The Newspaper Boy

6.30am Monday

Marked by a prompt knock and the shuffle of newspapers, The Hindu and The Deccan Chronicle by the Newspaper Boy.

Weather is expected to be sunny, marked by clear blue skies.

I let out a huge sigh of relief. I rush to the door, a huge sense of satisfaction written all over my face, pick up my newspapers, and sit down with my cup of fresh South Indian filter coffee in the balcony. I skim through the papers quickly, spend maybe an extra couple of minutes devouring gossip about inconsequential people in my life from the pages of the Deccan Chronicle, and browse through the Hindu's Travelogues. Then the rest of the day takes over.

6.30am Tuesday

I wake up to a heavy downpour, my face marked with panic and impending disappointment. Just as I suspected, the Newspaper Boy had not made his appearance at the appointed hour. I fret and whine wondering what I missed from the Pages. The coffee does not taste as good and the day is incomplete and there is no sign of the newspapers and the Boy.The online version can never compensate for the physical touch and feel of the Hindu and the Deccan on your fingers. The feeling is almost magical when you hold the Newspapers in the early morning. This is the most satisfying part of the day - like secret lovers, the romance of the newspapers and the hands that hold them can only be felt and enjoyed, an incredibly indescribable private feeling.

The Newspaper Boy goes about his work the next day like a ritual with an offhanded explanation for the newspaper's absence.

We take his presence for granted until the usual newspaper rounds fail to appear at the doorstep. My mom and I keep pacing up and down the balcony looking for any signs of his cycle accompanied by the familiar trrrrrring, and the stacks of newspapers neatly arranged by count on his cycle carrier. We jump for joy just at the sight of the Newspaper Boy.

Neither family nor a friend, this inconsequential human being yet has the greatest influence on our lives. Life always hands out a magical realisation of the world we live in and the constant stream of people it brings into contact.

I salute thee, Newspaper Boy!