Like the ribbon inside this underground train that reads “Ladies Only”, the cover of the book in its only burqa-clad passenger’s hands is pink. ‘A Woman Is No Man’ — the fictional story of a teenage Arab woman resisting an arranged marriage — has transported Sumaiyya Momin to Palestine during her 15-minute, air-conditioned afternoon ride from Hutatma Chowk to Shri Jagannath Shankarseth station on the Aqua Line. “It’s by a Palestinian author,” she says, smiling through her veil. “The book was gifted by my sister long ago. I have been able to read it now as this is the only time I get to read. Unlike local trains, there’s no network and no crowd here.” Mahek Chaudhury, a TYBMM student, is currently reading a desi romance, ‘Red Flags and Rishtas’, which is following ‘The Forty Rules of Love’ and ‘The Palace of Illusions’. But the Metro is only one node in a wider ecosystem. After a knee injury left her bedridden two years ago, Charvi Garg began visiting a park in Versova with a book, seeking relief from “doom scrolling” and isolation. What began as solitude turned into community. Starting with just two people — herself and her father — her reading group now draws 20 to 40 participants per session. They gather on park benches, each absorbed in their own book, sharing a companionable silence. “Not always you’re in the mood to read,” says Garg. “But seeing others read pushes you for another page or two.” Over time, the group has evolved — bonding over book discussions, board games, theatre outings and potlucks. At its core, Garg says, the philosophy is simple: “There’s no entry fee. Human connection shouldn’t be commercialised.” Bookstores are completing the picture. India’s book retail ecosystem has seen steady demand, with independent stores and discount chains reporting consistent footfall post-pandemic. Rinkush Nagda, area operations manager at Bargain Book Hut, has noticed younger readers arriving with requests for specific titles recommended online, while children under nine gravitate toward books based on TV characters. Discovery begins on a screen — but the act of reading finds its way offline. The physical bookstore, too, has quietly repositioned itself as a third space too: a place to browse, linger, belong. What connects these spaces — Metro car, park bench, bookstore aisle — is that they offer something increasingly rare: uninterrupted time that feels legitimate. For many readers, particularly women, this matters acutely. Reading coach Reeta Gupta recalls a four-day workshop that drew around 1,300 women each day. Over 80% said reading fiction at home was often dismissed as unproductive. “They are constantly interrupted or asked to do something ‘useful’,” she says. “Many became commute readers because of this.” The third space, in this reading, is not just convenient — it is quietly emancipatory. Gupta is cautious about overstating the infrastructure argument. Even without Wi-Fi, many stay glued to their phones. “The internet has profoundly reshaped how we acquire information,” she says. “A quick search makes us seem informed — but the motivation to learn more is missing.” Still, she believes the stakes are real. “A world without books won’t be a great world. Reading is not an advantage we should give up.” “Mumbai may not be giving people more time,” says Nirav Mehta, founder of the book club Broke Bibliophiles, “but it is offering micro-moments. Readers are learning to use these small pockets effectively.” Metro compartments, parks, bookstores, even the Gen Z post office at IIT-B — they are becoming temporary sanctuaries where reading can happen collectively, even for those without quiet space at home.
