[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]Some stories stay with you. They live in your imagination and become a part of you. One such story was Goopi Gayne Bagha Bayne, a delightful tale I first heard from my aunt, Prabha Atya.
She would read to me from Marathi storybooks we would buy from the local stationery shop, slim offset printed books with two-colour illustrations. The book-buying was a ritual I looked forward to, we would go to the tiny shop on the busy road opposite my grandfather’s old four-storied Wada. One couldn’t enter the shop but had to stand on the street and ask for whatever one wanted. Dhumne Master’s store was painted blue and he had many jars of sweets and candy, pencils, erasers, notebooks, small diaries, schoolbooks, storybooks, sharpeners and little plastic toys.