It's a curse. A curse that would want to make you wish that your neighbours either have ants in their pants or are forever inflicted with haemorrhoids. Why would I say that? Well, have you ever woken up, all groggy eyed, and gone to the door to fetch the newspaper (out of habit, because you want to sit and read with your morning cuppa, lest you will never feel that you are awake) and realised that it's not there? You search for it frantically, wishing that it's hiding somewhere down that staircase, or has blown in the wind, or simply hope for serendipity. When you've run out of options, you settle down thinking that the newspaper guy was lazy again, today. Disappointed to no end, you have your tea in a very very grumpy mood, and have trouble passing your daily motion (may not be the case always). You feel lost, disconnected. But if you are courageous enough, you go out and buy your copy and come home. I, for one, could murder anyone who crossed my path at such times. Anyway, much later in the day, as you step out to go to work, you see that your newspaper is lying there. Somebody felt generous enough to put it back. And you feel like murdering some more.
Some years ago, I was living in a dead-end corner in Chembur. It was here that I witnessed the worst newspaper steal-o-mania ever. Every other day I found that my daily fix was missing when I needed it the most. It would mysteriously appear later, a little crumpled, and obviously read through. This went on for a while. Then one day, I decided I'd not sleep the night. When the time came for my newspaper wala to arrive, I planted myself to the spy hole. And watched. Minutes after the paper guy left the paper on my doorstep, I saw something that surprised me to no end. My neighbour's door opened, out came the man of the house and picked up the paper. At that precise moment, I opened the door. He was transfixed, but regained his composure almost as quickly as a fly winks.
"And what exactly is happening here?" I said, trying my best to get my stern tone right at that time of the morning.
"Oh, the newspaper guy left your newspaper at my doorstep, so I was only putting it back."
!!!!!
What in the world! I thought, but said, "If you need the paper, why don't you just ask for it. I've never said no to lending it, provided you ask?"
My neighbour says, "Uh, I think you are mistaken. I was NOT stealing it." I let it go at that. No point in arguing with this one.
It wasn't as if they were the poorest of the poor who could not afford a newspaper. On the contrary, they seemed quite prosperous, materially. A husband, a wife and a little girl - a happy family one could say. But this was a totally different matter altogether.
And recently, a similar situation cropped up. But this time, it seemed reading the newspaper was not the aim. Last Sunday, my thick wad (I have to subscribe to a lot, my profession demands so) of newspapers all vanished. I was too tired to take it up, so I went back to sleep. When I got up around 11 again, the papers were back. As I took them in, I realised a fragrance was following me. I dismissed it as mere crankiness for not having seen the paper when I needed to and sat down to scour through the supplements.
It was then that I found out what the matter was. One of the supplements had something soapy all over it. And that soapy thing had a very shampooey smell. A quick flipping of the pages, I found one free sample of a shampoo sachet, tucked hurriedly back. Just that it was devoid of any shampoo. Someone had taken the pains to steal the newspaper, tear out the sachet, take out the shampoo, and put the sachet back, smearing all that was left over on to the otherwise perfectly fine supplement.
I never found out who did that. But the extent one went to, just to wash their hair with L'Oreal's colour protect-or-some-fancy-sounding shampoo for free?
We desperately need charity.
