The nostalgia of newspapers

For decades, my two morning fix, the smell of fresh newsprint, and the invigorating aroma of filter coffee had always been on the same page. As of today, I get six newspapers, three English and three Tamil, delivered with a resonant thud on my doorstep. Nothing gives me greater joy than taking the bundle instantaneously to the vicinity of my nose for a deep inhalation to provide a treat to my olfactory sense.

I separate the main sections from their conjoined companions; supplements or pull-outs, some in glazed print, dedicated to varying features, all in a splash of colour. The only irritant is the insertion of advertisers’ hand-bills, that slither down on the floor like leaves in autumn, compelling me to stoop grudgingly, with creaking knees, to pick up to throw into the bin. I used to sit on the floor cross-legged to read them, but not anymore because my knees have become stiff.

I do have a set pattern of going through the papers, their pages spread-eagled on my desk, choosing and reading them leisurely, one after the other in a bespoke, inexplicable rote. My family would never touch them before I got up from my desk after that ritual, satiated. The papers thereafter are scattered on the floor, all mixed up, in a conglomerate heap, due to my lack of patience in putting them back in the same way they were delivered. This is a character aberration my family puts up with.

When I look at them later, I am reminded of the fully served, parrot-green banana leaf, at which a hungry eater sat to devour the delicacies and rose from it to wash the hands. The leaf no longer looks inviting and will have to be cleared pronto. This analogy, though uncharitable, to some extent applies to the newspapers.

Slowly, steadily but sadly, the print media is moving away to give room to the digital editions, ostensibly permitting the trees to breathe in comfort. Indeed, a proverb that warns - one should not waste firewood even when a forest is nearby. Before long, one can read only from the Web, the cursor at the command of the mouse flipping through the pages. Necessarily, one has to change with the times.

But what about the smell of the newsprint fresh from the press? Before long, I wish the perfumery folks come out with a spray that would replicate the newsprint smell. The dwindling print media aficionado will have to do is squirt one or two short spurts near the computer screen before opening the web site. Sounds far-fetched and crazy? But that could be an amicable compromise.