A day in 1923. The reading room is full. In pin-dropp silence, Accountants, homoeopaths, Petty shopkeepers, students, clerks Turn the pages Of the morning papers. At the issuing desk, Some are borrowing books: A detective novel in Urdu In two volumes; A free translation Of a poem by Goldsmith Printed in Etawah, Titled Yogi Arthur. The books Are still on the shelves, Their pages brittle And spines missing. New readers occupy the chairs, Turning the pages Of the morning papers. Turning pages too, But of dusty records In a back room, Is a researcher from Cambridge, England. It's her second visit, And everyone here knows her. She's looking at Indian reading habits In the colonial period. Outside, On the pavement, Is a thriving vegetable market. Amidst the stalls, A knife-grinder sets up His portable establishment And opens for business.