Whimsical Town

“Whimsical Town” was a much-talked-about bookstore, that stood in the busy market for years, but I never got the chance to go inside. On a particular day, I walked to the bookstore that I always wanted to visit. Winter morning walks are always gratifying when the crisp rays of the sun gently caress your skin.  The chill in the breeze made me shiver, nevertheless, I walked merrily lost in my own world. After thirty minutes of a walk, I reached the market which was bustling with activity.

Finally, I opened the creaky doors to the mammoth store. The moment the door opened something captivated me, gripped me and I walked in like this place was familiar. Inside, was white, with white tall racks and shelves. The color came from the books that were meticulously lined on each shelf. The scintillating sun showered its rays through the enormous windows of this monumental establishment. I was transported back to the years when I used to spend my vacation at my grandmother’s house viewing the fleet of helpers cleaning every nook and cranny scrupulously.  I recalled the time when I sat in my grandmother’s kitchen garden, with a plate of fresh green salad, reading her recipe books. But after granny said her final “goodbye”, those days became a treasure of unforgettable memories.  I had a change of heart and decided to buy the latest recipe books instead of fiction.

“Are you looking for something, Nahida?” asked a voice from behind. A voice, so familiar… A voice I knew… A voice I grew up hearing… A voice I had not heard in a long long time. I turned around, but the lady had vanished. I wondered who was it. I looked around but I couldn’t hear that voice anymore. There were people walking through the aisles, along the racks and shelves, browsing books. It was crowded, but silent. The only sounds that could be heard were the faint whispers of the customers talking to the sales assistants who were mostly men, the footsteps of people, and the opening and closing of the creaky door. The high ceiling with long fans was a thing of the past, but it still existed here. Perhaps, this was the only store that maintained its ‘ancient’ look.

But, whose voice did I hear? Who was it?

With those thoughts stuck in my head, I continued my search for a book on baking. The wooden shelves were vast with possibly every title available under the sun. I ran my fingers over the glossy spines of the soft cover books, till I spotted a book that looked recognizable. I tried pulling it out…

“Ma’am, can I help you?” This time I looked around immediately and it was a sales boy glaring at me with his beady eyes.

“Thank you.” I looked away and returned my gaze to the book that I had my hands on. I tried pulling it out, gently. I was compelled to apply some force because the book was just stuck and with anger and aggression, I pulled it out. Everything tumbled down but that book was there standing straight with no support. Finally, it fell flat on the shelf and I picked it up.

The occurrences at the store seemed spellbinding

“Nahida, dust the book before you open it,” said the same voice. I thought my grandmother was around. The voice was the same.

“Grandma!” I shrieked. But nobody in the store even looked at me. Across me, was Grandma’s friend, Mrs. Zarin, looking gorgeous as ever.

“Hadn’t she died?” I thought to myself.

I waved to her, but she didn’t seem to notice or recognize me.  I wondered what was happening. There was some magic, some sort of spell. I paraded the store, my eyes greedily looking for my grandma.  

Perplexed, I settled on the white marble floor where all the books had fallen, but the books had disappeared. A soft pink, tattered piece of muslin magically appeared before my eyes, which I used to dust the book. The cloth was the same as that grandma used to wipe the ornamental mirror, she carried with her in her bag. Where did this come from?

A thick layer of dust concealed the cover of the book. As I cleared the dust, I was stunned to see the book from my childhood, in my hand. It was all that I had wanted all these years. On each page, I found handwritten notes from grandma.

“Nahida, remember we baked this together?” She spoke again. I was on the page that read “Pineapple Upside Down Cake.”

 Though I tilted my head in every direction, scanning every side of the store, I was only able to hear her. I longed to see a glimpse of her. Just a glimpse…

I saw people walking past with large carry bags filled with books. Children walked around holding vibrant picture books. Nevertheless, I flipped through the book which contained memories of the kitchen where I spent my summer vacation as a child. Twenty years had passed by but it all seemed like yesterday. Lifting the book to my nose, I could still smell the multi-notes of banana and vanilla. I snapped out of deep thought when the cuckoo from the wooden clock peeped out and in and got stuck in the middle. I immediately rushed to it and pushed the bird in. I remember doing it even before, years back at Grandma’s house.

But how did Grandpa’s German clock reach here, on the pale walls of “Whimsical Town” which was truly whimsical?

 Two hours had passed by, I was engaged in one uncanny event after the other. I went up to the cash counter to pay for the book along with the muslin.

“Nahida, keep it. It is a gift,” that voice spoke again.

“Keep the muslin, and the cuckoo clock has been sent to your apartment.”

Where was she speaking from?

“Grandma,” I shrieked but nobody seemed to have stopped. The bustle continued but I went unnoticed.

I turned around, there was a long queue behind me. I rushed past them to the exit, feeling an uneasiness encompass me. But then I saw a shadow on the floor. It was grandma. I turned around to envelop her in my embrace, but instead, there was a little child holding his purchase in a small dark brown bag.

“That’s my bag,” I spoke to the child.

But taking no notice of me the child walked away.

The bag had blue satin ribbon as handles and the dark brown paper had a velvety feel to it. I had preserved it all these years under the mattress of granny’s bed.

“See you soon, Nahida,” spoke Granny’s voice.

I sprinted through the shelves and racks until I reached the creaky door. It was the same door, that same brass handle. I hadn’t noticed the door when I entered but it was the same one that opened to the sprawling kitchen garden at grandma’s house.

 Just before I pulled down the handle to open the door a voice on the speaker blared,

“Nahida, thank you for your visit to Whimsical Town, a place where memories come alive, where the past becomes the present and the present is forgotten.”

“We have no idea about the future,” but this time the voice had changed. The woman sounded aggressive and angry.

I was in my bed, perspiring.

“Look at the clock, do you know what time it is?” My mother spat, furiously.

I obeyed and looked at the clock.

“Thank God for no cuckoos,” I spoke with a smirk.