We know that being an independent bookseller is a special vocation, though perhaps it's harder to imagine how the life of a former indie bookseller might capture national headlines. This is not an attention-seeking profession and yet, for several days now, I've been reading about Indian bookseller T.S. Shanbhag, who once owned Premier Bookshop in Bengaluru. He died May 2 at the age of 84, after suffering from an infection and then contracting Covid-19, which is ravaging the country.
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Although his bookshop closed in 2009, Shanbhag's death has generated national media coverage. In a Deccan Herald tribute headlined "More than just a bookseller," Vatsala Vedantam described him as "an institution, larger than life. He was among the last brave warriors who struggled to keep his bookshop going as large multinationals threatened smaller businesses. His small Premier, with its broken steps and overflowing books, was truly premier in all aspects--just like its owner, who not only loved books but was able to recognize others who did."
Launched in 1971, Premier Bookshop "was the ultimate destination for bibliophiles for over three decades, particularly before e-commerce pervaded the world of books," the Hindu reported, adding that Shanbhag "was the go-to man to source a rare academic book or the latest release of a favorite author."
The Times of India noted that "essentially, he was a man who was fond of books and readers. It isn't that he was only selling books. He loved meeting people who read."
Bookworm bookstore owner Krishna Gowda tweeted: "He will continue to inspire us always.... For past 12 years, he would often send me a list of books he wanted & I would arrange them for him. I feel proud & honored to be of service to such a great man. Shabhag sir is one of my greatest inspirations. I hope to carry on his legacy in however small a way I can."
Vivek Kumar, whose family had visited Premier Bookshop over three generations, told ThePrint: "I had vowed that I would keep Uncle's memory alive by writing his name and the name of the bookstore in every book I bought from him with the date. That way whoever borrowed the book will know about the legend."
In the New Indian Express, V.R. Ferose wrote that upon hearing of Shanbhag's death, "I once again watched Mr. Shanbag's Shop on YouTube. It made me nostalgic for the weekends I had spent at Premier Bookshop on Church Street. The grief over Premier's closure in 2009 re-emerged with a pang when booklovers heard that Mr. Shanbhag had passed away. It's the end of an era and the beginning of what will only remain in the memories of everyone who walked in between those piles of books and heard the sound of them falling."
Comparing Shanbhag to the protagonist in James Hilton's Goodbye Mr. Chips, Suresh Menon recalled in the Hindu: "I was in school in the 1970s when I first walked into Premier. I had a gift coupon. Other bookstores in the area looked on schoolboys not as customers then or for the future, but pesky juveniles who needed to be followed around suspiciously and asked questions till they left the store in sheer annoyance. At Premier, Mr. Shanbhag waved a genial 'hello' and carried on with whatever he was doing, leaving you to your devices. Loyalty came from being treated like adults.... Premier was the most welcoming and wildly stocked bookstore and meeting place for both young lovers and storied intellectuals, many of the former hoping to grow into the latter in time."
In a tribute on Scroll.in, author Ramachandra Guha considered what this legendary bookseller "gave our city. If, as the novelist Anthony Powell said, books do furnish a room, then perhaps booksellers--the best of them at any rate--do nourish a community.... T.S. Shanbhag and his Premier Bookshop sustained the interests and obsessions of those who lived in Bangalore and bought and read books in English. But it was not merely the astonishing range of books that he stocked that made him so beloved of his customers. It was also the warmth and generosity of the man.... Through the books he selected and sold, through the knowledge he helped convey and the moral compass he himself represented, T.S. Shanbhag did far more good for the world than some vain and vindictive men who claim to have the force of history behind them."
The closure of Premier Bookshop had been "much mourned, but Shanbhag's own death seemed to affect the city more," the Economist reported. "At first sight, this seemed strange. On that day, 161 Bangaloreans died of the virus. He was probably among the most unassuming of them. But what had also died with him, many felt, was a rare part of old Bangalore, an unhurried place far distant from the slick and booming version, together with an old-fashioned style of quiet full-hearted service. In that small corner of the city he had made a sanctuary, along with Prem Koshy, whose coffee had kept him and the browsers going. Koshy’s was open as usual; the metal blinds came down only for lockdowns or personal bereavements. But inside Mr. Koshy sighed for 'the angel of my books.' "