Delhiwale: ‘Dukan’ fit to print

Names can be deceptive. But not this zila Ghaziabad kiosk. Its name is Akhbar ki Dukaan, says the owner. And it really is akhbar ki dukaan. The roadside shop is crammed with all the English and Hindi dailies that pour into Delhi afresh every morning.

The sight in fact looks like a biennale art installation aiming to commemorate a utility that once used to be as ubiquitous as the chai stall—the newspaper stand.

The Vasundhara landmark in Sector 4C has been existing since 2003. Founder Kaptan Singh is a UP native from Gonda, and has been in Delhi region since 1991. He started as a mechanic in a washing machine factory in north Delhi’s Wazirabad. After the factory moved to Uttarakhand, he set up the “Akhbar ki Dukan.” By then, the poker-faced man had already built a relationship with the print edition. During his days as a mechanic, Kaptan Singh would make side earnings as a morning “akhbar walla.” He was one of those hardscrabble bicycle-riding newspaper delivery men who, on nearing a subscriber’s home, would roll up the daily into a baton, lightly sway the upper half of his body towards the subscriber’s upper-floor flat, and, with a jerk of the right arm, toss the newspaper into the balcony—continuing to pedal the bicycle all the while. “I would always hit the right balcony.”

This evening, Kaptan Singh sees no lasting tomorrow for his Akhbar ki Dukan. “Because you no longer have to wait for the morning to get fresh news… you have this!” He taps on his… guess!

Sitting on his chair, Kaptan Singh suddenly straightens up. “Please record my statement,” he states solemnly, raising his arm, a gesture that suggests a reverence for the permanency of printed words. “I perform the essential service of distributing printable news, but the service isn’t sufficiently recognised.” He waves towards the newspapers arranged neatly on the counter (there are magazines too). “The angrezi akhbar over there costs six rupees. If you buy it, I’ll get only two rupees, 30 paisa of that six.”

Moments later, a man in jacket enters the shop, holding a helmet. Manoj Jain is a mechanical engineer, and everyday after work he comes over to pick not one, not two, but six dailies. “Newspapers are…,” he seems lost in meditation, as if searching for a most suitable reason to explain his passion for the print edition. Finally, he says: “Newspapers are… newspapers.”