7 Years as a scribe: Ups and Downs

I complete seven long years in journalism in August 2011. I wonder what I have gained and what I have lost. Lets begin on a positive note: what have I gained? An identity of my own (of being a scribe), working on my terms (thats a bit ironical, though!), writing (which was my childhood dream and I do intend to be a successful writer someday), and finally I have managed to reach a senior level (that is also ironical...I would ask: at what cost?). What do I do with seniority and a high paying job when I am still not doing what I always wanted to do? (Delhiites would say: toh kya hua! iska achar daalun kya main? - In literal terms, it would mean: Should I 'pickle' (achar) the salary and designation?).

So, what have I lost: precious relationships, my self-respect and probably much more...I am still proud that I am a journalist! But am not proud of the fraternity that I am part of - day in and day out. For long, I supported journalism, was an idealist and activist. I fought with my mom, tooth-and-nail to remain in this field, gave her all the possible arguments like a lawyer! 

Finally, after having entered this field, been there for 7 years now, I feel like a fool thanks to members of the fraternity of whom I was proud of, for a long time. I am compelled to bring this done-to-death topic here, on this forum, 'coz all my friends in the media agree with me and am thankful to all those who stood by me like a wall whenever I wanted to break down! 

I would call myself a 'solitary reaper' in this field, trying to find my place here. I realized it is a futile task trying to prove myself. Long ago, as an intern for a reputed newspaper in the south, my news editor had given me a tip on my last day there. This is what he said: If u can prove yourself in the desk, u can shine as a writer. He was partly right. I did do well in the desk for a while and used to write well too. But after a few years, I started realizing that desk was not my cup of tea. Yet I persisted, giving myself chances repeatedly. 

Never thinking that it had been a Himalayan blunder of my life to become a sub-editor! Now that 7 years have passed, I want to break the vicious cycle that is consuming me; follow my heart and resume writing! I know there are a whole lot of risks involved: I would have to financially sustain myself and also incur my mom's wrath for taking another plunge into an unknown abyss. But, I am willing to take a risk 'coz this time, I do not want to lose myself again.

A few rhymes stir childhood memories...

    Malayalam

Kaake kaake koodevide

Kootinakathoru kunjundo

Kunjinu theeta kodukkaanjal

Kunju kidannu karanyeedum

Kaake kaake nee tharumo

Ninnude kayyile neyappam

Betty bought some batter butter,

But she found the butter bitter;

So she bought some better butter,

To make the bitter batter better

Baa, baa, black sheep

     Have you any wool?

Yes sir, Yes sir,

     Three bags full:

One for my master,

     And one for his dame,

And one for the little boy

     Who lives down the lane

Ding dong bell,

    Pussy in the well;

Who put her in?

    Little Tommy Thin.

Who pulled her out?

    Little Tommy Stout.

What a naughty boy was that

    To drown poor pussy cat.

Cobbler, cobbler mend my shoe,

Get it done by half past two,

Stitch it up and stitch it down

And I'll give you half a crown.

It all happened on 12th November...

A night that I will never forget all my life, this incident changed my life! It just took a few moments to transform me into a mental wreck. I learnt a lot of things that night. Even now, chills roll down my spine when I recall those tense moments. I know I am making all this sound like an episode of a horror serial or the trailer of a horror movie.

It was my friend's birthday and she decided to treat us. Three of us first went to 'Piccadelhi' (a restaurant which is a replica of the London subways) in Connaught Place to eat. Post that, we decided to shift location and went to 'Nirula's Potpurri'. We all were laughing and having fun after what seemed like AGES. We were bitching about our 'no-social' lives. Deciding to let my hair down, I chose beer and as it seemed to be my lucky day, bagged an extra bottle since it was in the happy hours. 

