Connecting generations, and more

Suruchi Kalra Choudhary

My grandfather always boasted that he and The Tribune settled in Ambala Cantt as expatriates. He regaled us with innumerable anecdotes: the midnight rendezvous to check the University Gazette for results, submitting matrimonial inserts for his children, path-breaking news breaks and what not. Early morning, he would thoroughly read the paper, imbibe the views and many a time men would gather around ‘headmaster saheb’ for updates. He opined the paper presented stark reality, and over the years, upheld its originality, shunning political lineage or patronage.

My father, too, turned out to be a die-hard The Tribune fan. An early riser, he loves reading the paper with his morning cuppa. I entered this fan club pretty early as a pre-schooler. He would put me in his lap and we would recognise the letters in the bold print: ‘T’, ‘E’. Growing up, The Tribune hosted my elocution lessons. I would read aloud a select paragraph. Whenever I was stuck at a new, unfamiliar word, he would ask me to fetch a dictionary. We would mark the word, write its meaning in the margin and reread. At a tender age, this sowed not only the habit of referring to a dictionary, but also taught me figures of speech. I learnt transcription way before my master's. My father taught me which news to find on which page, how to follow a story and capture the essence on the middle page — the pulse of the time. I nurtured an interest in creative writing by reading the middles and editorials.

I remember vividly the midnight visit to Chandigarh to see how the newspaper was printed, rolled, cut, packed and dispatched. All through the years, no sooner would I enter Chandigarh than I would crane my neck to read the spot news on The Tribune board. I have seen the manual board turn electronic with the passage of time. However, I still relish the childhood habit and cannot pass by the roundabout without reading the board. My kids make fun of me, and often mimic my glee. But the connection is deeply ingrained.

As I sat, a coy, demure bride, my husband handed me a hot cup of tea and The Tribune — an instant connect. The transition was seamless, another avid fan entered my life. My husband is a fanatic to the extent that whenever he returns home from his outstation trips, he unfailingly skims through all the missed editions. The papers are neatly stacked in his absence. Friends and relatives rely on him for information regarding admissions, vacancy, etc.

Perhaps the previous generations grew in an era when print was sacrosanct. My teenaged kids have not inherited the fascination. Their world is shrunk to their mobiles. Recently, my father underwent a surgery and had to shift to Delhi. He missed his The Tribune. My progeny had the last laugh. Just a click and they subscribed to the online newspaper. ‘Read it whenever you want to, Nanu, and your spot news… these headlines will keep popping up on your screen!’ Some associations run in the blood!

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