious, and mythology connects us with the deeper cultural roots of a place.

When asked about bringing together mystery, mountains, and mythology, she explained that mountains are full of untold stories waiting to be discovered. Being in Devbhoomi Uttarakhand, a place deeply connected with mythology, naturally inspires narratives rooted in legends, culture, and the landscapes around us.

I also asked her about the idea that a story truly lives only when it is told. Dr Bansal shared that storytelling plays an important role in keeping cultural traditions alive. She spoke about how stories and folklore need to be passed forward so that younger generations remain connected to their heritage and traditions.

Another unique element of her book is the way it brings food and storytelling together. When asked what inspired this combination, she explained that food creates a strong sensory connection within stories. When readers imagine what the characters are eating, they can almost feel the taste, smell, and atmosphere of the place. This adds depth to the narrative and helps readers experience the place’s taste and the story’s vibrance.

The interaction was thoughtful and inspiring, offering a glimpse into how stories can connect nature, culture, and everyday experiences. The meet-and-greet at EBD was a memorable opportunity to hear directly from an author who beautifully blends imagination with the landscapes and traditions around us.

Sneha

Notes on Reading

I have always noticed how people hold books. I started observing this unconsciously. I’ve seen people fold the corner of a page without a second thought. The gesture is instinctive, almost absent-minded. They do it mid-sentence, mid-feeling. The crease becomes a private marker of urgency: I will come back to this. There is something unapologetic about it. The book is not being worshipped; it is being used.

I’ve also seen the opposite. The careful insertion of a bookmark. The smoothing of a page before closing it. The quiet refusal to let the spine bend too far. These readers handle books as though they are preserving evidence. Their movements are controlled and precise. The object remains intact, symmetrical, composed.

And then some write in the margins. Not aggressively, but thoughtfully. Underlines in pencil. A question mark beside a claim. A date written softly at the top of a page. I once borrowed a book filled with annotations and found it strangely intimate—like overhearing someone think. In contrast, I know readers who would never allow ink to touch paper. For them, a book arrives complete; it is not a surface for dialogue but a structure to be respected and exited without alteration.

Watching all of this, I began to realise that these are not trivial habits. They reveal something about how we approach ideas—and perhaps how we approach everything else.

None of this feels accidental to me anymore.

I have caught myself changing over time. I used to dog-ear pages constantly. It felt efficient, almost instinctive. But now it makes me uncomfortable. I annotate instead—light pencil underlines, small notes—and I always use a bookmark. I’m not entirely sure when the shift happened. Perhaps I became more attentive to preservation. Perhaps I simply became more conscious of how I wanted to interact with what I read.

That is why I find this subject quietly compelling. A book, after all, survives both kinds of handeling and i don’t think there is a correct way to handle a book. But I do think the way we do it says something precise about us. And once you begin noticing, it is impossible to stop.

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

Paper over Pixels

Ebooks are convenient.

They’re cheaper, lighter, and available in seconds.

Still… they’re just not for me.

I don’t want to read a story on the same device where I check messages, scroll, and get distracted every five minutes. My brain already associates screens with noise and hurry. Reading, for me, is supposed to feel slower than the rest of life. I don’t want to tap or swipe to move through a story. I want to turn a page. There’s something about holding a physical book that makes the experience feel real. The weight of it is in my bag. The quiet sound of pages shifting. The way it doesn’t glow or buzz, just waits for me to open it. And nothing, nothing, beats the smell of a new book.

That soft, inky, papery smell when you open it for the first time. It’s the smell of a story that hasn’t been touched yet. An ebook can give me the words, but it can’t give me that feeling. I also love seeing how far I’ve come just by looking at the pages. The stack of read pages growing thicker on the left, the unread ones getting thinner on the right — it’s such a small thing, but it feels so satisfying. I can see my progress. I can feel the journey in my hands. A percentage bar on a screen just doesn’t hit the same way.

Ebooks store stories, but physical books store memories.

I remember where I was when I read certain books because I can see the exact copy sitting on my shelf. Some have folded corners. Some have lines I underlined when a sentence meant too much. Some still have random receipts or bits of paper tucked inside like little time capsules.

A physical book doesn’t run out of battery. It doesn’t pull me away from the moment. It lets me disconnect from everything else and be fully inside one world at a time.

Reading, to me, isn’t just about finishing a story. It’s about slowing down, being present, and letting a story stay with me even after I close it. Paper makes that possible in a way screens never have.

So no, I don’t do ebooks.

I do smell the new pages.

I do the growing stack of pages on the left.

I do bookmarks, dog-eared corners, and stories I can hold in my hands.

I think you can tell by now…if there are sticky notes and tabs, it means the book understood you — and parts of life you could never quite put into words.

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

Meet Neha Negi author When Birds Talked: Folklore of the Hills

Brewing Knowledge Friday

To explore the power of observation and storytelling with author Neha Negi.

Key Takeaways

• Observation is the gateway to care. Slowing down to observe our immediate surroundings—a skill often lost in adulthood—builds attention, which fosters care and ultimately leads to protection.

• Folklore transmits reverence, not just information. Neha Negi's book uses imagined folklore to communicate a feeling of shraddha (reverence) for nature, a feeling she learned from her grandfathers.

