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Last night it was TATA’s everywhere. They won the Corus deal but analysis and then over analysis continued till morning. Not only the pinkies but the dailies as well wrote about the Tata legacy, Indian Global foray and so on. (Here I’m in no mood to put links, but the masthead of Economic Times was the most interesting one).
Anyhow, the reason I’m writing about this is that once again I was awake the whole night. Why? Well, one of the reason was that I had to catch the newspaper vendor. To cut a long story short. Since the time I have shifted here, I wasn’t getting a single paper.
Now it has been centuries since I’ve ventured out early mornings. But, to my surprise nothing has changed. The school children can be still seen waiting for their school bus, while their mothers stuffing paranthas(a kind of chappati) in their mouths. A few oldies strolling the nearby park. Men coming home with milk packets and asking their neighbours to hurry up, otherwise the stock will get over. And the unlucky ones, who don’t have their private toilets, lining up impatiently at the public lavatory. Funny! Something’s never change.

So after a undergoing a few rounds of my locality, I found the paperwallah (newspaper vendor). My conversation with him was short, perhaps a few words. If you are a sensible person, you’ll never argue, explain or ask for a favour from a newspaperwallah in the morning. I bet he is more busy then the PM of India. So, I just gave him my address and asked him to come after he his done with the distribution. He showed up at my door after an hour. At that time I was watching CNBC Business and ruing the fact that why wasn’t I born in the family of Tata’s, Amabnis’, Mittal’s (any 1) or even Ruia’s or Biyani’s. God (if there is any) has been unjust to me. After all if I don’t deserve success on my own he could have made me a glorified unsuccessful example.

Well, the newspaperwallah was in no mood to hear my woes. He meant business. So, I immediately told him that I need three newspapers. 2 Pinks and 1 daily. The condition of my room is inversely proportional to the job which I’m in. Though my salary isn’t anything to boast about. But still, when you’re living for free at your relative's place ( my uncle’s house who is in MEA and have been posted in Sudan) you’re expected to maintain some decent living. Anyhow, before he can ask me, whether I was sure, what I need is what I asked for, I showed my subscription card for one of the pinkies.

The one that I asked for is launched today — HT Mint. It’s a business newspaper from one of the oldest publication houses of India. And unlike other business papers it’s not a broadsheet nor pink in colour. The paperwallah suddenly got nostalgic, when he came to know that I’ve subscribed for Mint. By no signs he was any old of age. But he insisted on explaining me how the size and state of newspapers have changed. All this do makes him a fierce competitor for the editor’s post. He knew that papers world over have been adapting the new format. But he was wondering at the ever-growing pages. His trouble was that people have started living in the sky. And mind me, to be a good newspaperwallah, you need to have a good arm. Much better than that of Sachin. Not only that, a good aim saves the precious time. I must say our cricket guru Mr. Chappel can ask these guys to help our men-in-blue. After all when our dabbawallahs can teach someting to Prince Charles, our newspaperswallah can be of help on throwing, aiming and so on.

Now since he had only copy left and that too MINT, I was kind of lucky. Reason, I wouldn’t have liked that I lose even one day of my subscription after all you can’t cut it from the money you’ll give to him at the end of month. I devoured the whole paper in half an hour and developed my views. In the afternoon, when I reached office everybody was writing off MINT. I wondered if I had made the right choice by subscribing to it. Don’t know, may be in a few days I’ll have a better understanding. And besides that newspapers serves various purpose for me — Like when I eat on my bed, I can put my food on them. If water spills on the floor instead of mopping, a day’s old newspaper comes handy. And, of course at the end of each month they become a reason to fight with kabadiwallah.

Finally I slept at 9 in the morning only to be woken up by a call after a few hours. A call. Sometimes it becomes a reason not to sleep and sometimes that wakes you up. The night was unsuccessful, the morning nostalgic, the afternoon confused, the evening a bit hazy and now I am wondering, will the cycle repeat? I guess it will, being unsuccessful is a part of me. But this time....I will embrace it. And if it takes away my sleep, let it be so. After all, there would be something to read tomorrow.