One of those days, when nothing and everything makes sense.
I hate reading the newspaper these days.( Notice the word "hate", a rare usage by me.)
The black print against white carrying news of the deads, the diseased, the impoverished ,the raped..why and how are we supposed to cope up with that every single day? A sensible part of me understands that these things need to be reported because people getting up alive, as a social and moral ritual, need to know what's been happening around the globe and out in their own neighbourhoods. That, we are all part of the system who have either direct or indirect, causal or effectual relationship with these events. But nevertheless, starting my day with stories that fill me up disgust, grief and a shitload of helplessness, has started appearing futile to me.
As long as I can remember, ever since i started understanding formed paragraphs and began grasping the know-hows of the world , i have been fond of reading newspapers. It started out, as most other kinds, with reserved focus on the 'lighter pages'. We used to have this "HT kids" every tuesday in the newspaper and i would look forward to soaking my mind in its simple stories, innocent debates and crayon- paintings. Before that, around the time Iwas in second/third grade, hindi newspaper used to be the deal in the house. And though, I wasn't mature enough to understand most of it, I did flip through them like the elders around me. Goes unsaid, newspapers meant 'something' .
In the later part of my school life, newspapers became a more integral, a much more personal affair. Late nights were my favourite part of the day and I would religiously dedicate them to newspapers. Sprawled on my study table, the newsprint was the world's personal diary to me,an array of letters sent in from far flung corners. And a blueprint of the world I was to enter once I finished school. By then, I had shifted loyalties from headlines and lighter pages to editorials and opinions (sunday sentiments by veer sanghavi, counterpoint by rajdeep sardesai, devil's advocate by karan thapar topped my list of favourites! ) and till this day, the folder i made cutting out articles from newspapers forms one of my most cherished possesssions. And deep down, I knew I wanted to write. Be a journalist/ a writer may be..
It must have been my flaw of perception then, or maybe a laspe of memory now, but newspapers then did never make me feel the way they do now. The journalist dream is off the table - yes, I am nostalgic about this one dream but honestly, not regretting. I have seen at least some of the world firsthand by now. The failing machinery and the absolute lawlessness, evokes transient anger but the empathy of yesteryears is missing.And so is the trust in the truths of these newspapers.
Evidently enough, it's actually my intense dislike for the present world that is blotting out all positive feelings i used to have for newspapers. Call me an escapist if you will, but why should I read these gory stories every morning ? They keep me informed, yeah, but of what? Time to give them up till I figure out.
