A newspaper is public property on a train. I made this unpleasant discovery the other day when I made the folly of taking one along with me.
I took my seat and looked around. All my fellow passengers had that bored, vacant look-so common on Mondays. Some were staring out of the window, others were not particularly communicative among themselves. Ah! I thought, now to catch up with the day's news. No sooner did I take the newspaper out of my bag, a remarkable transformation seemed to come over the people in the carriage. I began to feel uncomfortable for it seemed everyone's eyes were focussed on me. Why had I become so interesting? I brushed back my hair-unnecessarily, I thought. I checked my buttons-they were all right. I checked my shoelaces-nothing wrong there either. In embarassment, I buried my nose deep in the newspaper.. It was not long before the mystery was solved.
A tap on my shoulder by the person sitting on my right was followed by a request for a sheet. The person sitting in front, emboldened, asked for another. Within no time my hands felt light, for I was left with only one sheet. When I had finished with it, I had to stare hard at the one who started it all. He looked at me at last and with considerable reluctance exchanged his sheet with mine.Meanwhile, I noticed the other sheets had also changed hands. One had even reached the other end of the row and I can vouch, that the reader (who had arrived later) did not know who its owner was.
Of course, I had a tough time collecting the sheets when I reached at my destination.
I tried a magazine(of all the things a film magazine) the next day. It was still more uncomfortable. The fellow passengers crowded on me, and, breathing down my neck, took in the gossip and the photographs. One even casually asked me to wait as I was about to turn a page. A magazine, I found out, has the advantage of being pinned and so its pages cannot go around. But take your eyes off it, even but for a moment, and the magazine will be out of your hands.
Since then I have made many 'friends' on the train. It took me but a few days to recognise a unique breed of commuters. Its members can be seen attaching themselves like magnets to a person who had b(r)ought a newspaper. They are a most well-informed and friendly lot, I should say.
Last night, I had a dream-and a sweet dream it was. In it, I took my seat and the usual gang was there waiting expectantly. But their eyes bulged when I took out a copy of War and Peace instead of the usual newspaper. They all made a mad rush to the door leaving me alone with my pipe and my book.
I took my seat and looked around. All my fellow passengers had that bored, vacant look-so common on Mondays. Some were staring out of the window, others were not particularly communicative among themselves. Ah! I thought, now to catch up with the day's news. No sooner did I take the newspaper out of my bag, a remarkable transformation seemed to come over the people in the carriage. I began to feel uncomfortable for it seemed everyone's eyes were focussed on me. Why had I become so interesting? I brushed back my hair-unnecessarily, I thought. I checked my buttons-they were all right. I checked my shoelaces-nothing wrong there either. In embarassment, I buried my nose deep in the newspaper.. It was not long before the mystery was solved.
A tap on my shoulder by the person sitting on my right was followed by a request for a sheet. The person sitting in front, emboldened, asked for another. Within no time my hands felt light, for I was left with only one sheet. When I had finished with it, I had to stare hard at the one who started it all. He looked at me at last and with considerable reluctance exchanged his sheet with mine.Meanwhile, I noticed the other sheets had also changed hands. One had even reached the other end of the row and I can vouch, that the reader (who had arrived later) did not know who its owner was.
Of course, I had a tough time collecting the sheets when I reached at my destination.
I tried a magazine(of all the things a film magazine) the next day. It was still more uncomfortable. The fellow passengers crowded on me, and, breathing down my neck, took in the gossip and the photographs. One even casually asked me to wait as I was about to turn a page. A magazine, I found out, has the advantage of being pinned and so its pages cannot go around. But take your eyes off it, even but for a moment, and the magazine will be out of your hands.
Since then I have made many 'friends' on the train. It took me but a few days to recognise a unique breed of commuters. Its members can be seen attaching themselves like magnets to a person who had b(r)ought a newspaper. They are a most well-informed and friendly lot, I should say.
Last night, I had a dream-and a sweet dream it was. In it, I took my seat and the usual gang was there waiting expectantly. But their eyes bulged when I took out a copy of War and Peace instead of the usual newspaper. They all made a mad rush to the door leaving me alone with my pipe and my book.
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