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Abhay knows his texts well, while Sarthak understands his audience just as much—both are endearing," a note written by a friend of the two founders aptly captures the dynamism at Promenade Books. To them, entering the bookstore feels like stepping into a phantom, a dream state they almost lose themselves in. Settled on the floor, we read the note in silence, grinning in awe. Sarthak humbly puts, “She is a believer, an absolute enthusiast for our work.”
Looking at the duo, one cannot imagine they were only introduced to each other in 2023 when they happened to be exhibiting at the Delhi World Book Fair. Abhay had been handling publishing all on his own till then. So convincing was the idea that Sarthak quit his day job to join Abhay. In no time, the bookstore was standing in Hauz Khas, tiled in black from the floor to the shelves. Upon entering the bookstore, one may encounter a space that feels like a little world unto itself. Two walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, enticing you to glance inside. The shelves, painted a sleek, matte black, stretch up to the high ceiling, their dark sheen contrasting with the warm glow of the overhead lights. Each shelf is meticulously organised, though the arrangement feels effortlessly casual, inviting you to explore without any pretence. Equally understated is the black flooring, adding an unexpected comfort that encourages visitors to sit and stay awhile. Little did we know that soon, all of us would find ourselves sinking onto the floor, joining in an evening of conversation and completely losing track of time—a common occurrence for many visitors.
Its name comes from the French promener, referring to the act of walking leisurely in urban spaces. They describe the bookstore in a similar manner, as a space meant for wandering and exploring at one's own pace. Much like a flâneuse who strolls through the streets, engaging their senses to experience the city through its sights and sounds, without necessarily aiming to reach anywhere in particular, the bookstore was envisioned as a space where visitors could meander, walking aimlessly among the stacks of books. They let themselves be swayed by new titles, rediscover classics, every so often pausing to listen closely to the lyrics playing before resuming again. In little more than six months, Promenade has evolved into a community space, allowing visitors to find solace amongst strangers who are bound by love for the written word
The collection is curated weekly, building on the recommendations from the customers each time. Sarthak confidently asserts, “if people walk in with their eyes closed, and pick up a book, that would be a good book.” Interestingly, they don't maintain an excel of what to procure next but are rather led by instincts on most matters. What if they disagree on something? Abhay would tell us, “we don't disagree, that's why he is working here but all we do is talk about work. Even if we're partying, we talk about work. We enjoy what we do.” Such is their chemistry, strongly guided by intuition.
Next, we find ourselves among a bunch of postcards, all gifts from customers—more accurately, customers who have become friends over frequent visits. One of them, close enough to know that Sarthak annotates texts by adding brackets, sent a postcard that reads,
“
( )
May you keep discovering new texts &
adding your brackets to them!
”
And as they say gifts create enduring ties. Sarthak sums it up best: 'You can come here and call it yours.' The tradition of leaving something personal—a gift, a note, or simply a memory—takes the visitors by surprise. In reciprocity, Promenade occasionally sends out book parcels where a book is wrapped so as to not reveal its cover or author; the visitor gets to decide if they'd like to read on through a quote attached onto the envelope. These parcels are kept beside the section titled ‘Promenade Classics,’ featuring books published by Promenade.
Latest in their releases was Stendhal’s love wherein the author outlines the seven stages of love, revealing a deeper, personal struggle to comprehend and resolve his own feelings. We were told it's the greatest book ever written but we could say that about most books in the store. Sarthak also introduced us to Henri Barbusse’s Inferno, with several copies prominently displayed on the shelf. His eyes light up in delight as he adds, “People have walked in and said, ‘Thanks for Inferno, thanks for saving me.’ A book can do that, a good book can heal.” In the background, the lyrics of Three Days Grace's Animal I Have Become play: ‘I can’t escape this hell, so many times I’ve tried, but I’m still caged inside, somebody get me through this nightmare.’ The track, by pure coincidence, mirrors the haunting need for consolation that some readers find themselves seeking within a book.
The bookstore hums with our gentle conversations for the rest of the evening. Song and book recommendations keep pouring in on a piece of paper we circulated a while ago. The room grows warmer, more intimate. As we continue to scribble down our suggestions, we witness literature and music envelop us in comfort, understanding and a profound sense of belonging. Each bracket, each note in the margin, and every dog-eared page—though seemingly solitary acts—enriches the collective experience, deepening connections and fostering a mutual understanding.