I can feel the goose bumps crawl over my skin like a horde of pins jabbing away at me at the same time. This is real and it feels delicious. I am finally doing it, after almost three decades. Long overdue. The little box shaped boutique book shop looks the same, next to five or six more of them, all in a neat row. Tucked away inside the cool shade from a row of giant trees, I wish I knew what they were. The shade was a haven from the cocky tropical sun which only cooled down closer to dusk.

In all my many visits to Sri Lanka I had passed this way on numerous travels to the capital Colombo, I had always felt the nostalgic pangs, always felt the need to get down for a moment and say ‘Hi’ to Sarath Uncle as we fondly called him. And always I deferred, procrastination was the main culprit. From memory this gentleman was a qualified professional whose love of literature got the better of him and he started this shop. His website tells me back in 1976. It’s a second-hand book shop with books covering every conceivable topic ranging from, literature to academic, religion to philosophy, adult to child. New books are a rarity over here and the other shops in the row. But a unique factor stands out, perhaps their business formula which has mocked the test of time. Most books are rarities, on specialised topics by specialist authors. Perhaps therein lies Sarath Uncle’s talent, the ability to identify and source these copies. They also boasted a novel concept where you could borrow for a small fee and return once done, a functioning library where there was no day limit on the loan time.

What I remember most about Sarath Uncle was his ready smile. I believe it was a permanent fixture. It was sincere, warm, and kind. As kids we had a million questions and had a long and passionate title list. This was the golden era before streaming giants held some of our reading habits hostage. He knew exactly where the books were located or if he had the title or not. There were no digital systems (this was pre-digital and still is), it was all memory. And he would patiently return the book to the shelf when we or our parents passed the book. Revenue was a secondary objective for him, it was obvious. We never had to haggle. Here was a guy who just loved books and talking about them. I envied him then and I envy him know. To pursue one’s passions require courage and dedication. Here was a living example. Perhaps his bank account was low, but the credits in his emotional fulfillment was super high, as all those who give centre stage to their honourable passions will know.

I still remember vividly as if it was yesterday, the aroma of used old books. It was musty and pleasant. Most of the books looked used, and they were, some fraying at the edges, it was another attraction. I also recall the many doctors and lawyers who loved to spend time there, browsing through and going away with stacks of books. Now, how did I know what their professions were? Those days the doctors accidentally left their stethoscopes on the dash board while the lawyers left their profession specific coats hanging on the side at their rear door car windows. I don’t see this phenomenon now. I miss it. They weren’t boasting of course.

My two sons and wife tumble out of the car. A young guy saunters across with a charismatic smile. ‘Sanjaya’ he introduces himself. A chip off the old block to use a tired cliche. But the old block is missing. He has gone to Australia (Melbourne) to visit his other son Sanjaya says. I can only chuckle at the coincidence, when I visit Sri Lanka from Melbourne, he’s on a visit to Australia.  Who knows, I might bump in to him back in Melbourne. Sanjaya is all smiles, nothing new. I quickly spilt my history with ‘Sarath book store’ and more importantly with his father. My two kids make some quick purchases. I gift a copy of my own book – ‘The Beast’.

We pile back into the car; the goose bumps are still hanging around. But I’ll be back.