Real life rarely happened to him. He visited no one. All his regular day to day visitors and buyers were expertly handled by his three loyal and hard working French assistants.

Sometimes his assistants would suggest to him that a good collection of non fiction, health and self-help books would boost sales ten fold.

Every time the idea was put up, he would thunder away the nascent drops of hope from his assistant's minds with a stubborn No! that echoed around the empty walls of his bookstore to the winding roads and the hills below.

He would not give in to even the faintest thought of diversification.

His experience in the early years of his life as a janitor during the Second World War in Germany had scarred him. For 40 years now, he had been living the peaceful life of a book store owner. Frugality and social isolation
ruled his life.

George lived magnetized by the written word. Not for him the pleasures of daily soaps on television. Written words left his imagination free to take off on tours of ethereal landscapes and sublimely beautiful women.

During his word adventures, Brick would look at him curiously through half closed eyes, before resuming his slumber.

The most remarkable thing about George was that here was a book store owner in Paris having been in the trade for 40 years who had never set his eyes on a non fiction book.

George's loyalty to fiction was fierce and extreme. In George's world to even look at a non fiction book with admiration or longing was treachery.

Meanwhile his assistants had had enough. They decided on a plan of action.

So, it was that on one hot sunny afternoon, George received a parcel. An elegantly worded letter, addressed him as Sir George Wisefeather and kindly invited him to review a beautiful work of fiction from a promising new novelist titled, "Leaves from a flower ".

As George Wisefeather read it. His eyes misted as he was once again caught up in the torments and passion of life's experiences - this time it was about a gardener's romance with flowers.

Then, when he reached the end of the book, a small booklet felt out from the jacket of the book. Curious, he opened it...and there he saw the conversation from the book continued...as the gardener described his garden in vivid detail, the kinds of flowers that grew and their growth requirements. As he turned over the last page of the tiny booklet, a small packet containing seeds for five different flowers popped out into his hands.

For the first time in his life, one of his fictional characters had actually come alive - stepped into 3 dimensional spaces of his life and world, so to say. One person from the thousands of people with whom he had cried and laughed for 40 years had actually jumped out of the pages of the book and offered him something to validate those experiences.

It moved George like nothing in his life had. He wanted to test it out to see if every experience that Frederick the gardener had described would actually happen to him. He knew he was being silly. That was after all a work of fiction and this - the seeds in his hand were reality. He shook himself for his childish sense of curiosity...but he just couldn't help it.

That day, he drove to the market, to buy the most expensive gardening tools.

For seven days a week, at six in the morning, he would be there out in the garden - plowing the soil, planting seeds and watering them with loving care. Soon, they were ready to bloom.

Meanwhile, many birds, wild animals and some teenagers in his neighbourhood had all been eyeing his flowers. One fateful day, before noon - before George could reach his garden in time to witness the dazzling sight of seeing all his flowers in full bloom, a desolate landscape awaited him. Not a single flower was there on a single bush.

Hurt and pained, George walked slowly back to his book store - stooping more than he normally did. Brick who normally accompanied him in his walks to the garden and back today did not return back with him.

That night, George saw Brick run in and out of the house several times in the night. He felt hurt by Brick's behaviour too! the first time that he hadn't curled up beside him for a good night's sleep.

That morning, Brick did not accompany him. Feeling lonely, he clutched his book, "Leaves from a flower" close to his chest. Just then, a small bookmark caught between the pages grabbed his attention. It said, Category - Non Fiction.

As he walked into the garden, still reeling from the shock of knowing that he had actually enjoyed the pleasures of reading a non fiction book - from a distance, he saw the garden ablaze with a riot of colours.

How can it be? he asked himself? Only yesterday, he had seen every single flower and bud that was about to bloom had been plucked away. May be he had imagined all that had happened. He was not sure anymore.

As he came closer to the garden, George saw that the bright flowers were all of Brick's soft toys colourfully lined up on the branches...a bright red mouse here, a cheerful yellow bird there...a purple beetle in the corner...