She is barely two-and-a-half years old, but is already an avid newspaper reader. My landlady’s little daughter has a fixed morning routine: she fetches the newspaper lying on the staircase, and climbs up with them to our home upstairs. And she does it every day. As she emerges from the stairs, we brace ourselves for her unending queries, as she settles down to ‘read’ the newspapers.She has, in fact, turned resident critic of newspaper layouts and photographs. Depending on her mood, she either spreads the newspapers out around her tiny, splayed-out feet, or she spreads them out and sits on them to ‘read’. Nothing escapes her attention: the police uncle, the crying baby, the aeroplanes, uncles, aunties, bhaiyas, various didis. But her smiles and happy squeals are reserved for animals, birds and smiling babies.A front page story carrying photographs of tragic faces, of weeping children and women certainly tests our story-telling skills. Her elder sister calls her ‘Prashna mantri’ (question minister). “Why are they crying? Has their mother beaten them up? Has someone taken away their chocolates? Why are the police taking the uncle away in the jeep?” Tough questions, couched in her baby-speak mixture of Gujarati, Urdu and English — languages which our family and her two sisters are trying to drill into her little head.A casual reply will not do, for the next one is sure to follow, and the reply given earlier is verified. The young lady will on no account tolerate attempts to replace newspapers or magazines with story books and photographs of animals, birds and vegetables. Of late we have been failing her in answering her queries. “Why is the train burning? Who burnt it? Is it going to Bharuch or Mumbai?” These were the questions she raised when the newspapers were awash with photographs of the ill-fated Samjhauta Express train. Similar questions were raised when her eyes fell on pictures of the Sabarmati Express, carried on the fifth anniversary of Godhra. We find it so difficult to answer her questions that all we ever do is try and snatch the newspapers away from her, all the while furiously pointing to the pigeons and sparrows outside the window. Most of the time we are not allowed to get away so easily!
