Farewell to a place I’ve never been, but one whose absence I will mourn.
The last remaining branch of Times Bookstores, tucked away in Jelita Shopping Centre in Holland Road, closed its doors forever on Sept 22. With its departure, the entire Times Bookstores chain will fade into history – going, going, gone.
I remember Times Bookstores in Paragon, Plaza Singapura, Marina Square and my personal favourite, the flagship outlet at Centrepoint. It was the first bookstore I visited when I arrived in Singapore to work for The New Paper in 1988.
I came from Kolkata in India, a city known for its writers and booklovers; it has an entire road, College Street, occupied by colleges, universities, bookshops and pavement book stalls.
To my dismay, the British Council library here wasn’t half as well stocked as the one back home. But then I discovered the Times Bookstore at Centrepoint, and it was a little slice of heaven.
I can’t remember which floor it was on, but I vividly recall the pleasure of riding the escalator up, wandering among the shelves, picking up a book or a magazine, and getting lost in its pages.
There, time ceased to matter. I was alone in a new city – but surrounded by books, I never felt lonely. I browsed for hours without interruption. No one questioned how long I spent in that place, immersed in words.
It was at Times Bookstore that I bought my copy of The God Of Small Things by Arundhati Roy and The Information by Martin Amis – two novels I remember distinctly, though ironically, I never finished either. Despite my admiration for Roy’s dazzling prose and Amis’ brilliance, I lost interest in the narratives.
Times Bookstores wasn’t just a treasure trove of books, but also a gateway to a world of periodicals. That’s where I first encountered Vanity Fair, a magazine that, under Graydon Carter’s editorship, epitomised elegance with its gorgeous photography, exquisite design and sophisticated writing.
I also frequented the Paragon outlet to pick up The Economist. The Paragon branch was close enough to my office at Times House in Kim Seng Road, where The New Paper was then published. After a day’s work, I’d catch a bus, grab a copy and head home. It was the golden age of magazines – Time and Newsweek were staples, but The Economist stood out for its incisive and witty take on current affairs, always delivered with clarity and a sly grin.
Though Times Bookstores held a special place in my heart, I was never monogamous when it came to bookshops. There was a little store – in either Peace Centre or Paradiz Centre, I can’t quite recall – where I’d borrow books and videos. The friendly Indian owner and his assistant knew my tastes well and always had something set aside for me.
As time passed, Singapore saw a blossoming of grand bookstores. MPH’s flagship, housed in a stately colonial building at the junction of Armenian Street and Stamford Road, boasted an impressive collection of books and CDs. Borders at Wheelock Place took it a step further, allowing visitors to listen to CDs for free. And, of course, there was Books Kinokuniya at Ngee Ann City, a vast, bustling hub that resembled a library. On weekends, I’d lose myself there for hours, only to drop by library@orchard, which conveniently happened to be in the same building, for more reading material.
But those glory days of Singapore’s grand bookstores are behind us. The closure of the last Times Bookstores outlet is the final chapter in a sad saga that has already seen the end of MPH and Borders. Only Kinokuniya soldiers on.
A senior citizen now of sedentary habits, I no longer toddle off to my old haunts. Almost all the reading I do these days is online or on an e-reader. But no e-book can compare with the tactile pleasure of a printed book – the rustle of the pages, pristine scent of a new book, the beauty of a well-designed cover.
Perhaps, like vinyl records, bookshops will one day make a comeback. Whether that happens in my lifetime, though, is anyone’s guess.