• The session's goal is to rekindle this wonder. Participants want to relearn the art of observation for themselves and to teach it to children, viewing it as the foundation for experiential learning and critical thinking.

• A writing challenge was set. Participants will write a 10–15-line story based on an object from the initial observation exercise, with no pressure to include a plot or to be perfect.

The Problem: Overlooking Our Immediate World

• Neha Negi's book prologue highlights a common paradox: we often know more about distant lands than about the birds, animals, and trees in our daily lives.

• Why does this happen?

  • Fast-paced modern life discourages slowing down to observe.

  • Adults lose the natural curiosity of childhood.

• The consequence: A lack of attention prevents us from developing care for and a desire to protect our local environment.

The Solution: Rekindling Wonder Through Observation

• The session began with a "lightning thought" exercise to practice rapid observation.

  • Task: Choose an object and write 5 adjectives describing it.

  • Rule: No self-correction; write the first thoughts that come to mind.

• Participant Examples:

  • Mahesh: A glass bottle → glass, transparent, fragile, blue.

  • Sneha: Figs → ancient sweetness, timeless, Sylvia Plath.

  • Jobanjeet: A German car → quality, shape, German-made.

  • Jasvinder: Wheat crop (kanak) → farmer's backbone, India's economy.

  • Jugjiv: A porcelain duck → blue, chirpy, mother, looking upwards.

  • Akanksha: A bag → books, pen, green, load.

  • Ranjana: A pet dog (Roxy) → brown, sweet, joyful, smart.

• The outcome: Participants shared how observation creates wonder and a sense of calm.

  • Jugjiv: Close observation of nature is calming and reveals its wonder.

  • Sunita: Nature speaks to us, offering peace and a sense of connection.

  • Reena: Watching pigeons in the morning is a comforting ritual.

The Medium: Folklore as a Vehicle for Reverence

• Neha Negi's book uses imagined folklore to transmit a feeling of shraddha (reverence) for nature.

• Origin of the book:

  • Neha's grandfathers were avid birdwatchers whose infectious joy inspired her.

  • They told her whimsical origin stories (e.g., why monkeys have red bottoms), which became the book's model.

• Example Story: "The Green Pigeon"

  • A young green pigeon feels ugly and leaves its nest to find a new colour.

  • Significance: The story explores self-acceptance and the idea that true beauty comes from within, not from external appearance.

Next Steps

• Participants: Write a 10–15 line story based on an object from the observation exercise.

• Neha Negi: Lead future sessions on the second Friday of each month, featuring more artistic activities and stories.
  
  - Notes courtesy Fathom AI

  
  

  
  
  
  Thank you, Mahesh Wanole, for the beautiful reflection! 
  Mahesh is a Visual Designer and Brand Strategist

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 

Why are we here?

Hello everyone,

I am sharing some thoughts from our recent meeting on Monday, the 22nd December 2025. It was a productive meeting, and we all shared valuable insights.

Key Takeaways

• Attendance is low across programs. The Masterclass has only 3–4 attendees, and the Friday reading session is also poorly attended.
• The "Brewing Knowledge" format is under debate. The current model of reading long chapters weekly is seen as tedious and difficult to follow, while the alternative of pre-reading and discussion risks low engagement.
• Sandeep Dutt reframed the mission. The goal is to cultivate a few "changemakers" per school, not to maximise attendance. 
• The model is "Reading, Reflection, Relationship," and the focus must remain on reading.
• Sunday School will pivot to reading. Following the conclusion of the 24-episode Amardeep series, the program will now focus on encouraging reading through student reviews and presentations.

The conversations we had will be instrumental in helping the hosts, producers, and thinkers deliver even better work.

Here are a few things I wanted to highlight:

1. Reading - this is a delicate topic, but we must not overlook it. While we value conversations, our primary focus is on reviewing and discussing the societal issue we are attempting to address.

2. Reflection post-reading is crucial - as time is limited, we expect participants to read and provide reflections upon the meeting.

3. Relationships are an integral part of our lives, and this forum exemplifies meaningful relationships.

Our primary objective is brewing knowledge - translate the real-world experience of the Book Cafe at The English Book Depot to a virtual one, which is why we have been engaged in this endeavour for so long. Our initiatives include the My Good School, The Teachers Academy, and the My Good School Retreat forums for the 3Rs, and the impact is the 6Cs.

I want to express my gratitude to everyone who attended the meeting and acknowledge those who did not. Your support is greatly appreciated, and we look forward to seeing you all at our next event.

Regarding the book and Friday's events, we will be working on them. Initially, we will complete the current book, then engage the audience with a different type of reading material. Friday was initially intended for school teachers, but it has now been expanded to include the broader audience at EBD and beyond.

Next Steps

• Manisha: Work with school reps to boost program attendance.
• Neelashi: Fix the "Brewing Knowledge" link in the newsletter.
• Sunday School Team: Develop a plan for the reading-focused program, including student engagement and book selection.
• All Participants: Prepare questions for the Ratna Munucha event on Dec 26.

Thank you to everyone who attended, and to those who did not participate in but intend to.

In conclusion, leaders must remain steadfast and relentless in pursuing their goals. This unwavering commitment has been instrumental in our success.

Warm regards,

Sandeep Dutt
www.sdutt.com