If it ain't meant to be, it ain't meant to be.
Hotfooted it to the YMCA book exhibition last evening after tipoff from Deepa.
Mountains of books, falling dusk and no electricity. The failing light grudgingly gives me a half hour to peer at the stacks, and all too soon oozes out of the cavernous hall. They bring on candles but it's hopeless.
"Aap kal aa jaaiye," urges helpful man at counter. I dither over MM Kaye (do I want to own The Far Pavilions?) but finally bring home Margaret Atwood and one Lowell.
Upper: eyeful of lusty young men playing basketball at the Y.
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