My market-savvy friends who always thought I was pennywise and pound-foolish were clear about one thing: before any purchase, look out for discounts and the freebie thrown in. Buy one, take two free, they told me, was the buzzword. I told myself to straighten up whenever I heard the magic word ‘‘free’’.My newspaper hawker tried to help. ‘‘Nothing comes free with a newspaper,’’ he argued. ‘‘However, I would suggest that you go for the paper that lands on your doorstep with a thud.’’ ‘‘Why?’’, I wondered. ‘‘Because a ‘weighty’ paper is more valuable after you read it because of its raddi value.’’I gave him a scornful look. ‘‘I have been reading newspapers whose editors who won several national awards,’’ I told the hawker. ‘‘There are papers whose editors are most connected with the ruling establishment. I also know of editors who think their job is the second most important in the country. What could do you really possibly know about these institutions and these great editors?’’‘‘Almost everything,’’ he replied. ‘‘Let’s get real. If an editor thinks he has the second most important job in the country as far as I am concerned, the first most important job in the country is not the Prime Minister but the Station House Officer of the Delhi police who controls everything.’’‘‘That’s a new one,’’ I said. ‘‘In fact we, as hawkers, may be holding the third most important job in the country: some of us are also having a say in the appointment of brand managers cum editors.’’A rival salesman was persistent. ‘‘This paper offers you jobs which gives you a salary that you can only dream of — an assured income, no downsizing, increments every year, no taxes.’’ ‘‘What’s the catch,’’ I asked. ‘‘None. Our paper is regularly advertising such jobs.’’ ‘‘Obviously, since nobody is taking it, there must be a catch. I don’t trust your paper,’’ I said.The other paper was, through a sponsored supplement, giving me details of a super deluxe complex. One was a dash of colour on the last page. The other was pink. A third was turning blue. While one was offering me a scratch-and-win option and the other asking me to name the Indian batsmen who will score a naught—an easy one—in return for a free ticket to South Africa to watch the World Cup.By now, I was getting suspicious of anything that was being offered. I decided to address a more pressing issue: which mobile to buy. One was offering me a wireless connected phone with most calls free, the other had announced that outgoing was free, a third proclaimed that incoming was free. Yet another said Hi, I’m for free.I decided to stick to my god old land line but to my horror, I realised that it was offering an internet connection free. I looked for my remote which came free with my TV set. My dog had chewed up most of my remote and I was only able to see only Indian channels. One had an exclusive on the ground where the Indian cricket team was to play. The visual: an empty ground. Another was giving me breaking news of a rape in Agra that never happened. The visual: Agra.I suddenly realised with some horror that most of these channels were not pay channels but ‘‘free to air’’. ‘‘Help somebody,’’ I screamed, ‘‘set me free!’’Write to rajusanthanam@expressindia.com