Talking and gossiping about old times, we revived a lot of good memories too. Just as we were exiting the place, my memory jolted me that I had brought my light blue stole. I ran back to Piccadelhi, and thankfully the sweethearts had kept it for me. The next, the three of us took a common auto to go back home - one of them had to be dropped at Def Col, while the birthday girl and me to GK-1. I was holding my brown pouch that contained my ID cards and ATM cards. Enroute, our unusually chatty auto driver, an old sardarji, handed me his phone to get it back on ringer mode. "Main anpadh hoon, mujhe samajh nahi aa raha ki yeh kaise theek karoon, toh aap theek kar deejiye" I obliged him and researched his phone painstakingly (the menu was all in Hindi font) and corrected his settings. To test if it was working, I asked his number so that I could ring it. Happily, he blessed me and dropped me off to my home.

Timeline to Panic: 

10:40 pm: When I reached home, I got the sinking feeling that I had yet again forgotten something - this time it was my brown pouch! I panicked, emptied my bag and searched high n low. Voila! I remembered it was in the same auto. Thankfully my memory helped me retrieve the auto driver's number. I called him and after several rings and collective gasps, he answered the phone, getting my heartbeat to normal mode. I hurriedly reminded him of how I was an unfortunate passenger who had left a pouch in his auto. I heard a rustling sound at the other end. Sardarji told me he had found it, assuring me he would come back to the same place where he dropped me.

11 pm: The phone gets cut and I yet did not confirm from him what time he would reach my place. By then, beads of sweat formed on my forehead on that cold night, thinking of the consequences I would have to face if at all my mom came to know. All visuals formed in my head and further panic attacks hit me when I started imagining him getting lost and not knowing my address.

11:15 pm: I dialed his number and after several rings, I heard him exasperated and annoyed that I was calling him repeatedly. Nevertheless, I gave him benefit of doubt because I knew he was coming from ITO (nearly 13-14 kms from my place). He assured he would reach in 15 mins.

11:30 pm: I was hyperventilating by then. Tried to avoid the itch of calling him again. I knew he was an honest guy, yet I had all negative doubts lurking in my brain. Another 10 mins of despair as I stood on the main road, worried that he would not find me and go back home. My colony's security guards looked suspiciously at me, and I fielded yet another angry call from my mom who had by now, gotten suspicious of my sudden urge to take a midnight walk in my colony's park - as I had told her.

11:40 pm: Sardarji arrives, looking irritated at me. I take two deep breaths of oxygen like I breathed my first air - right out of my mom's womb! Yet, he calmly asks me to sit in his auto and spends five minutes, explaining me the importance of taking down an auto driver's number as soon as u board it - in case u leave something in the auto - and second, how I should check all my belongings before I de-board the auto at the said destination. He hands me over my pouch, saying he didn't even open it to check the contents. Sardarji was my guardian angel that night and thanked him profusely, gave him 400 bucks to show my appreciation for his honesty and all the pain he had to take to reach my place. We spoke awhile and at midnight, he took leave. I prayed to all the Gods that day, asking them to bless this kind soul!

Guys, all I can say is that Angels do exist. But not all will be like this guy, so please take care of your belongings since losing even a single piece of our identity - ID cards/anything - amounts to a whole lot of paperwork and unnecessary wastage of time too...

The New Pyasa song...

Yeh meetings yeh stories yeh feature ki duniya
Yeh insaan ke dushman, Quark ki duniya
Yeh deadlines ke bhookhe, editors ki duniya
Yeh page agar ban bhi jayee to kya hai.


Yahan ek khilona hai sub-editor ki hasti
Yeh basti hai murda reporters ki basti
Yahan par to raises se inflation hi sasti
Yeh appraisal agar ho bhi jayee to kya hai?

Har ek computer ghayal har ek news hi baasi
Designers mein uljhan photographers mein udassi
Yeh office hai ya aalame management ki
Circulation agar badh bhi jayee to kya hai?

Jalaa do, jalaa do ise, phoonk dalo
Yeh monitor mere naam ka hata do

Yeh user tumhara hai tumhi sambhalo
Yeh computer, yeh paper agar chal bhi jayee to kya hai?

