I was reading the news on my tablet this morning, and it occurred to me: you can’t line a shelf with an iPad. You certainly can't wrap a textbook in a Kindle.
We mourn the decline of print journalism for intellectual reasons, but I mourn the loss of the physical object. In my childhood, the news was just the newspaper's first job. Its real career began after 9:00 AM.
The Misunderstanding: It Wasn't Just for Reading
The common wisdom is that a newspaper is a vehicle for information. Once you read the headlines, its value drops to zero.
That is incorrect. In the Indian middle-class household of the 80s and 90s, the newspaper was a structural component of our lives.
The Shift: The Multi-Utility Tool
The newspaper was the ultimate household hack before "life hacks" became a YouTube category. Its lifecycle was fascinatingly specific.
1. The Interior Decor
Every cement shelf and Godrej cupboard in the house was lined with The Hindu or The Indian Express. Changing these papers was a ritual, usually reserved for festivals. You would open a cupboard to get a shirt and accidentally read a cricket score from 1983.
2. The Academic Shield
Brown paper covers were for the rich kids or the "main" subjects. For everything else, there was the newspaper cover. You had to be careful, though—you didn't want a cinema advertisement wrapping your physics textbook. It sent the wrong message to the teacher.
3. The Travel Companion
If you didn't have a reserved seat on the train (a common occurrence), the newspaper was your real estate. You spread it on the floor of the compartment, and suddenly, you had a seat. It defined your territory.
4. The Hygiene "Plan B"
It served as a floor mat in cars during the monsoon to save the carpet. And let’s be honest, in dire circumstances, it was the standby toilet paper. Rough, but reliable.
The Final Transaction
Even when the paper was torn, stained with chutney from a beach snack (bhelpuri always tastes better in a newsprint cone), or crinkled from packing fragile items, it wasn't trash.
It was currency.
The Kabadiwala (scrap dealer) didn't just take it away; he paid you for it. Or better yet, he exchanged a stack of months-old news for a shiny new steel vessel or a plastic utensil. The news cycle didn't end in a landfill; it ended in the kitchen.
"Today's news is tomorrow's fish and chip paper." – Old Adage.
In my house, today's news was tomorrow's shelf liner, next week's textbook cover, and next month's stainless steel bowl.
Observation: Do you have a specific memory of "reusing" the daily news? Or are your shelves currently lined with nothing but dust?
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