<p class="bodytext">The period from the 1940s to the 1960s saw the prominence of many newspapers, both in Kannada and English. Among the popular English newspapers of those days were the Deccan Herald, The Hindu, The Times of India, and the Indian Express, and in Kannada, Prajavani and Thaayi Naadu held sway.</p>.<p class="bodytext">The English newspapers cost a princely 1 to 2 Annas, and the more-affordable Kannada ones cost half Anna to one Anna. Each family had their own favourite newspaper and fiercely defended their choice. Not everyone could afford a daily dose of news; many settled for the weekend editions only. Those less fortunate found solace in the common reading rooms found in all localities of Bengaluru, like the one near our house in Shankarapuram called Yuvakara Sanga. These rooms were typically vacant sheds, like those used to park cars.</p>.<p class="bodytext">Reading rooms, housing all the newspapers for the public to read free of charge, were furnished sparsely with a large centre table and a few ordinary benches around it. They were a haven for retired men, as societal norms discouraged women from freely mingling in such public spaces. The struggle for newspaper real estate was real—as the readers outnumbered newspapers, pages separated, vanished, or were securely ‘locked’ down by vigilant reading room caretakers.</p>.<p class="bodytext">Youngsters sought job opportunities in the wanted columns, sports enthusiasts devoured the latest match stats, and seniors delved into political news or scanned matrimonial columns for potential family additions.</p>.<p class="bodytext">The newspapers had distinct personalities. The Hindu flaunted flawless English and daily astrological predictions; The Times of India showcased R K Laxman’s political cartoon on the front page; The Indian Express provided opposing political views; and Deccan Herald was the youth’s go-to for sports, crosswords, and local cinema buzz.</p>.<p class="bodytext">As for Kannada papers, they held their own with a generous dose of local flavour. But I could not understand why Kannada newspapers had poor-quality paper. I say this with authority, as the old newspaper buyer paid less for Kannada papers and shopkeepers refused to give them a new lease of life. In those pre-plastic bag days, provision shops crafted cones out of old newspapers to pack rice, wheat, ragi, pulses, or sugar. No plastic or brown-paper bags, just newspaper cones tightly bound with thin threads.</p>.<p class="bodytext">Beyond the newsprint’s destiny as a source of information and paper cones, old newspapers found new life. They morphed into kites soaring high in the sky, book covers, and a torch to kindle fire in the kitchen and bathroom stoves. In a time without gas stoves and regular electricity, the humble newspaper was a versatile companion, illuminating both minds and hearths. Ah, the nostalgia of bygone days!</p>
<p class="bodytext">The period from the 1940s to the 1960s saw the prominence of many newspapers, both in Kannada and English. Among the popular English newspapers of those days were the Deccan Herald, The Hindu, The Times of India, and the Indian Express, and in Kannada, Prajavani and Thaayi Naadu held sway.</p>.<p class="bodytext">The English newspapers cost a princely 1 to 2 Annas, and the more-affordable Kannada ones cost half Anna to one Anna. Each family had their own favourite newspaper and fiercely defended their choice. Not everyone could afford a daily dose of news; many settled for the weekend editions only. Those less fortunate found solace in the common reading rooms found in all localities of Bengaluru, like the one near our house in Shankarapuram called Yuvakara Sanga. These rooms were typically vacant sheds, like those used to park cars.</p>.<p class="bodytext">Reading rooms, housing all the newspapers for the public to read free of charge, were furnished sparsely with a large centre table and a few ordinary benches around it. They were a haven for retired men, as societal norms discouraged women from freely mingling in such public spaces. The struggle for newspaper real estate was real—as the readers outnumbered newspapers, pages separated, vanished, or were securely ‘locked’ down by vigilant reading room caretakers.</p>.<p class="bodytext">Youngsters sought job opportunities in the wanted columns, sports enthusiasts devoured the latest match stats, and seniors delved into political news or scanned matrimonial columns for potential family additions.</p>.<p class="bodytext">The newspapers had distinct personalities. The Hindu flaunted flawless English and daily astrological predictions; The Times of India showcased R K Laxman’s political cartoon on the front page; The Indian Express provided opposing political views; and Deccan Herald was the youth’s go-to for sports, crosswords, and local cinema buzz.</p>.<p class="bodytext">As for Kannada papers, they held their own with a generous dose of local flavour. But I could not understand why Kannada newspapers had poor-quality paper. I say this with authority, as the old newspaper buyer paid less for Kannada papers and shopkeepers refused to give them a new lease of life. In those pre-plastic bag days, provision shops crafted cones out of old newspapers to pack rice, wheat, ragi, pulses, or sugar. No plastic or brown-paper bags, just newspaper cones tightly bound with thin threads.</p>.<p class="bodytext">Beyond the newsprint’s destiny as a source of information and paper cones, old newspapers found new life. They morphed into kites soaring high in the sky, book covers, and a torch to kindle fire in the kitchen and bathroom stoves. In a time without gas stoves and regular electricity, the humble newspaper was a versatile companion, illuminating both minds and hearths. Ah, the nostalgia of bygone days!</p>