Wanna Partition 3.0 software?

Its apparently become easy to install this software. Master minded by many, the registration in this portal is very simple: Go to the headquarters of Shiv Sena, TRS, BJP, BSP or better still go to any university. Then pay your black money to them, they will hire some goons for u, who will break bones, glasses, burn effigies, and even take protest marches, causing jams in the city, some MPs who will go on 'fake' fasts. Hmmm sounds simple na? :-) the final results are the most wonderful, I can promise u! This is a no-fail recipe to successful partitioning of ur state or community. Isn't it weird that a democracy which boasted of vibrancy and variety in its culture, is slowly turning into a battleground of blood, gore and destruction. All credit goes to its leaders who are participating in the mass destruction of its own motherland. We are in fact returning back to our roots, ironically, We were a country of small provinces ruled by kings before the inception of 'Bharat'. Due to infighting among the kings, various foreigners came and colonised us. It was only pre-Partition, they realised the need to be united. So do we really need yet another version of Partition 3.0 software installed in our country by 'the others'? Why cant people learn the bitter lessons of 1947 or an 1865? I guess this is wat a wise sage said centuries ago: jaisi karni waisi bharni. And we continue to pay dearly for the compartmental thinking of some idiots who are ruling the country! Thanks to these cracks, our country will be sawed into pieces, if not tectonically, in the near future. So why blame poor Uncle Sam or a Pakistan or our dearest neighbours China for invading us. It serves us right, then! No point in callin the kettle black, right?

Revisiting 26/11...

It is 26/11 once again! All of us have been ranting and raving about the whole thing...lots of people lost their lives in this entire mess. Post-26/11, yet again people thought that justice would happen, but somewhere as usual just like any bomb blast happens, the plot once again got lost in translation...media debates, Pakistani terrorist Kasab's arrest, Home Minister P Chidambaram warning Pakistan and screaming out its involvement in the blasts, Pakistan yet again playing mind games with India - denying proof and eye witness accounts. But what about the common man who lost everything in these blasts? Did anyone really care about him? He got stuck in his life, either losing a family member or his dreams shattered because of losing a limb and much more psychological trauma - oh the crassness of it all! When will the destructive cycle end? Our main agenda must be to find out - what do they really want? I know that the answer is written clearly on the walls...yet an optimism exists that sometime, they too will get tired of playing 'bombing the city'! (a game we played in childhood) and come out in the open...Mumbai's 'spirits' were and have always been taken for granted by some cowards who take the megacity hostage at their whim and fancies. After all they succeeded in grabbing the world's attention. But, ironically, Mumbai moved on...but this time, voices of protests have become louder - demanding justice. Thanks to an alert Home Minister P Chidambaram, some sarkari things seem to have changed - making sure that the process of justice is more transparent and logical - where the previous Home Ministers failed! Ask any Mumbaiikar whether they want justice, all they have to say is 'we want peace' and the youth there 'just want a secure, stable nation where their dreams will be nurtured and fulfilled'. None of the media debates ever centre on rehabilitating the youth or taking measures to empower them to face any attacks with will and determination. Political parties just think of 'panels' to discuss the 'strategies' to counter their rivals over petty issues - leaving the country vulnerable and open to terrorists. Our leaders forget that a nation's inner strength are its youth - they are the ones to come forward and take the nation into the next millenium! So its not strategies thats required, its action thats needed now...Youth power can make or break a nation! Hoping that our Gen Y ministers will break the 'dirty politics' mould and help change the demography of India...

P.S.: This is not some kind of speech, but some pent-up emotions pouring out on my blog...

Below is a piece that I wrote last year on the day when the whole 'media' drama was happening. I was working in office that day and it really pained and really hurt me...so just thought of sharing my emotions with all of u...

My last year's blog: http://koffeewithpriya.blogspot.com/2008/11/eye-for-eye.html

For the most wonderful person in my life...

