Paper trail

Reading the newspaper first thing in the morning was a mandatory habit in my family when I was growing up. Actually, that is not strictly true. Picking up the daily paper from the garden, where the delivery boy threw it at the crack of dawn was more urgent. Whoever surfaced earlier was entitled to the entire broadsheet. It was like “the winner takes it all, the loser standing small” kind of scenario. 

I was never an early riser, so by the time I got my chance to read the paper; it had passed through several hands. The tea or coffee stains, however discreet, gave away the identity of the previous readers. Still, on the rare occasions that I woke up before daybreak I would grab the crisp newspaper eagerly. It usually happened when I had to catch a morning flight, but if I got the opportunity I would make full use of it. 

There were very few things in the world that could compare to the utter joy of reading a crisp newspaper. The crinkling sound that was made when you opened it up, the soothing smell of the newsprint, the witty headlines urging you to read the content, the international and domestic news, the opinion pieces that made you ponder, the matrimonial columns that made you smile, the sports section that congratulated a win or trashed a loss, the gardening, motoring and film reviews, the word jumble puzzle, the comic strip and the obituary page. To read it from cover to cover uninterrupted, with no family member asking for the inside sheets to be handed to them simultaneously, was pure delight. 

Whenever I travelled abroad, I also enjoyed reading the newspapers that were published by the host countries. The format, which was presented differently by them, was always interesting as stories were offered from their domestic and nationalistic points of view. Sometimes, two or three newspapers printed in the same city focused on the identical news but from a completely diverse perspective. It was remarkable to see how the paper trails attempted to lead the reader to believing in their version of the fact. 

Surprisingly, the youth of today do not read newspapers. They don’t have the time or the inclination to do so. They listen to bits of news on the television or read the headlines on their smartphones while commuting from one place to another. It is no wonder that the future of the newspaper industry is in serious jeopardy. The circulations have dropped to such an extent that most of them are striving to survive on a skeletal staff.

Yet, folks of my generation like to read the broadsheet. They also believe that whatever appears in print is the gospel truth. 

My own mother force-fed me spoonsful of the vomit inducing fish liver oil for several years because a newspaper report claimed that it was beneficial for both my eyesight and pimples.

“Cod liver oil is not good for the eyes after all,” she said in dismay one day, looking up from the paper she was reading.

“Don’t believe everything you read mom,” I replied.

“It’s written here, see?” she showed me the newspaper.

“Check the byline,” I urged.

“Your name is printed on top. You wrote this?” she was aghast.

“It seems like,” I laughed.

“You made it up? Your skin is clear,” she stressed.

“But my eyesight is not,” I argued removing my spectacles.

“I will fix it, wait,” she warned.