25

November 1990, was more grim and looked a real winter of discontent than what November 2015 looks like, not sure how many would agree with that. 25-years ago when I took up my first job as a trainee journalist with Bennett Coleman, deputed to the now extinct The Independent the discussion inside and out of the newsrooms were about the imminent breaking up of India, the balkanisation of India, and how the idea of India wouldn’t hold anymore.

Like a rangoli drawn on water, to literally translate a Tamil idiom, neer mel ezhudhiya kolam the National Front government fizzled out. Even after Bofors Rajiv Gandhi had some sympathy among voters, and V.P.Singh some elite following after Mandal.

It was in those turbulent days one travelled alone to Bombay then, alone. In September of 1990 one had written the last academic exam of life and was immersed in writing the thesis to get M.Phil., degree. Already had UGC certificate for lecturership after passing the first  ever such national qualifier.

I enjoyed academic life, but somehow was never sure I was going to make a career out of it. By the time I went to do M.Phil., had already done P.G.Dip.in Journalism from Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan, with a short internship at The Hindu. Academic life looked boring compared to what one thought journalism would offer. Also, it was the age – conformism was not on, and one wanted something the reset of friends and family wanted. There was also the political factor – with the highest percentage of reservation prevailing in TN, I knew I had no chance to get a job at least for another 10 years.

So, a stray phone call from my friend saying that he had come across an ad in Times of India, Bombay edition saying Pritish Nandy wants to recruit, train 12 young journalists and there was in the next few days a walk in interview in Bombay. I wasn’t at home when the call came. Was discussing J.K, in a mottai maadi arattain in the neighbourhood. Appa had attended the call and straightaway told me friend I would be interested and to book a ticket for me.

I knew no one in Bombay, except of course Srinivasan mama and family who had hosted me for a previous interview I had gone to attend there at the publication division of TISS. Friend Kalyan accompanied me up to Ghatkopar and said will later come and take you to TOI building.

It was a walk in interview, naturally I was the only outsider, there were around 300 in all…I took part in the group discussion, then there was an interview with Chandni Sehgal who was the general manager running The Independent newspaper.

Nandy was nowhere to be seen and after a chaotic and long day we were told to go home leaving some local contact behind. I don’t know where Mohan Lakshmi is, I found her at the interview that day, niece of Ethiraj College prof.Shanta Pattabhiraman.

I went back home, was feeling restless. How many days can I stay, and every day I would walk to the local phone booth nearby and call up Independent. No news, so I decided to go back to Arakkonam.

Not even a week went past, and I got a telegram from Srinivasan mama that I have to reach Bombay as soon as possible for there was a letter from the newspaper asking me to come for next round of interview.

There were no e-reservations then, no tatkals, so one boarded the ladies compartment of the Dadar express – reached Bombay again.

There were no signs of Nandy again as one went back for the next round of interview at Bennet Coleman. He was too busy handling the Delhi situation, from October end to first week of November V.P.Singh government fell, and Chandrashekar became the Prime Minister. Most people I knew then hated Chandrashekar as the PM, wonder if it was all for his rustic looks? I am not sure who was better as politician and PM, a Singh or a Chandrashekar.

To keep us  busy, some written test, some more interviews were all done till the time Nandy arrived to do the final interview.

For someone who followed Illustrated Weekly closely then, swooned over a Calcutta 300 year edition, to be recruited and trained by Pritish Nandy seemed the ultimate.

On 3d November we had the final round of interview – 12 out of 24. Each one was told upfront one got the job or not.

I waited for my turn, my name ensured I was always among the last in the list.

Walked in to a board room of that kind for the first time – should have counted six men and one lady in there including Nandy, Arun Arora, Anil Dharker. Dharker, Arora, Chandni all asked me a few questions, and I thought I answered satisfactorily. Nandy just looked at me once and then lowered his head. I thought, he didn’t like my face. I am what I was that day – a Madarasi in a saree, with a long plaited hair, a bindi etc.,

Nandy dismissed me without lifting his head … I thought it was all over. Went out to say farewell to friends who  had bonded over the long interview process. Mohan Lakshmi too didn’t make it. Even as I was chatting Chandni came running and asked me to wait.

I was ushered in again in to the board room, I think it was the third floor of TOI building. Nandy greeted me, said a pleasant welcome to the group etc., I was in, I had to join in two days.

There was no time to go back to Arakkonam. Not only that I had no way of letting my parents and my grandparents know that I had got the job. From the time I landed in Bombay the P&T department had gone on strike and my parents didn’t know if I reached Bombay or not. Every day I would walk to the Ghatkopar post office to see if STD, telegram anything is working. It wasn’t.

The day I got the job I thought some way the news should reach them. So, I went searching for Kumar uncle’s office in Fort….the first of its confusion in finding places in Bombay, Homi Mody street.  Kumar uncle was one of those early migrants to Bombay – a typical middle class story of the day. He came here worked in a bank, supported his family back home.  I walked into his cabin at the French Bank Building – he gave me a surprised smile. Then offered to send a telex to my mama in Madras.

I will never forget that train journey back to Ghatkopar that day – the emotions of that day.

I wasn’t a willing migrant, but an accidental one – with all the Shiva Sena and anti south Indian campaigns Bombay was more benign to me than Madras ever was, friends from Madras please don’t get me wrong.

25-years of roller coaster life, many downs and a few ups! Today Bombay is my home, journalism still my career. I have all those friends with me thick and thin from the early days in Bombay.

The country didn’t get balkanised. Nation survived a Deva Gowda and I.K.Gujral too …. Things looked so much worse than today’s drummed up nation is threatened campaign.

If a PVN was an unexpected miracle, a Vajpayee was even more so…Bombay was still a city that one had come to make a living then, but now it is my home. I might have gone here and there in between. But, she always brought me back and gave me hope.

Don’t know why I am writing this – if you stayed with me till the end and feel bored, apologies. 25-yrs is a long time, a landmark, so no harm in getting nostalgic J