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To re-iterate the goal of this collection - sparkle a bit of fiction in your busy lives. Spend a few minutes with the people we often see around us, but never speak to.
Todayâs story is about a newspaper-boy undergoing an existential crisis. Do newspapers hold any value in todayâs world connected via the internet?
âReading time: ~6 minutes
The clueless newspaper boy
Pop! A loud sound disturbed Santosh as he was riding his bicycle. The bicycle no longer rolled smoothly. Santosh jerked a few times before getting off from the bicycles. Hurry! he said to himself.
The rear tyre of his bicycle had burst. A long, pointed nail had pierced it. With about two kilometres to go, Santosh had a long distance to cover. In the last two years, he had missed reaching on time only once, but the outrage he had faced was enough to teach him a lesson â never get late again, for whatever reason.
He looked around himself to see if he could find a repair shop. Not a single shop around him was open. Usually, he would see several intercity buses ready to depart along the road, but today, none. The street was dead apart from a few stray dogs, who were playfully wrestling with one another.
He couldnât afford to get delayed.
He sat back and tried riding the bicycle. The tyre dragged itself on the road. With a load of papers behind him, pedalling the bicycle took a herculean effort. A few minutes later, Santosh was panting. He thought of leaving his bicycle by the side of the road and asking someone for help. But he doubted if the stray dogs were capable of carrying the heavy load.
He continued walking and dragging the bicycle along with himself. He had earphones plugged into his ears narrating the daily news. The news on the radio seemed unrelated to his life. There was a bus strike, some local politicians conducting an anti-government rally, and some protests against a new law. Nothing that affected Santosh.
âWhy is it important to read this paper every day?â He wondered. âIf I get delayed by even ten minutes, I will be harangued. This is stupid.â Newspapers were dying. Why was it still important to deliver them? People could download news apps on their phones and get the news instantly. If not, YouTube and TV had enough channels providing live news. Why did people not watch them? Newspapers were only worth recycling, right?
Much like every other day, he continued cursing his job and his lack of wealth.
The day he had more money, he would quit his job at once and go to a cooler place â a place where summers were not as bad. He thought it was easier to bear the winters. One only needed a good quilt, a good bed, and several cups of tea. He had thought of Shimla as the ideal destination. If only he had the moneyâŠ
As he dragged his bicycle along, Santoshâs thoughts revolved around the new movies he had to watch. His phone internet connection now provided much higher data speeds, allowing him to finish entire films and web series in a single sitting. Every night, he used to watch a movie or a web show. The routine was set â deliver the newspapers in the morning, sleep until noon, then go to the nearby Udupi restaurant to work as a waiter, and come back around 8 pm to watch movies or web shows.
As thoughts of actors and actresses revolved in his mind, he reached the first apartment complex for the day. He started throwing the newspapers one after the other. In some cases, where throwing was not possible, he placed the newspaper on the door handle. In case the newspapers fell to the ground while throwing, he didnât care. He kept walking.
After throwing off twenty-one newspapers in the apartment complex, he had to go to some houses on the same street.
This was where he was expecting the most trouble for being late. The apartment residents had probably left for their jobs by now. And his fears soon came true. In one of the houses, as he was about to throw the newspaper, a lady appeared in front of him. He held back his hand, which was ready to throw the newspaper at the door.
âHello, aunty,â he said, looking at the old lady wearing a nightgown. She was looking at him with narrow eyes, which were bulging because of her bulging spectacle lenses. âHereâs your paper.â
âKya, beta,â the old lady said, âuncle left without your newspaper today. How many times have I told you, the uncle needs his newspaper at 7:00 AM every morning?â This was only the second time she was telling Santosh.
âSorry, aunty,â Santosh handed over the newspaper. âMy cycle got punctured. Where is uncle going?â
âHe is going to Hoshangabad today to meet our daughter.â
âOkay... sorry aunty.â Santosh carried on, listening to the outside world through one ear and to the radio through the earphone plugged in the other ear.
The next home had a similar story, âKya, bhaiya, why so late?â A lady said before hearing Santosh's excuse.
âBy the way, how is the atmosphere outside? Is it safe to go to work?â she asked.
âWhy, what happened?â
âDid you not hear? Thereâs a nationwide strike today. No public transport at all.â
Santosh realized why he didnât see any buses this morning. He suddenly remembered the radio jockey explaining how a few political factions were planning on creating unrest in the city. It was safe to stay home, she had said. The city was on an alert. Santosh also recollected seeing a few police cars patrolling the streets now.
His face went red.
âAunty,â he screamed at the old lady from the previous house. She was still standing near the gate, glancing at the newspaper. She had tears in her eyes while reading the first page of the newspaper.
âWhy did you send uncle out today? There are no buses or rickshaws... I also heard on the radio that there might be big political rallies,â Santosh continued.
âHow would I know, beta?â She was agitated. âIf you had delivered the newspaper in time, he might not have gone!â
âDid no one tell you that thereâs a strike? Your daughter?â
The old lady stayed silent.
âDoes he have his phone?â
âNo, he stopped carrying a phone since the last time⊠someone stole his phone. We only use it at home now. Otherwise, I keep the phone in my purse when both of us go out.â
âBut...â What is the point of a mobile phone if it is not used like one? âHow is he going to go to the bus station?â
âHe went walking. It takes about forty-five minutes from here. It is a good exercise for him. He likes walking.â
Santosh was tensed. He had newspapers to deliver, but it was he who caused this predicament for the old man.
âCan I borrow your scooter,â he asked the old ladyâs neighbour. âNo,â she said, fearing someone might thrash the scooter.
âPlease, please. Look, Iâll go and bring uncle back right away.â
âSorry, Santosh...â she said.
âHow long ago did uncle leave, aunty?â he asked.
âAbout 20 minutes ago.â
âOkay.â
Santosh parked his bicycle by the roadside, letting it lean on an electricity pole, with about twenty-five newspapers still lying on its carrier.
With his bicycle punctured, walking was faster than riding the bicycle. Santosh started sprinting. He kept pacing until the right side of his stomach had acute pain. He waited for a few seconds and started again. After almost twenty minutes of intense running, he saw the old man walking at a snailâs pace.
He screamed âUncle!â at the top of his voice. Â
During the twenty-minute run, Santosh realized that his job was an essential part of someoneâs daily life. It helped people like this old man plan their days, get their warnings, and stay updated.
He walked back with the old man, holding his small bag for him and talking to him about the recent elections. He picked his bicycle and continued delivering newspapers, this time with a broad smile on his face.
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Hemant
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