It was a sad day for bibliophiles across the country when on February 28 this year the iconic Mumbai bookshop, Strand Book Stall, off Sir Pherozeshah Mehta Road, downed its shutters for the last time. Strand, as it was popularly known, had been a Mecca for booklovers for more than six decades, drawing into its cramped but hospitable interiors both layman and the famous alike. Students with tight budgets, industrialists like J.R.D. Tata, statesmen like Jawaharlal Nehru, intellectuals like Narayana Murthy, all felt equally at home in this tiny store run by the gentle T.N. Shanbagh, who passed away in 2009, after nurturing bookworms of several generations.

Even as they mourned its shutdown, Strand's erstwhile regulars recalled the special moments they had spent here. The 30-year-old who had walked out of Strand when she was all of eight with a bag of Enid Blytons; the senior citizen who had bought a prized book at bargain price; the naturalist who had come up-on a rare book on hill birds... Each person has specific memories of their favourite bookshop.

Having lost his father at a very young age, Shanbagh had had to fund his education through scholarships. He knew what it felt like not to have enough money to buy a coveted book. Surviving on a monthly scholarship of Rs 12, it had taken him all of two years to save enough for the Complete Works of Swa-mi Vivekananda. Thus, he did what, perhaps, no other bookseller did - he gave a generous 20 per cent discount to his buyers, keeping for himself a minimal percentage.

As a child, Shanbagh was a voracious reader. He made the most of his village school library near Mangalore, devouring all he could lay his hands on. Later, it was the St. Xavier's College library in Mumbai (then Bombay) that saw him poring over Aristotle and Plato.

The desire to open a bookshop took root when a rude salesman at a bookshop ticked him off for browsing the shelves. At that humiliating moment he had no idea how he would fulfil this dream but he started putting away every anna he could towards doing so.

Inspiration struck when he went to see a film at Strand Cinema in a by-lane of south Mumbai's Colaba. Noticing there was space in the lobby for a kiosk, the young graduate gathered courage to approach the theatre-owner with a proposal - he wanted to put up a bookstall there. That's how the stall got its name - from the cinema.

Impressed with the youngster's enthusiasm, the owner let him put up a few shelves. By then, Shanbagh had saved a princely sum of Rs 450 with which he bought his first consignment of books. The first book he sold on the day his stall opened - November 28, 1948 - was The Memoirs of Sir Winston Churchill. With this first sale Shanbagh's business got off to a flying start.

Shanbagh's intimate knowledge of books combined with the generous discount he gave his clients saw him building up a base of ardent booklovers like himself.

When the kiosk could no longer cater to their growing demand, Shanbagh rented the shop off P.M. Road, where bright-eyed children and bespectacled grey-heads could bury their noses in books without any rude salesman hustling them.

The popularity of Strand continued to grow. And once Shanbagh's daughter, Vidya Virkar, joined the trade, it expanded its footprints and opened campus stores at Infosys Bangalore, Pune, Hyderabad. An annual festival of books came to be held in a large hall in Mumbai. But even the hall seemed inadequate as hordes of eager beavers embarked on their annual book-buying pilgrimage from distant suburbs all the way to south Mumbai.

Year after year, Shanbagh and his team undertook this gargantuan exercise, unaffected by the fact that more glamorous bookshops were now mushrooming all over the city.

In 2009, this doughty promoter of reading passed away.

Even as Shanbagh's son Arun and daughter were coping with this loss, another tragedy struck - the onslaught of digital technology. When giants such as Flipkart and Amazon lured away the young generation of readers, there was no way that Shanbagh's legacy could continue. As Vidya pointed out in one interview, techies looked for titles in Strand outlets and then placed orders for them with Flipkart.

Five years ago, she did the inevitable. She shut the branches in the other cities. The one in Mumbai continued to stand, a lonely sentinel battling tech times.

But it was a tough fight. "We could run the stores only from the money we earned through the sale of books. When that stopped happening, we had no option but to close shop," explained Vidya as we stood outside the Mumbai flagship store, few days before it closed down. Ironically, the shop was packed with customers awaiting the clearance sale. Shanbagh would have been happy to see them.

While Shanbagh's daughter and son kept alive their father's legacy for nine years after he passed away, another ardent bookseller, Ram Advani's landmark store in Lucknow closed down within a few months of his passing on March 9, 2016.

The shop, Ram Advani Booksellers, was opened in 1948. Months after the country won its Independence, Acharya Kripalani gave Advani space for a bookshop in the newly-opened Gandhi Ashram. Situated in Lucknow's stylish Hazratganj, Gandhi Ashram was where political stalwarts came to buy khadi, which means Advani had a ready clientele. At the time, Advani's shop was known as J. Ray and Sons, being a branch of his family's chain of bookshops in Lahore, Peshawar, Rawalpindi, Murree and Simla. However, after two years, the management hinted that he should vacate the premises.

In 1951, Advani found alternate space on the same street, in the plush Mayfair cinema building that was run by his father's friend from their Karachi days. Re-christening his shop, Ram Advani went on to sell books from this prime location for 65 long years. Mayfair screened English films and attracted the crème de la crème of Lucknow, who would drop by at Advani's shop after a movie and some cold coffee at Kwality's, both housed in the same building. As the years went by, Advani's client list expanded to include intellectuals and booklovers from different walks of life.

But Advani did much more than sell books. Customers came here not only to buy rare books but also to listen to him narrate anecdotes about Lucknow. From William Dalrymple to Ramchandra Guha, all flocked here for a tale from the past. Friendships between strangers were forged here and people bonded over a love of history.

On a visit to this erstwhile city of nawabs in 2013, I was able to re-connect with my own childhood, thanks to Advani's stories. With his guidance, I picked up several books that gave me an authentic glimpse into the city's glorious past when tehzeeb or etiquette and nazakat or elegance were an intrinsic part of everyday life.

It was two years on March 9 since this knowledgeable nawab of Hazratganj passed into that genteel past. But all those who benefited from his sparkling conversations will remember him each time they open a book bought at his suggestion.