The book fair crowd – The Hindu

A few days ago, I read an article where the writer appeared genuinely disturbed. It asked why, in a country bursting with literary festivals, panel discussions, and impressive attendance, book sales stubbornly refuse to rise in proportion to public enthusiasm. It was framed as a crisis. The question, however, rests on a fundamental misunderstanding that people attend book fairs to buy books. I am no analyst, no publishing insider, and certainly no guardian of India’s literary future. But I do take pride in one qualification: I have been visiting book fairs for decades. Anyone who has spent enough time at Indian book fairs knows book fairs are not just literary spaces. They are social ecosystems.

A major chunk of this ecosystem comprises bookworms who walk in armed with budgets and stern promises to themselves. These promises rarely survive the first stall. Something primal takes over. A sign saying ‘Flat 40% Off’ has the same effect on their brain as a full moon has on werewolves. Hands move faster than thoughts. Books are grabbed. Deals are “too good to miss”. The budget collapses quietly, like a folding chair. Later, the buyer finds themselves outside the stall, staring into the distance, murmuring, “I really shouldn’t have,” and clutching bags that say otherwise.

Some people experience this collapse but refuse to accept it as final. They begin negotiating with themselves. Credit cards come out. UPI apps are stretched to their limits. Friends who had been dragged along “just for company” are suddenly promoted to emergency financiers. Repayment is promised and friendships enter a new accounting phase.

Then there are the seekers. They come looking for one specific book. Out of print, out of circulation, and possibly out of collective memory. They walk from stall to stall asking politely, receiving the same response, and nodding each time as if this confirms a long-held belief about the universe. They leave without buying anything, which is exactly how they expected to leave. Their disappointment is not a surprise.

Book fairs are also among the safest dating venues. Crowded, respectable, and intellectually defensible. Even if someone’s aunt’s neighbour happens to spot you, there is always the ready defence: “We came with friends.” The book, purchased at a time like this, serves not to be read but to exist as character evidence. Naturally, no date arrives alone. There is always at least one friend dragged who is not interested in books. They scroll through their phones or find themselves in unexpected conversation with the friend of their friend’s crush, who is also there unwillingly. Entire parallel romances have begun this way, purely out of boredom and duty.

A sizeable section of visitors is present because they take the word fair very seriously and the word book as a loose suggestion. When confronted with the eternal questions like “What to do this evening?” or “Where to go after college/office?” and finding no respectable movies in theatres, the answer presents itself with great clarity: the book fair is happening. What follows is not literary curiosity but honesty of a higher order. These visitors have come to kill time and have food. Golgappa, chaat, momos, this is where true commitment lies. This is where queues acquire meaning.

Then there are the influencers, who have taken it upon themselves to inform the public that, yes, a book fair is happening, at a location known to everyone living in that city. They film covers, flip pages with care, and speak in reverent tones. This is the kind of public service that pays. Reading is secondary. Visibility is the point.

Finally, there are the children. They may or may not care about books, but they care deeply about inflatable castles. Organisers know this. Somewhere in a corner, children bounce themselves into exhaustion while parents browse in peace. This is the second most functional system at the fair, just behind the food stalls.

This perhaps explains why book sales don’t match the enthusiasm. The enthusiasm is real, just misdirected. Books are present largely as witnesses. And like all good witnesses, they are rarely the centre of attention.

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