Newspaper
The samosas in my paper package were oily and hot. Even after a double wrap, the oil seeped through the fine print of the newspaper making it impossible to find if it was from yesterday or last month.
Does anybody even read the newspaper anymore? Not in my house. There was a time when my grandfather could not start his day without a freshly minted “Ananda Bazaar Patrika” with his morning “cha.”
It’s not the same anymore. People get their news on apps like they get scratch cards/ rewards on payment apps. I’ve never had a particular fascination for the news myself. If something’s big enough, it will eventually reach me — through family, friends, or social media.
I find that a more suitable way of life.
Why do they still print newspaper? Apparently paper manufacturing emits four times more the greenhouse gases but who knows what’s right. Everything we read on the internet or the newspaper is manipulated anyway. Who can you really trust these days?
I’m glad we’ve found better uses for the newspaper.
…
I’m rushing home with my samosas when a man stops me and hands me a pamphlet.
“Excuse me sir! I am organising a rally day after tomorrow to help find my missing son. Would you please join us?,” he said pushing the thin piece of paper in my hand.
“Oh! Okay,” I said taking the paper from him. He was an old balding man with liquid eyes. On the paper, the photo of his son looked like a 35-year-old. I could see traces of the old man in this young face.
“Help us find Sushant” was in a big bold headline font. Sushant was missing since the last 4 months and the police hadn’t been much help, the man told me. Sushant left home on a rainy Monday morning to go to office but never really returned.
“He is a good boy. He isn’t like the kids these days that ignore their parents. He always returns calls, keeps us informed if he is going to be late. You know, he would often come back from office and give me a foot massage even though he was tired.”
He looked at my oil-soaked package and smiled at me.
“Often, in the evenings, he would bring back samosas from that nearby stall and we would enjoy it with a hot cup of adrak-wali chai on our little balcony over there,” he says and points upwards at the building under which we were standing.
I see the pain glistening in his eyes.
A thousand things ran through my head. It was four months and if the police couldn’t find him, how could a rally help? Would it pressurise the police to take faster action? Do these things really work?
I have always seen peaceful protests or rallies only on TV — on the news. I’ve never really been part of one. But I couldn’t bring myself to refuse the old man or tell him anything at all.
Sometimes, hope is all you have.
“I will be there,” I find myself saying. “And don’t worry, we will find Sushant,” I try to sound hopeful.
“Thank you,” he says and smiles at me.
I start to walk away, skimming through the pamphlet when I see that the location and time of the rally is missing. I had just walked a couple feet away. I turn back to ask the old man about the details but I don’t see him.
I walk back to the building under which we were talking but he just seems to have vanished in thin air.
Confused, just as I was about to leave, I see a familiar face walking down the stairs of the building. It’s the same face on the pamphlet.
It’s Sushant!
Shocked, I stop and holler at him. “Sushant!?”
“Yes?” he stops and looks at me enquiringly.
“Uh..your father just handed me this pamphlet..” — I hand him the piece of paper.
To my surprise, it wasn’t the pamphlet. It was just another page of a newspaper. Missing persons section.
“My father? How can that be possible? Is this some sort of a sick joke?,” Sushant glares at me.
“No! No..I..I just met him right here. He told me you were missing and he told me how you were such a great son and that you would have adrak-wali chai on the balcony up there?…I just..I don’t understand,” I stuttered flabbergasted.
Sushant’s eyes widened.
“How do you know all this? My father has been missing since the last 4 months. We tried looking for him but gave up a few months ago.”
“What! Why did you give up?” I was spiralling.
“We put out a missing person’s ad in the newspaper but got no leads. The police couldn’t say much either. Did you see him here?”
…
The samosas fell from underneath the soaked oil paper onto the pavement as I stood there, speechless.
