I did not find Printed Matter online. That is my favorite bit of this piece. I was told about it by the people at Mehrab – a carefully curated bookshop in Kochi city, when I asked if they’d recommend any other bookshops in town. The best discoveries of life have come about offline, and I hope the world keeps turning that way.
I’d gone to Kochi for the Biennale, sometime in Jan. I’d hardly ventured out of Old Kochi, preferring to explore the city on my feet. I remember being extremely tired the day I went to Printed Matter. I’d spent the whole day wandering around Jew town and had the bright idea of walking all the way back, because who needs functioning legs anyway. I only had a rough idea of where the shop was and was worried I’d miss it, but I shouldn’t have been. There’s no way you can simply walk past a storefront this pretty.
It was only while looking at the sign that I realized that “Printed Matter” isn’t your typical name for a bookshop. Most tend to be rather direct, with the word “book” stuck in somewhere. After spending an inordinate amount of time gazing at the beautiful façade of the place, I walked in. Said hello to the lady at the counter, kept my bag down on the nearest stool I could find.
The store felt new. Everything was bright and colorful, like it had not yet experienced the dampening effect of time. What struck me most was the atmosphere. It wasn’t the hush-hush seriousness of a sanctum of book worship, but a place built for conversation, for interactions. The place puts you at ease in a way few others do.
The side walls were lined with wooden shelves, full of books and other tidbits, the back had a coffee bar set-up, with two stools in front of it, sort of like bar-seating in a pub. There were a few scattered benches and stools, with sufficient room to navigate between the shelves. There was an old stereo playing cassettes, placed right above the Favorites section.
One glance at the books would tell you that everything was a product of considered curation. There was very little of the airport collections, which is always a good sign. There were these witty handwritten notes everywhere, sometimes elaborating on the sections, sometimes just quotes that make you pause and smile. My favorite of those texts? – “Picture books for lost adults”.
It took me a while, but I worked up the courage to ask for recommendations. Gouri, who runs the store, asked if I had any genre preferences, as any reasonable person would. However, me being my annoying self, asked her to recommend anything that she’d read and liked. It’s worked amazingly well for me so far. The books she recommended (and I got) were –
· Maria, Just maria – an English translation of a Malyalam book by Sandhya Mary, about a rather special woman reminiscing her life in Kerala
· They gather around me, the animals – a book of poetry by Kunjana Parashar. I was lucky enough to get a signed copy
· The Songs of our people – A photobook of sorts by Anurag Banerjee, documenting the stories of Meghalaya’s music scene
She had much better taste in books than yours truly, as might be obvious by now. I sat on one of the bar stools to have my coffee and talked the poor woman’s ear off - about the store, how it came to be, the experience of opening up a bookshop. She was far too gracious about it. None of that is quoted here because a. I don’t quote people without permission, sans dead authors & b. I don’t have a very good memory.
Before leaving I asked if I could take a few photographs, those are the ones you see here. If they seem like a monkey with a camera took them, please note I already know. They had a store stamp, so obviously all my books bear one. The stamp is the same barcode you see on the storefront, blue, with Printed Matter underneath. Scanning it doesn’t lead anywhere, a friend had me try.
While walking out that I realized I’d never even introduced myself. Basic manners, completely absent. Went back in, shook hands like a five year old, and headed out again. Only then did I notice it was also closing time.
I’d walked in when it was still light. I left in the dark, with my bag a little heavier, my heart a little lighter.