Representative image of newspaper.
Credit: iStock Photo
If there is heaven and hell, I have at least one reason to prefer the latter. It is because hell is sure to have newspapers around, which heaven may not, because with only happiness all around, it would be a reporter’s hell.
I was barely five when, in 1966, my recently married uncle and aunt took me to live with them in Lucknow. The uncle got me admitted to a nearby primary school, and the aunt followed up on my progress at home. My aunt insisted on reading aloud the headlines of the Hindi newspaper Hindustan to improve my reading skills.
Was it because of her loving attention and encouragement, or the sounds of words and the secrets they unravelled? I cannot say, but I took to reading newspapers very early.
I was in the ninth standard in the Hindi medium at a school in Bikaner. We were taken to the school library during free periods, and there would be a rush for the few Hindi periodicals available there. I would be left with an English newspaper, which nobody had any interest in.
Though I understood little of what I read, I became familiar with the words and the syntax. It helped me do well in English, a subject that competed with math to spoil exam results.
Newspapers opened many a window for me through which I could see and absorb the world outside of my small sphere. They also gave me a rather solid footing in general knowledge and current affairs. They came in handy later in cracking many competitive exams. Moreover, I felt personally and intimately connected to the events of our time.
On joining the IPS, my bond with newspapers grew stronger. For one, I had to keep abreast of what was going on in the area under my charge, and crime reporting was of particular interest. So, local dailies were added to my repertoire of national dailies. Though reading criticism about police first thing in the morning was unpalatable, the attention bestowed by the local press on the police chief was welcome.
My relationship with newspapers rose to a different level when, around 2002, I started writing for them. Beginning with a weekly column on the city page of a national daily to the middles and an occasional op-ed, the journey was fascinating. This had to end as I climbed the echelons in the police hierarchy, which left me with little time for either reading a newspaper or writing for them.
But now, in the autumn of my life post retirement, it is springtime again in my romance with newspapers. With the smell of ink, the rustle of the crisp pages, and a world of news and stories to soak up, “bliss is it to be with a newspaper but to see one’s article therein is very heaven.” Thank you, William Wordsworth, for lending a lovely line.