It took me quite a while to compose myself before writing about my Ammamma. Her loss is insurmountable to our family and we are reeling in the shock that God gave us on October 12, 2008.

I still cannot believe that it has been a year since the tragedy. I can still swear by her presence in our home and life. She is so embedded in my life that I can still hear her voice whenever I have to take a decision. I can hear her react to certain situations in her humorous sarcasms.

I learnt the word ‘unconditional love’ from my grandmother Mrs Indira K Pisharoti. Even after my grandfather's death, she looked after the whole family and kept herself strong for nearly 20 years. A role model for me and all those who knew her closely, she was my confidante, a buddy who knew most of my secrets and also the one who unconditionally supported me whenever I needed her.

A guiding light for many, she played a major role grooming me into the completely independent and bold woman that I am today. In fact, many of the close friends and relatives say I am her carbon copy in looks, attitude and nature! She supported me when I was taking my crucial decision to become a journalist and also when I wanted to take up Arts - accepted me for what I am and my identity.

My first memory of hers is when I learnt to call her Ammamma. I still remember the days when she used to make me carrot juice after school, making me sit on the kitchen platform and feeding me ghee rice with daal, holding my hands and taking me to the school bus stop and picking me up from there as well. And later, making my tiffin early in the morning during my college years. Her one wish that remained unfulfilled (to my regret too) was to see me working in Mumbai itself.

I remember very fondly of how she used to chide me whenever I cried – either because my mum hit me or when both my mamas bullied or teased me. She would always tell me one thing: ‘Don’t ever cry but react or hit back whenever you are hurt. And in case you feel like crying, then shut yourself in a room!’ She hated me sulking in a corner. That was my grandma – always motivating everyone to smile and ‘live life to the fullest’ was her funda and is mine too. 'Peace at all costs' was another one of her principles in life. She hated fights in our house and discouraged one and all for the same.

She adored both me and my cousin Rohan and since I was the first grandchild, I also was the privileged one to receive her love and unconditional support for 19 years! She had an infective optimism and laughter that was spread in each wall of the house she lived in. Wherever she went, she left an aura behind her.

My grandma had been fiercely independent all her life - she preferred to live alone in her own house even when she was under treatment and medication a whole year. However, fate had something else in store for her. Our world was shattered on March 5, 2008 when she suffered from brain haemorrage, slipped into semi-coma, lost her speech and also got paralysed on her right side. She was bedridden for seven months!

When I came to see her in the hospital, she was a transformed woman - from an independent and active person to a completely shrunk person who lad lost the will to fight for her life. She could hear everyone, but reverted her eyes whenever anyone came to see her - perhaps feeling ashamed of having become dependent on tubes and nurses to help her survive and also the feeling of hurting her loved ones.

I was however determined to bring her back from the hell she was in. After a lot of coaxing and cajoling, and my constant conversations with her, she began gripping my hand. That was a big miracle for the doctors and nurses and for me too - I realised ammamma was telling me something else too - 'I will be with you always!' She started maintaining eye contact with me. Whenever I came to meet her, she would smile. I used to wheel her around the hospital - taking her to the window - motivating her to get well soon. Doctors had begun noting her recovery. But the haemorrage had somehow taken away her survival instincts - thanks to heavy medication. Those seven months, I experienced a sense of desolation and a feeling of loneliness crept in. Somewhere I had also begun losing hope, though I prayed for a miracle from God.

I still prefer to keep her bubbly persona in my sweet memories that I have of hers. Jogging down the memory lane, I still see her smiling at me - motivating me all the time. The last time I met her before her death was on Oct 2, 2008 - my ammavan's birthday - she just looked at me and my mother for one and a half hours, gripping my hand. The world came crashing on my family as we all lost our life's anchor on Oct 12, 2008.

Trust me, she is still alive in our memories, our house and most of all our hearts!! Thanks a ton, ammamma for whatever you did for me and the person that I am today :)