Delhiwale: Paradise Lost, or lost time regained

The bookseller is reading the print edition of The New York Review of Books

The bookseller is reading the print edition of The New York Review of Books. A rotating shelf in front of his cluttered desk holds fiction. Shelves at the back hold travel books, including rare editions of Dervla Murphy. Elizabeth Bishop and Cavafy, of course, sit in the poetry section, which requires another turn. Here in south Delhi’s Basant Lok Market, opposite Priya cinema, an afternoon passes among high-brow shelves.

The bookstore, whose name, Fact & Fiction, had a literary ring (like Washington, DC’s Politics and Prose), no longer exists. It begins our new series, Paradise Lost, chronicling Delhi’s vanished landmarks. (HT Photo)

Except that this afternoon belongs to the past. The bookstore, whose name, Fact & Fiction, had a literary ring (like Washington, DC’s Politics and Prose), no longer exists. It begins our new series, Paradise Lost, chronicling Delhi’s vanished landmarks. To pass a spot and think of what stood there is to know the city beyond what confronts the eye. That, too, is how a sense of belonging begins.

Basant Lok was among Delhi’s most happening hangouts. India’s first McDonald’s opened here. Priya screened latest Hollywood flicks. The market plaza teemed with super-dressy people. Some fashionistas happened to step inside Fact & Fiction to kill time while waiting for their date, looking dazed by all the books and wholly out of place.

Truth be told, even book lovers would be dazed. Delhi’s most eclectic bookstore accommodated religion, cinema, science, cookery, wildlife and more. Marcel Proust’s seven-volume boxed set of In Search of Lost Time was unavailable elsewhere in the capital. So was Simone Weil’s essay on the Iliad. Delhiwale first encountered food writer MFK Fisher here.

The shop opened in 1984. Founder Ajit Vikram Singh came from privilege. His son, writer Jairaj Singh, once wrote that his father had a childhood pet elephant. A regular at Jor Bagh’s The Bookshop, young Ajit Vikram wanted a similar bookshop. He created one.

The owner did not necessarily smile when you entered the bookstore. Sitting behind his laptop, the owner’s solemn expression could inspire an awe of Old Testament proportions. Once inside, you would even think in whispers. Regulars sometimes tried impressing the owner by muttering profundities about literature. It was his colleague Ravi Vyshumpayan’s relaxed manner that would put browsers at ease. In fact, the duo were like mummy-papa, one parent all smiling, the other strict.

Eventually, the owner turned out to be a man with no snobbish tashan. He always warmed to a genuine book lover, even if you didn’t dress posh, your spoken English was tooty-footy and you had zero confidence. A Lakshman Rekha was clearly drawn, though. The notice on the glass door said “No Food or Drink”.

In August 2015, the owner announced impending closure, citing falling sales and high rents. The following day, Jor Bagh’s The Bookshop, the owner’s inspiration, posted on Facebook: “This is too sad. We feel alone today.”

This Thursday afternoon in October 2026, a brand-new restaurant stands where Fact & Fiction stood. It will open later this month, says the guard.

PS: Photo shows a citizen’s preserved carry bag of the vanished bookshop.