It’s a nippy December morning and the Hauz Khas ruins are witness to a small gathering. Over a dozen people are there with paperbacks, diaries, Macbooks on laps, sitting on the damp grass. The incessant chatter of the parakeets isn’t a bother, these poetry lovers are discussing magic realism, the Romantic poets, Alexander Pope, Ghalib. A young poet recites an ode to the dead children of Peshawar, another a love song to his muse. It’s past noon and members of the Poetry Club are still trickling in. It’s one of the many book clubs blooming in the city and nationwide. In the national capital area, if you live in the Gurgaon area you can hang out with the Mums At Work book club, in Chennai there’s the Madras Book Club. And it takes in all kinds, if there’s an all-women’s book club in Chandigarh, then a Queer Book Club is active in Mumbai. The basic ritual, however, is the same: a small group gets together every few weeks to discuss pre-assigned titles.