I go to bookstores ever more rarely, for I am disappointed by what is on offer more often than not, but I keep trying my luck every now and then. The disappointment is growing by leaps and bounds, too. Against my better judgment, though, I am still looking for a good read. And this is what has just happened to me one more time. I found myself in a bookstore almost against my will. The only thing worth reporting this time around is the sequence of sections I went through. Not surprisingly, I first looked for books on yoga. Another translation of Patanjali would always be a joy to read. And study at length. Of course, I found nothing of the sort. Then I looked for other Indian classics, but found nothing of interest once again. Next I went to the philosophy section, but to no avail. Much was on offer, but most of it made me outright angry. Silly old fools. Disappointed, I ambled to the poetry section. There was nothing to my taste there, either. Same old. And then I found myself in the economics section, which amazed me no end. I even found a book arguing that economics was a failed science, if it was a science at all, but I put it back on the shelf quickly enough. Old hat. Desolate, I shuffled to the bookstore’s door. It took me a while to recover a little, and a sudden burst of sunshine was most welcome. Overcome by bookstore blues, the best I could do was to find a table in the nearest café, pull my laptop out of my knapsack, and write a few words about my pitiful experience. As ever.