<p>The internet has become the recourse and sole source of news and views for a Delhiite consequent to the absence of almost all the dailies from March 22, better known as the historic Sunday of ‘<span class="italic">Taalis-Thalis</span>’ (let alone my ‘<span class="italic">jeb</span> being <span class="italic">khali</span>’). Despite the marvel of information and communication technology (ICT) that heralded the internet, switching on the system for the online connection and later craning my neck to glance at the headlines and if interesting, to read the text on the monitor of my PC has been a cumbersome exercise.</p>.<p>What I have missed primarily is the delight of reclining on my chair outside the front door, leisurely flipping the crispy pages of the newspapers. Apart from this easy loll, the other loss has been my first love of attempting the crosswords.</p>.<p>For a glimpse of the romance of reading a newspaper, one must visit southern India, Tamil Nadu in particular. A common scenario every morning is either the <span class="italic">thatha</span> (grandpa), <span class="italic">app</span>a (father) or <span class="italic">mama</span> (uncle) clad in a traditional spotless white <span class="italic">vesthi (dhoti</span>) and in tune with one’s religious sect, sporting a dash of <span class="italic">vibhuti</span> (sacred ash) or the perpendicular lines of <span class="italic">namam</span> across the forehead.</p>.<p>Plump on an easy-chair in the verandah, he raises his eyebrows at the front page headlines alongside sipping aromatic filter coffee from a tiny stainless steel tumbler while a radio from one of the inner rooms airs a <span class="italic">kriti</span> penned by some <span class="italic">dikshitar</span> of yore. Invariably, this rendition is by the one and only MS or MLV. Often it could also be the recitation of <span class="italic">Venkatesha Suprabhatam</span>. Similar is the legend of newspaper addicts in other parts, the sole difference being the provincial language.</p>.<p>Alas, these days, with the massive strides witnessed in technology, the above narrative may sound like a fairy tale. We are amidst some scientific innovation or the other for every notion and action. The invigorating filtered brew in the mornings has been eclipsed by instant coffee. Elsewhere, instead of a chubby off-spring in the family from conjugal ties, you have the test-tube baby. Obsessed by the modes of e-mail, both the male and female species in our society have become allergic to writing and dropping even a postcard in the red box to taunt oldies like me with the quip: Look into your inbox. Indeed, in all walks of life, every deed including personal interaction is based on ICT, popularly named digital. Figures of speech, both conversational and assorted expressions of delight or gloom, rely on digital vocabulary and signs.</p>
<p>The internet has become the recourse and sole source of news and views for a Delhiite consequent to the absence of almost all the dailies from March 22, better known as the historic Sunday of ‘<span class="italic">Taalis-Thalis</span>’ (let alone my ‘<span class="italic">jeb</span> being <span class="italic">khali</span>’). Despite the marvel of information and communication technology (ICT) that heralded the internet, switching on the system for the online connection and later craning my neck to glance at the headlines and if interesting, to read the text on the monitor of my PC has been a cumbersome exercise.</p>.<p>What I have missed primarily is the delight of reclining on my chair outside the front door, leisurely flipping the crispy pages of the newspapers. Apart from this easy loll, the other loss has been my first love of attempting the crosswords.</p>.<p>For a glimpse of the romance of reading a newspaper, one must visit southern India, Tamil Nadu in particular. A common scenario every morning is either the <span class="italic">thatha</span> (grandpa), <span class="italic">app</span>a (father) or <span class="italic">mama</span> (uncle) clad in a traditional spotless white <span class="italic">vesthi (dhoti</span>) and in tune with one’s religious sect, sporting a dash of <span class="italic">vibhuti</span> (sacred ash) or the perpendicular lines of <span class="italic">namam</span> across the forehead.</p>.<p>Plump on an easy-chair in the verandah, he raises his eyebrows at the front page headlines alongside sipping aromatic filter coffee from a tiny stainless steel tumbler while a radio from one of the inner rooms airs a <span class="italic">kriti</span> penned by some <span class="italic">dikshitar</span> of yore. Invariably, this rendition is by the one and only MS or MLV. Often it could also be the recitation of <span class="italic">Venkatesha Suprabhatam</span>. Similar is the legend of newspaper addicts in other parts, the sole difference being the provincial language.</p>.<p>Alas, these days, with the massive strides witnessed in technology, the above narrative may sound like a fairy tale. We are amidst some scientific innovation or the other for every notion and action. The invigorating filtered brew in the mornings has been eclipsed by instant coffee. Elsewhere, instead of a chubby off-spring in the family from conjugal ties, you have the test-tube baby. Obsessed by the modes of e-mail, both the male and female species in our society have become allergic to writing and dropping even a postcard in the red box to taunt oldies like me with the quip: Look into your inbox. Indeed, in all walks of life, every deed including personal interaction is based on ICT, popularly named digital. Figures of speech, both conversational and assorted expressions of delight or gloom, rely on digital vocabulary and signs.</p>