Genesis
Journalism is one career that does not require you to have towering academic credentials. Although The Times of India needs you to! What this career takes is a passion for news, to believe that you contribute towards social change, to put work above self.
Journalism of yore was hard. There was no money in it. The case is different today, which is also the reason many rotten apples have got into the basket. I don't think I am a rotten apple, but that is for others to decide and me to give a damn!
I started out as a subeditor in The Navhind Times, Goa, a kid with an acute lack of will-power, but lofty dreams. Navhind happened when I was thinking about a dotcom venture, then an MBA. Circumstances conspired to chuck both in the trash! A little ad in the newspaper resulted in me sitting opposite Mr Arun Sinha's great table, talking to the editor who would teach me what it meant to be a journalist. "We'll pay you fifteen hundred rupees," he said. That was a lot of money for me then. I make a lot more now, but it still is a lot of money.
Mr Sinha did not give me money, he gave me an identity. He gave me a life. I grew in Navhind, professionally and on a personal level. Sadly, I soon realised that most of my colleagues had no passion for journalism and were hostile to change. Ditto the management of the newspaper. I realised Mr Sinha had taught me what he could. I had to move on.
Samar Halarnkar was the next editor in my life. He's the man who employed me in the Indian Express, Mumbai, where I was forced to push myself, where I learned to work smart rather than hard. "Keep your eyes and ears open, you'll do well!' were his words. A year at the Express taught me the importance of speed and quick decision-making. Above all, I developed a never-say-die attitude. My editing touched a new level as did my page designing skills. I also met a lot of fantastic colleagues and other people.
Express was not to last as personal and financial reasons resulted in me moving to the Evening Post, a Dubai eveninger. Here I met the wonderful Saira Menezes, who had taken on the challenge of breathing new life into the year-old floundering newspaper. From her I have learned the importance of helping people build on their strengths, however, small they may be. I also learned to be humble.
Once I got down to my job, I quickly realised that the place had tonnes of attitude and little quality. Not surprising in a place where everyone is motivated by dirhams. The manner in which journalists hard-sell themselves in Dubai is amazing. A reporter will announce a news break, describe in excruciating detail how he/she stumbled upon it and so on. Finally, when asked to follow it up, you'll be told, 'It's not my beat or X will have to get this bit of info'. At the end of this, the news break is news somewhere else. Reporters who cannot complete assignments and subs who cannot meet deadlines have heart-breaking stories to tell depending on whether they are male or female. Of course, the blame lies everywhere, except within!
They told me in India that the Gulf is the graveyard of good journalism. I disagree. There is more to journalism than lambasting the government. Once we cover those areas comprehensively, we can talk about the government. And what's the problem if you carry the ruler's picture regularly and on top of the page? It's his land and you're the expat.
And this is hardly what ails journalism here. It's the rejects from India who are screwing up journalism here. Subeditors rotting in the corners of Indian newspaper office suddenly find themselves as news editors, city editors and what not here. The whole exercise is then about holding on to that post. Decision-making? You must be joking! Meetings are about 'filling up the pages', you might as well fill them up with shit!
It's hard, but there's always one leader who makes it worth it. Recent developments have ensured that the Evening Post is on the threshold of success. It's take more smart than hard work. Maybe a lot of hard work too because smartness here is restricted to the tongue, not the head. Nevertheless, I'll persevere!
Journalism of yore was hard. There was no money in it. The case is different today, which is also the reason many rotten apples have got into the basket. I don't think I am a rotten apple, but that is for others to decide and me to give a damn!
I started out as a subeditor in The Navhind Times, Goa, a kid with an acute lack of will-power, but lofty dreams. Navhind happened when I was thinking about a dotcom venture, then an MBA. Circumstances conspired to chuck both in the trash! A little ad in the newspaper resulted in me sitting opposite Mr Arun Sinha's great table, talking to the editor who would teach me what it meant to be a journalist. "We'll pay you fifteen hundred rupees," he said. That was a lot of money for me then. I make a lot more now, but it still is a lot of money.
Mr Sinha did not give me money, he gave me an identity. He gave me a life. I grew in Navhind, professionally and on a personal level. Sadly, I soon realised that most of my colleagues had no passion for journalism and were hostile to change. Ditto the management of the newspaper. I realised Mr Sinha had taught me what he could. I had to move on.
Samar Halarnkar was the next editor in my life. He's the man who employed me in the Indian Express, Mumbai, where I was forced to push myself, where I learned to work smart rather than hard. "Keep your eyes and ears open, you'll do well!' were his words. A year at the Express taught me the importance of speed and quick decision-making. Above all, I developed a never-say-die attitude. My editing touched a new level as did my page designing skills. I also met a lot of fantastic colleagues and other people.
Express was not to last as personal and financial reasons resulted in me moving to the Evening Post, a Dubai eveninger. Here I met the wonderful Saira Menezes, who had taken on the challenge of breathing new life into the year-old floundering newspaper. From her I have learned the importance of helping people build on their strengths, however, small they may be. I also learned to be humble.
Once I got down to my job, I quickly realised that the place had tonnes of attitude and little quality. Not surprising in a place where everyone is motivated by dirhams. The manner in which journalists hard-sell themselves in Dubai is amazing. A reporter will announce a news break, describe in excruciating detail how he/she stumbled upon it and so on. Finally, when asked to follow it up, you'll be told, 'It's not my beat or X will have to get this bit of info'. At the end of this, the news break is news somewhere else. Reporters who cannot complete assignments and subs who cannot meet deadlines have heart-breaking stories to tell depending on whether they are male or female. Of course, the blame lies everywhere, except within!
They told me in India that the Gulf is the graveyard of good journalism. I disagree. There is more to journalism than lambasting the government. Once we cover those areas comprehensively, we can talk about the government. And what's the problem if you carry the ruler's picture regularly and on top of the page? It's his land and you're the expat.
And this is hardly what ails journalism here. It's the rejects from India who are screwing up journalism here. Subeditors rotting in the corners of Indian newspaper office suddenly find themselves as news editors, city editors and what not here. The whole exercise is then about holding on to that post. Decision-making? You must be joking! Meetings are about 'filling up the pages', you might as well fill them up with shit!
It's hard, but there's always one leader who makes it worth it. Recent developments have ensured that the Evening Post is on the threshold of success. It's take more smart than hard work. Maybe a lot of hard work too because smartness here is restricted to the tongue, not the head. Nevertheless, I'll persevere!
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