In Delhi’s bustling Mandi House, under a simple tree, Sanjana Tiwari—lovingly called Kitab Wali Aunty—has quietly turned a humble book cart into one of the city’s most cherished literary landmarks.
Over 25 years ago, with just a high-school education at the time of her marriage and fierce determination, she earned a Master’s degree and began selling Hindi literature on the footpath. Today her modest stall, lit softly and lined with classics, poetry, and rare finds, draws theater artists, poets, writers, students, and dreamers alike.
Despite a successful family—a retired journalist husband, a doctor son, a PhD-pursuing daughter, and an IPS officer son-in-law—Sanjana chooses this life of books over comfort. “This isn’t business,” she says. “Books are my life, and the people who love them are my larger family.”
Young readers from years ago now return as officers for her blessings. Strangers become kin through shared stories. In an age of screens and speed, Kitab Wali Aunty proves that true literary magic begins small, grows through love, and becomes timeless.
In an age of flash and algorithms, Kitab Wali Aunty reminds us: true literary magic starts small, grows through love, and becomes timeless.
By Newswriters News Desk
In the heart of Delhi, where the winter sun casts a golden hue over the sprawling grounds of Pragati Maidan, the annual World Book Fair transforms the venue into a vibrant mosaic of ideas, stories, and dreams. Every year, this event draws crowds from all walks of life—avid readers, aspiring writers, families on outings, and bibliophiles hunting for rare editions.
The air buzzes with excitement as people queue up for autographed copies from renowned authors, browse through glossy stalls adorned with LED lights and promotional banners, and immerse themselves in the world of literature.
Amid this whirlwind of glamour and commerce, however, stands a modest oasis that captures the true essence of books: the stall of Sanjana Tiwari, affectionately known as “Kitab Wali Aunty” or the Book Aunty.
Sanjana’s stall is a stark contrast to the opulent displays around it. No flashy decorations, no aggressive marketing gimmicks—just rows of carefully arranged books under simple lighting, evoking the charm of a neighborhood library. Yet, it’s this very simplicity that draws people in like a magnet. Visitors pause, intrigued by the unassuming setup, and soon find themselves engaged in heartfelt conversations with the woman behind it all.
Sanjana, with her warm smile and encyclopedic knowledge of Hindi literature, has become a symbol of passion over profit, reminding everyone that books are more than commodities; they are lifelines to the soul.
Sanjana Tiwari’s journey into the world of bookselling began not out of necessity, but from a deep-seated love for literature. Now in her late 50s, she has been a fixture in Delhi’s cultural landscape for over 25 years. Her story starts in a well-to-do family, where education and intellectual pursuits were valued. Married young, right after completing high school, Sanjana moved to Delhi with her husband, a journalist and writer who would later retire from a distinguished career. Far from letting marriage define her limits, she pursued her studies diligently, earning a Master’s degree while managing household responsibilities. This determination set the tone for her life—a blend of tradition and ambition.
Her family life paints a picture of quiet affluence and achievement. Her husband, now retired, shares her love for words, having authored several books himself. Their son is a successful doctor, practicing in a leading hospital, while their daughter is pursuing a PhD in literature, following in her mother’s footsteps.
Adding to this accomplished circle is her son-in-law, an IPS officer serving in a key administrative role. One might wonder why a woman from such a prosperous background would choose to run a roadside bookshop.
But for Sanjana, it’s not about status or wealth; it’s about fulfillment. “Selling books isn’t just a business for me,” she says in a soft, measured voice. “It’s my way of staying connected to the world of ideas. It brings me inner peace, a satisfaction that no amount of luxury can provide.”
Her iconic spot is under a shady tree in Mandi House, Delhi’s cultural hub, known for its theaters, art galleries, and literary gatherings. For a quarter-century, Sanjana has set up her makeshift stall here every day, rain or shine.
