How it all began...

Writing was not my forte until school got over. Then I had only verbal skills to fall back upon. Words took long to form on paper. It was only when I wrote my first essay that I discovered my latent skill after which there was just no looking back for me. I recognized my love for words and saw a dream seeing my name in print. After I completed my course, I suddenly wanted to be known by my name or a ‘byline’ in the paper.

My journey began as an intern of a news daily in South India. My first day replays in my head. The room had computers dating back to the 19^th century. In front of them, sat balding old men who relentlessly kept thumping the keys of the aging, yellow keyboards. I assume they were filing stories. To my right was a suave, young reporter convincing the Chief Reporter about a story he wanted to do. I walked on, lost in the din of fax machines, ringing phones and a noisy fan. An office boy was seen noisily dumping a pile of letters on a dusty table next to where I stood. As I took in a 360 degree view of the room, lost in deep thoughts, I got a slight tap on my shoulder. I turned around and found myself facing the very guy I was admiring earlier. My confused look made him realize I was new. I told him I had come for my internship. He agreed to take me to the editor, a bespectacled man, who looked up from his newspapers and introduced himself. I submitted the letter of internship issued by my institute. He took a small interview about my background and academics. After the preliminary formalities, he stretched his hand to mine and said, “Welcome to our newspaper. You will get an opportunity to do every type of work. All the best!” He assigned me to the desk head who introduced me to the staff. He showed me my seat and system where the pile of mail had been dumped earlier. I was told that my job would be to monitor the weekly events, sift through them and file the engagements for the page on a daily basis. The next half an hour went in decoding illegible handwriting in letters requesting for announcements of death anniversaries, birthdays, arangetram (dance) invitations. I promptly separated the Tamil brochures which resembled some Greek and Latin script. I looked wistfully at the black screen in front of me, trying to search for MS Word to start typing. After five minutes of futile search for the software, I asked my neighbour, a grumpy looking guy who gruffly told me “it’s a Lotus system” that functions only if one typed directory commands. Huh, finally! I gave a long sigh and began typing. After half an hour’s ordeal, I was done with the work. My senior suggested I have some “tiffin”. Tiffin in south India (mainly in Tamil Nadu) refers to meals and there is no concept of a dinner or lunch, generally. Anyway, he directed me to the canteen – literally a one-room shack where old, rusty gas stoves were placed and young boys were scurrying about to serve food to the staff. Most people had got their dabbas and were eating in their own groups. Lunch was over and I went back to resume staring at other people for work.
But trust me, this day was the most memorable for me. It still brings a smile on my face even after 7 years into my profession, as I remember my seniors there. Wish to visit them one day and thank them for mentoring me in those 2 weeks and later 4 months of professional relationship as colleagues.

P.S.: This post is not aimed to malign any news organisation nor reinforce stereotypes about journalism. I have merely added a dash of humour to the piece. I have deliberately kept the name  of the organisation anonymous. 

Negative energy et al

One thing in this world you cannot ignore, or change are negative people and vibes. As long as there is positive energy around, there will be negative energy too. But the trick is to find a way to break its barriers using positive thinking. As a famous author puts it: "Quit thinking that you must halt before the barrier of inner negativity. 

You need not. You can crash through... whatever we see a negative state, that is where we can destroy it." In today's competitive world, it is hard to keep away this form of destructive energy. For instance, if you get promoted or patted by your boss or even something as simple as your joy, there will be some negative people who will be utterly jealous. 

The ones who were so-called close to you, will start cold-shouldering you, become hostile and stare rudely at you as if you stabbed someone. Such elements can make you feel guilty for nothing in silence as silence is the best tool to make someone feel really bad about something that might not even exist and you might be left stewing over that fictional 'something'! 

Their purpose would be to put you down in front of someone else. For all you know it may even be a ploy to bring down your work quality so that they can shine in front of the boss. They can go all lowly attempts to show how bad your work style is. If there is a piece of gossip, they will deliberately get into a huddle and talk about it either in front of you or around you, just to make you feel out-of-place. This normally happens when one enters a new organization. The newbie may be struggling to learn and understand the 'ropes of trade'. Instead of making him or her feel welcome and make it more approachable, there will be similar attempts as above to create negative energy. Older the person in an organization, more is the hostility shown by them towards a newbie for varied reasons, unknown to even God, I suppose! One could only guess the reasons. Yet, it is a sad fact that instead of showing initiative in encouraging the newbie to enter a group or breaking ice with the individual, it is often seen that the fresher to the organization (despite having completed a respectable number of years in the field) is made to feel guilty that he or she has yet not picked up the culture of the workplace. 

The older experienced guys should remember that they had also started as freshers at some point of time. If they went through a rough training or rude seniors, does not mean that one has to be rude to the new people who join. This becomes particularly important when the so-called fresher is attempting something totally new that he may not have done all his professional life. He or she should be praised and lauded at every step that he is taking in the new field and the organization instead of putting him or her on a total guilt trip! The vicious cycle could only entail in increasing chances of attrition in an organization. It is up to the HR to keep a close tab if the fresher is undergoing any struggle to 'fit' into the team dynamics.

This you may wonder is my story and an attempt to make it sound fictional. Thats not the case. It happens everywhere in a very covert fashion. No one really notices it and of course, choose to ignore it. The 'seniors' of the workplace if made aware of this growing trend, shrug their shoulders and react emotionlessly saying "either the fresher/newbie is oversensitive or overreacting. There is nothing to worry!"

This maybe my ranting on negativity and many may even ask me this question: Charity begins at home. What have you done to tone down negativity at the workplace? I am proud to say that I have mentored and helped many newbies feel at home, at my level - many still thank me till this day! I believe if one tones down negativity, the workplace will grow, and it will mean lesser attrition! 

I can only hope that a day will come when one leaves an organization not because of politics, but better opportunities elsewhere.

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?