When I moved back to Bangalore from Pune, I missed tnt. Like a heartbeat. I wandered into bookstores, through long corridors of dusty books in some and swanky new ones in others. I felt helpless. I pulled books out of their shelves, turned them around to read the blurbs and put them back. I stared vacuously at rows and piles of books waiting to hear J's voice, waiting for inspiration, waiting for counsel. I was spoilt. By J. By everything tnt. Like Shankar said, it's hard to tell them apart.
So, I took to calling J every Monday from the confines of my car. Thanks to tnt being closed on Monday, I actually started looking forward to Monday because it meant I could talk to J. That was a welcome transformation. Monday morning blues? No. Monday morning oranges. And reds. And yellows. And sunshine. Life. Books. Empathy. Love. I got it all.
I went back to visit tnt every year after I moved back. And was comforted. Each time. By its colourful new umbrellas, midnight Happy Potter and magic, J and the elves I wrote of.
In all my travels, every time I walked into a bookstore, I waited to hear J's voice telling me what to do. When I don't hear it, I worry that I may not like the books that I'm buying. I'm almost surprised if I do. Now, in the land of Shakespeare and with bookstores on so many street corners, I still wait. To hear J's voice. Because there's nothing jumping out saying 'read me!'.
It's an addiction. tnt. It is. A happy one. And, one I can't wait to go back to as soon as I possibly can. Happy Birthday, tnt. I love you very much.
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