I am the Monday edition of “Midday”, dated 7th June, 2010. I came along with a variety of colourful sections. Where they are now, I don’t know. All of us were printed in a huge printing press in Mumbai.
I was delivered at the doorstep of a gentleman who lived in Vasai. The entire day I was read by him and other members of the family.
Then in the evening a friend came along and asked if he could borrow me.The gentlemen agreed. The friend had to go to Kalwa by train. Being a forgetful sort of a fellow he left me in the train.
At night the train was taken to the car shed. A beggar popped into the compartment where I was lying and spreading me out on the floor. He slept on me.
In the morning the train was swept and cleaned and I was thrown into a big dustbin. And so here am I soiled and unredable and feeling terribly sorry for myself.
I know that very soon I shall be burnt or destroyed. Indeed, as a newspaper, I have a very short life.
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