My father used to get the Guardian Weekly by post to our home in Chennai (then Madras), India, when I was around 12 years old in the late 1970s. I still remember the touch of each page, unbelievably thin and delicate. My father, who had retired by then, would read it in small portions during the week, like sipping good wine yet averse to let it finish. He would show me bits of news from around the world. I think it was the Guardian Weekly that helped begin my travels around the world. I was always eager to go to the chess column and solve the puzzle.
Now I live in Thailand, and my early mornings start with tea and reading the online site: first the football page, of course. (When the new web design in 2015 tried to remove the football tab on the front page, I did my part in the flood of emails until it was brought back.)
I subscribe to the Weekly, which cannot but remind me of my father. With the newspaper alongside, he would sit with me and make me write simple essays with pencil and paper. He passed on to me his joy of reading and humour, blessings I continue to cherish.
My nine-year-old son already enjoys the Guardian online videos; I hope he will soon take up the Weekly too and emulate his grandfather’s love of reading.
