19 not out
By Elia

LAST month I completed 19 years in the second oldest profession in the world (of course, everybody knows about the oldest profession). Some of my colleagues feel that the second oldest profession has started resembling the first. But this is nothing unusual. The BJP and the Congress sometimes look alike.

I joined journalism as an apprentice reporter though the editors had tested and interviewed me for the post of an apprentice sub-editor. Being a student of law, I understood a little about the Constitution and jurisprudence (my favorite subject) but not having attended any journalism school I had no idea about either reporting or sub-editing. Yes, I did imagine that a sub-editor would be an editor in the making; not the reporter.

I flopped on the first day itself. At the morning meeting, the news editor asked, "What story are you doing today." After a meditative pause, I replied; "Sorry, I have never written a short story in my life". Everybody laughed. But those were great days. The resident editor, a rather kind man, looked at me affectionately and explained that in journalism everything is a story be it a press conference, a press release, a public meeting, etc.

The same evening I faced another crisis. I did not know how to type. I was used to write in long hand. I had started writing letters to the editors of different newspapers while I was in school. Any way, the typing problem was solved soon. One of the colleagues taught me the fundamentals of the writing machine in a second. I fell in love with the typewriter. In later years, whenever I and my wife fought, I would threaten to divorce her and spend the rest of my life with the typewriter — my most trusted girlfriend. Now whatever you say about computers, including the laptops, these are simply sophisticated typewriters.

One of my honourable colleagues of yester years used to say; "Let the ideas travel from the fingers to the keyboard." Words of wisdom. It is another matter that as a student of psychology, I understand that the ideas flow from the brain only.

This particular colleague of mine still loves to act as a big sister to newcomers in the profession. She can speak non-stop and is lyrical when she has to talk about her stories. Those days it was said about her that either she is discussing herself (obviously not allowing anyone else to speak) or people talking about her.

Waris Shah, the celebrate Punjabi poet writes, "Waris Shah Adatan Na Jandian Ne, Phanven Katian Porian Porian Ni." It means, habits never die. My habits too have not died. Since childhood, I have been fond of roaming around aimlessly and then landing up at the club to play table tennis. During the past 19 years, I have worked for five newspapers, one magazine, two foreign news agencies and one broadcasting corporation. Like my honorable colleague who taught me how to use typewriter, I too suffer from the same problem — talking all the time. Thank god, I rarely talk about my stories. I talk about more juicy subjects like Mirza Ghalib and Manto. Luckily, my house is located near a table tennis hall. I go in the evening to watch a game of ping-pong, my childhood passion. At 43, it is difficult to play TT with youngsters.

How about journalism?

Still watching.