The 2026 edition of the World Book Fair in Delhi saw a footfall of two million. I contributed twice to that falling of the feet. I went twice, not that I hopped twice at the entrance to fudge the count. This is a weird start. The book fair was a success since I purchased a ton of titles and received sturdy tote bags to carry home. I also resisted the urge to eat cold junk food at the stalls by going to Pandara Road and having hot junk food there (#health).

I have gone to the book fair pretty much every year since 2010 yet every year I’m surprised at the strength. I go for the books and when I browse them, I tend to be like Bradley Cooper in ‘Limitless’. But when strangers keep crossing you every two seconds, not only does your focus suffer, you eavesdrop even when you don’t want to. You hear people pick up titles and moan that they could buy it on Amazon (so why’d you come?) or uncles who list all the stories of Chughtai they have read so they only want a book which features the rest or college students collectivizing their wallets and banishing titles five steps away from the billing counter or people on a date discussing their literary tastes (he was a Simon Sinek and self-help dude, she was an Ali Hazelwood and Korean thrillers gal.)

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