The Death of a Bookstore

A few days ago, I received news that left me heartbroken. The Crossword bookstore in Aundh, Pune, a place that had been a second home to my family for years, had shut its doors forever. This news comes on the heels of news of a library closing nearby. The empty shell that once brimmed with stories, knowledge, and warmth now stands as a silent reminder of a fading era. For me, this isn’t just the closure of a store; it’s the loss of a sanctuary, a dear companion, and a treasure trove of memories.

Crossword Aundh wasn’t just another bookstore—it was a place of discovery, wonder, and endless possibilities. It was where my son first fell in love with books. I still remember the excitement in his eyes as he picked up his first picture book, the quiet curiosity as he turned its pages and the sheer joy of finding new stories to dive into. Over the years, it became our haven—where we escaped the world's world's noise and found solace among bookshelves lined with endless adventures.

Every visit was an experience. The rustling of pages, the comforting aroma of freshly printed books, and the soft hum of fellow book lovers immersed in their worlds—it all felt magical. It was where my son and I bonded over stories, where he grew from a hesitant reader to an eager explorer of new narratives. We built traditions—choosing books together, sitting in cozy corners flipping through pages, and always leaving with a little more than we had planned. Crossword was more than a store; it was an irreplaceable part of our lives.

But now, it’s gone. And with it, a part of our routine, and our connection to literature has disappeared. The shuttered windows and vacant space feel like a cruel metaphor for the world we are slowly heading towards—a world where the digital dominates the physical, and where bookstores are replaced by soulless algorithms recommending books we may never truly cherish.

Physical bookstores play a crucial role in fostering a love for reading, especially among children. Unlike online platforms, where purchases are transactional, bookstores offer an experience—one that engages the senses, encourages curiosity, and allows for serendipitous discoveries. You don’t just buy a book; you find it, touch it, flip through its pages, and connect with it before making it your own. This organic, tactile engagement is something that e-commerce simply cannot replicate.

Beyond individual experiences, bookstores serve as cultural hubs, nurturing communities of readers, thinkers, and dreamers. They provide a space where literature is celebrated, where conversations are sparked, and where people come together to share a love for the written word. Their disappearance leaves a void that no Kindle or Amazon recommendation can ever fill.

What’s most heartbreaking is the realization that many children today might never know the simple joys of growing up with a bookstore in their neighbourhood. They might never experience the thrill of walking into a room filled with books, not knowing what they will leave with. They might never feel the warmth of an old, familiar book waiting for them on a shelf or the unexpected delight of discovering a new favourite by chance. Instead, reading might become a mechanical act—scrolling, clicking, downloading—devoid of the intimacy that a bookstore offers.

As I write this, I can’t help but wonder—could this have been prevented? Could we, as a community, do something to keep bookstores or libraries alive? The truth is, that independent and chain bookstores alike have been struggling against the tide of online shopping and shifting consumer habits. We have watched them disappear, one by one, and yet, we have failed to truly act. Perhaps if we had chosen to buy one more book from our local store instead of a faceless e-commerce giant, things might have been different.

The loss of bookstores and libraries akin to 'The Death of a Bookstore' is a wake-up call. If we don’t support the ones that remain, soon, they too will become relics of the past. If you still have a bookstore or a library in your city, cherish it. Visit it often. Buy books, not just because you need them, but because the survival of these spaces depends on them. Introduce your children to the joys of browsing, touching, and selecting books in person. Let them experience the magic that my son and I were lucky to have for so many years.

Crossword Aundh may have closed, but the stories it nurtured, the dreams it ignited, and the love for books it cultivated will live on. And as much as I grieve its loss, I will continue to carry its spirit forward—by reading, sharing, and always believing in the power of a good bookstore.

Rest in peace, dear Crossword. You will be deeply missed.