The area, bustling with theater artists, playwrights, poets, and writers, has become synonymous with her presence. Her collection focuses on Hindi literature—classics by Premchand, contemporary works by emerging authors, poetry anthologies, and even rare out-of-print editions. Customers range from struggling actors rehearsing lines between shows to established literati seeking inspiration. “Mandi House is my second home,” Sanjana reflects. “The people here aren’t just buyers; they’re companions on this literary journey.”
What started as a small venture has evolved into a cultural institution. Sanjana recalls how it all began: “After my children were old enough, I felt a void. My husband encouraged me to do something I loved. Books had always been my escape, my teachers.
“I started with a few crates under that tree. Word spread, and soon, it became a daily ritual.” Over the years, her stall has witnessed countless stories unfold. Young students borrowing books on credit, only to return as successful professionals; writers sharing drafts for her honest feedback; and even impromptu poetry readings that turn afternoons into magical sessions.
The nickname “Kitab Wali Aunty” emerged organically from this community. It was the theater folk who first coined it, calling out to her with affection during their breaks. “Aunty” in Indian culture often denotes respect and warmth, a term for an elder who feels like family. Sanjana embraces it wholeheartedly.
“My family isn’t limited to blood relations,” she explains. “These books have given me a larger family—the readers, the dreamers, the creators. Many who bought books from me as kids are now IAS or IPS officers. They come back not just for books, but for blessings and to share their successes. It makes me feel like I’ve contributed to their journeys.”
At the World Book Fair, Sanjana’s stall stands as a testament to her enduring spirit. While other exhibitors lure crowds with discounts, celebrity appearances, and multimedia setups, hers relies on authenticity. Books are stacked neatly on wooden shelves, with handwritten notes recommending titles. The lighting is basic, just enough to highlight the covers without overwhelming the senses. Visitors, tired of the fair’s sensory overload, find solace here.
“It’s like stepping into a quieter world,” says one regular, a young writer named Aarav. “Aunty doesn’t push sales; she asks what you’re passionate about and suggests accordingly. You leave with a book that feels personal.”
The fair, which runs from morning till evening, sees throngs of people pouring in. Families with children in tow, students clutching notebooks, and elders reminiscing about old favorites—all converge at Pragati Maidan. Sanjana’s spot becomes a hub for meaningful interactions.
She shares anecdotes from her Mandi House days, discusses the evolution of Hindi literature, and even offers advice to budding authors. “In a digital age, where everything is instant, books remind us to slow down,” she muses. “They build empathy, spark imagination. That’s why I do this—not for money, but to keep that flame alive.”
Her philosophy extends beyond selling. Sanjana believes in accessibility. She often gives discounts to students or donates books to local libraries. During the pandemic, when physical stalls were impossible, she adapted by curating online lists and delivering books personally. “Challenges come, but passion endures,” she says. Her family supports her fully; her husband occasionally joins her at the stall, engaging in debates with customers, while her children proudly share her story on social media.
Sanjana’s life is a reminder that success isn’t measured by grandeur but by impact. In a city like Delhi, where ambition often overshadows simplicity, she stands out as a role model. Women, especially, draw inspiration from her—balancing family, education, and a vocation driven by love. “I never imagined I’d be known as ‘Kitab Wali Aunty’,” she laughs. “But it’s the greatest honor. It means I’ve touched lives through books.”
As the sun sets over the fairgrounds, casting long shadows on the stalls, Sanjana packs up with the same quiet efficiency she’s honed over decades. The crowds thin, but the conversations linger in the minds of those who’ve visited. Her story is one of quiet revolution—a woman who turned a passion into a legacy, proving that in the world of literature, the simplest voices often resonate the loudest.
In an Age of Screens and Algorithms, Real Books Still Shine Brightest
In an era dominated by e-books and algorithms, Sanjana Tiwari’s dedication to physical books and personal connections feels revolutionary. She bridges generations, fostering a love for reading that transcends trends. As one visitor puts it, “In her stall, you don’t just buy a book; you gain a piece of wisdom.” Indeed, “Kitab Wali Aunty” isn’t just a nickname; it’s a tribute to a life woven with the threads of stories, one page at a time.
ADVT
