KASHMIR’S BESTSELLER BOOKSTORE BIDS GOODBYE

In a quiet corner of Srinagar’s Lal Chowk, where once pages turned and voices whispered over spines of history, fiction, and poetry, silence has settled like dust on empty shelves. The closure of Kashmir’s oldest and most beloved bookstore, ‘Bestseller,’ after forty-five years is not merely the end of a business; it marks the quiet crumbling of an institution that once stood as a beacon of literary refuge in the Valley. Bestseller was not just a shop—it was a sanctuary, a cultural archive, and a living space where generations came not just to buy books, but to belong to a thinking community.

Founded in the early 1980s by the late Sanaullah Chiloo and later nurtured by his son Saniyasnain, Bestseller bore witness to Kashmir’s many political seasons, curfews, shutdowns, and transformations. Through all of it, the bookstore remained open—sometimes quite literally, when few others dared. In its warmly packed aisles were shelves of rare Urdu poetry, timeless fiction, insightful nonfiction, and texts on Islamic scholarship, Kashmiri history, and world philosophy. To many, Bestseller was more than a repository of books—it was a map of intellectual resilience and emotional belonging. Its closure, therefore, strikes a nerve deeper than consumer nostalgia. It underscores a shifting cultural tide where reading is no longer a celebrated pursuit and bookstores are no longer sustainable spaces. While the advent of online giants like Amazon and Flipkart may be partly responsible for drawing customers away with cheaper rates and doorstep delivery, the heart of the issue lies not in economics but in evolving habits. Reading, once an activity of reflection and inner quiet, has gradually given way to digital noise—scrolling feeds, viral videos, and an attention economy that rewards brevity over depth. It is a generational disconnect that isn’t born of disinterest alone, but of reconfigured values in an increasingly fast-paced world. There was a time when walking into a bookstore was a small ritual—browsing through titles, getting book recommendations from familiar shopkeepers, or simply sitting in silence among paper and ink. Spaces like Bestseller were nurturing grounds not just for readers, but for thinkers, writers, and future leaders. That it is vanishing without fanfare, without collective mourning, should worry us as a society. Not because we are losing a retail outlet, but because we are forgetting to value the soft power of reading as a force for self-awareness, empathy, and dialogue. Yet, there is something to be salvaged here, if not the shop itself, then what it stood for. The emotional tributes pouring in—especially from students, educators, and lifelong readers—show that the spirit of places like Bestseller lives on in memory and longing. Many recall the generosity of its founders, who often sold books on credit to eager learners or ordered rare titles upon request. Such stories remind us that bookstores are not just transactional places—they are bridges between past and present, between curiosity and knowledge. In Kashmir, a region where expression has historically battled constraints, the role of bookstores becomes even more crucial. Bestseller’s closure serves as a wake-up call to policymakers, educators, and communities to reimagine public intellectual spaces. Libraries must be revitalized, school curricula enriched with local literature, and reading habits cultivated not just in elite circles but across diverse social strata. If our cities can build cafes and malls with haste, surely we can also invest in literary commons that anchor our cultural soul. To young people, this is not a message of despair but of gentle reckoning. The silence left behind by Bestseller invites a question: What kind of intellectual legacy do we wish to inherit and pass on? In an age of instant access, the real rebellion may lie in slow reading, in revisiting the printed word with patience and purpose, not for exams or algorithms, but for the sheer joy of understanding the world and oneself.

The closing of Bestseller is not merely an ending—it is an invitation to carry forward its legacy with intention and care. Though the store itself may be gone, its spirit lives on in every book we open, every story we share, and every conversation sparked by the written word. What we cherished most was not just the shelves lined with books, but the quiet magic of discovery, the warmth of human connection, and the belief that stories shape who we are. The books remain, waiting to be read; the ideas still linger, eager to be discussed. But their survival depends on us—on our willingness to turn the pages, to seek wisdom in words, and to keep the love of literature alive in our hearts and communities. Let this not be a farewell, but a gentle reminder that bookstores live on as long as we continue their purpose—reading, reflecting, and passing on the light of knowledge. In this way, Bestseller’s story does not fade; it simply finds new voices, new hands, and new minds to keep its flame alive.