It was a so-called heaven for book lovers, and I had read about it everywhere. I had seen photos and heard accounts from visitors as well, and I knew it at least seemed like heaven. Now, as I stood inside the very heart of the place, I still couldn't believe what I saw.

I was indeed at the Daryaganj Old Book Market/Kitaab Bazaar in Delhi.

This bazaar is as magical as the stories it tells; as transient as words. Early morning on Sundays, when the shops are closed, a market conjures itself out of thin air. And then till late into the evening, an entire kilometre of roadsides stretching from Kasturba Hospital Marg/Netaji Subhash Marg intersection all the way to Delhi Gate, lay adorned with books.

It is said that this first started happening in mid-1960s.

As I moved down the market, I saw about as many people as there were books. Lots of them, standing in first this position, then another, but always, with eyes glued on the pages.

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The books were cheap, too, not to mention abundant — both used and new ones. I preferred old books so I knew I was going to have a great time here. Stopping at a stall, I'd start randomly going through the books lying there, or ask for a specific author and the shopkeeper would find me all the ones he had from that writer.

This continued for a while. Books that I had been searching for so long, I finally found them here (and at some bargain, I must add!).

I noticed a rather classic hardcover among the paperbacks. I picked it up. It was a collection of poetry by Ezra Pound. Though I hadn’t read much of his work, I knew I had to buy this. So I told the seller to add this to my pile. It was then that I realised that if I didn’t stop now, I’d be broke for the rest of my trip.

With a heavy heart and after quite some effort, I finally stopped myself, paid the guy for the (pile of) books I was given, and moved on.

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As I walked through the crowd (making sure my cell-phone and wallet were safe) I noticed books weren’t the only things on sale here. There were electronics, gadgets, toys, all sorts of stuff. I saw a man selling old postage stamps and coins, and went ahead to buy myself some. Then I stopped for a cup of coffee at a coffee house.

Daryaganj is where everything from the classical novels of Jane Austen and Charles Dickens to the contemporary works of John Green and Jhumpa Lahiri are available for a cent or two, literally. There are old comics, magazines, textbooks and what not. I also spotted books by Pakistani authors, Mohsin Hamid’s Moth Smoke being one. The market simply keeps going on and on.

But the best part of the whole trip was simply how it felt to be there; how it felt to be among so many people who were there only for the love of reading. Aficionados like you, all over the place; some haggling, some quietly looking at the books, some busy in conversations with other people.

I visited the market the following week, and ended up buying more books. The best bargain happened when I found William Dalrymple’s The Last Mughal at a stall. Hardcover, brand new and still sealed in a plastic cover. After a lot of haggling, I finally ended up getting it for a price that one can only dream of.

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This one time, a middle-aged man picked up a book titled How to Get Rich. He turned to me and asked: “Can one really get rich by reading this?”

“I wish I knew,” I said.

“Didn’t know it was this easy to get rich!,” he quipped.

If you ever get the chance of visiting this wonderful place, you must.

If you’re in Delhi, and it’s a Sunday, don't think twice. Just do it!

Photos by author