Tottering piles of
books lie all around him. Some of the outer piles of books are curved, forming
a full semi-circle over an inner layer. It makes you wonder how Narayan Prasad
Sapkota, the proprietor of the nameless secondhand bookshop inside Bhrikuti Mandap,
manages to find his way in and around.
“Tell me which book
you want, and you shall know,” he grins at the dubious observer. Indeed, ask
for any random book that’s been in a syllabus anytime in the last twenty years,
and he’ll find it for you, semi-circular pile or no.
Secondhand bookshops
like Narayan’s are dotted all around the city. These stores operate on a buy-and-sell
basis: customers come in to sell books they have no use for, and buy new ones.
In fact, these shops don’t need to look for customers; it’s the customers who
come to them. They buy books at 20-25% of the price, and sell at 50%. Sometimes
they also buy from bookstores that want to clear their stock.
While most of these
shops stock up on fiction and nonfiction, for street vendors it’s a different
story. Most of their books are “course books,” in other words, books that are
part of curricula. But it’s not unusual to find a few novels and magazines like
Vogue and Stardust among them.
Arjun Khatri, who
displays his wares at Sundhara, claims to know by instinct which books will
sell and which won’t, even though he can’t read English. “Some learn by
reading, and some by experience,” says he. “And I’ve learnt by experience.”
You have to take his
word for it, because at the outset, his display doesn’t seem very fetching. Strange
books are juxtaposed together: A product catalog for furniture lies next to a
Charles Dickens novel, and a pictorial of shawl designs for weaving is sprawled
beside an Archie’s Comic.
But his patchy
knowledge of non-course books isn’t a big problem for Arjun. He doesn’t count
on them to bring in much money anyway. The bulk of street vendors’ business
derives from the dependable course books. Students come in droves when one
semester ends and another begins, selling old books and buying new ones. From
these books, they make anything up from Rs. 500 per day, enough to support
their family.
Whatever little they
know of “out books”—a catch-all term for all books in English, be it fiction, non
fiction, or shawl designs—vendors are certainly very cognizant of the “course
books.” That makes them unwitting observers of trends in education.
“This book on
political science, it used to be evergreen. It’s so not popular these days,”
sighs Narayan, pointing at a political science classic. He knows very well that
students have decreased in the Humanities and increased in technical subjects.
Radhika Khatri, who
sets shop in front of NAC, buys every other book at 20-25% of its original
price. But for science books, she has no problem shelling out 30%. She knows
they will sell fast and high.
On the other hand, the
business is not so brisk in shops which don’t sell course books. Unlike street
vendors who can depend on the periodic flow of customers according to the
educational calendar, shops in Thamel depend on the unpredictable flow and
tastes of tourists. And tourists today would much rather read e-books than
paper books.
“Computers have taken
away the book business,” Rupchandra Maharjan of Academy Books explains. “Now
people turn to computers not just to read but also for entertainment.”
Rupchandra’s opinion was
echoed around Thamel. Threatened to extinction by technology, these booksellers
believe it’s no longer possible to make a living out of secondhand books.
Rupchandra is already considering doing away with the secondhand books he has
and stocking up on catalogs and gift items that tourists prefer instead.
But getting rid of old
books isn’t so easy. Overwhelming inventory is the ‘problem number one’ for
those in book business. On the streets, sellers contend with outdated course books.
The wares they display are just a small part of their overall stock; their storehouses
are overflowing with outdated books. They are forced to sell such books for mere
Rupees.
In the cozy specialty
shops in Thamel, the problem is simply too many books. “Tourists want to sell before
they buy new books,” says Surendra Singh, proprietor of Horizon Books in Thamel.
“And if you don’t want to buy their books, they won’t buy yours. Why would
they? They know there are others who will help them.” And so he’s forced to buy
even though he has no extra money to waste on inventory. His house is now full
of these unwanted books, and they are the reason his shop has little space for
walking.
The out-of-control
inventory keeps booksellers in the business even when they don’t see much
profit in it. Narayan’s books cover an entire shop and extend over most of the
frontyard in concentric semi-circles. He has a degree in law, but with so much
investment in books, he rues that pursuing a career in law is no longer a
viable option.
Besides, there are the
intangible perks of being in book business. For Surendra, who has always loved
books since he was in college, having a bookshop means he gets to talk to
people who read, which he cherishes.
And contrary to
assumption, not every shopkeeper in laidback Thamel does it for the love of
books, and not every illiterate vendor in the streets is in it just for the
money. Radhika isn’t much of a reader herself, but still thinks this business
is better than others because it’s about knowledge and helping people. She has
developed attachments to the books, having dealt in them for so many years.
For Arjun, his business
is a way of being close to books, though belatedly. “If I had had books when I
was young, I would’ve been educated,” says he. “But there were no such cheap
books then. My business helps students with meager means.” Arjun perhaps says
it best when he states that his work isn’t just business but also social
service.
But at the end of the
day, business prospects seem to be the foremost consideration for booksellers,
no matter how much they love books. We’re likely to see vendors who deal in
course books around for a long time, until all students can afford e-books at
least.
As for the quaint
boutique-like shops, otherwise known as booklovers’ paradise, their future
seems shaky at best.
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