The Journey of a Newspaper

Dehra Dun was once a popular destination for those heading into retirement and looking for a place to settle down. Following the trend, my father also bought a piece of land and built a house on the outskirts of Dehra Dun after his retirement from the Army in the late sixties. It was a small quaint village near Haridwar road amidst fertile fields. The houses were few and scattered. Located about seven km from the Clock Tower, it had piped water supply and a 16-foot-wide approach lane in the name of amenities.

My father, an avid newspaper reader, missed his daily dose of news as the newspaper hawker didn’t venture into the village. Enquiries revealed that the last place the hawker visited was near Lala ji’s shop. It was about 1 km from our residence. The hawker, a hard-working lean Sardar ji, did not find it prudent to cover extra km on his bicycle for just one customer but proposed to drop our copy at the shop. My father had no choice and readily agreed. The Lala ji, also a retired Army personnel, happily agreed to receive it.

The newspaper subscribed to was the Hindi daily ‘Hindustan’ published from Delhi. It used to cost 11 paisa initially and gradually increased to 13, 15, 17 - - paisa over time. The hawker delivered newspaper between 2 and 4 PM as he covered a large expanse before coming to our locality. During monsoons, the delivery used to be erratic as Dehra Dun receives very heavy downpours. Besides that, the Rispana, a seasonal river, was another impediment as its swarming water used to inundate Haridwar road during heavy rains, as it had yet to get a bridge.

It was my (a grade schooler) job to collect the newspaper in the evening. And I did this job with gusto as I was allowed to use father’s cycle for this purpose. Mostly, at my approach, the Lala ji would realise that he had not read the newspaper. Holding the newspaper in his hands, he would gently ask me to wait for a few minutes besides looking for his spectacles. Generally, it was not easy to locate the spectacles and a frenetic hunt would ensue that engaged his entire family. Once in possession of the spectacles, the newspaper attracted his complete attention, oblivious of the customer’s and my presence. Ultimately, the customers’ consistent pleadings for the delivery of provisions will come to my rescue. While handing over the newspaper, he would mutter, “do not even let go through headlines”. Sometime, my stay would extend further if one of the customers was interested in the news. However, the Lala ji was a kind soul and occasionally offered sweet-meat to me.

At home, every second of delay would fuel the temper of the father. On my arrival, he would invariably ask about the cause of the delay without bothering to listen the reply, as the very next second, he would be engrossed in the newspaper in the faint light of the lantern.

With the passage of time, the winds of change also swept our little hamlet. A number of houses took place of the green fields. Sensing the economy of scale, newspaper hawkers also appeared on the scene and newspaper became available at our doorstep.

The turn of events not only snapped the daily link with the Lala ji but also cut my occasional source of sweat-meat