A year of striking it out on my own

I have been very busy in the last few months, perhaps the busiest in my life yet. And in the all-consuming daily rush, I never noticed that I completed a year of working on my own this May. Yay!

I took on this new freelance writer-editor avatar of mine after I quit my last conventional job in April ’08. When I quit, I had no friggin idea what to do next, how I would pay the looming EMIs..., heck, I didn’t know from where the food on my plate would turn up.

But quit I did, and never once regretted it. The workplace repulsed me with its mediocrity and cheap, small-time politicking.

When I look back I feel happy about all the anger I have. It keeps me on my toes and from compromising on work ethics.

In my personal and professional life, I have taken risks, calculated or otherwise. And I wouldn’t like to go back and change anything.

I started out as a journalist in Vijay Times, and those were really crazy, fun-filled days. The shifts were endless, and the only respite came from the copy churned out by translators (news reports from Vijay Karnataka – a Kannada daily – would be translated to English). I remember one story that a hapless colleague had to, well, decode. In the copy, it said a train stopped and then did a U-turn. Am not making this up, because this simply is the creation of a mind with far more imagination powers than my humble brain could ever boast.

I took a break from work and completed a distance education course in environmental law. My interest in developmental journalism drove me to do this course. It helped clarify a lot of concepts about environment, conservation, and development.

Then, suddenly, one day I got a call from a recruitment company and asked if I would be interested with a job at AOL. First, I had no idea that AOL had an office other than its call center in Bangalore. They had a very low profile then. Secondly, I didn’t know what a copy editor could do there.

Anyway, I went to the interview, which lasted a whole day, and walked out with a job. That was my first 5-digit salary. I made some lasting friends there and learned a whole lot about the business of search.

But I had to leave as a new life waited in Kolkata, post-marriage.

People considered me lucky to be picked by The Telegraph, but here was where I met my first snobbish, half-wit, bossy boss. I left soon enough, and it was such a relief.

I then joined Clear English India where I worked for nearly two and a half years. Jyoti Sanyal was its founder and the sole reason for me taking up this job. He cautioned me against leaving a big name as The Telegraph and joining a start-up. Thank god, I didn’t listen to him. As his student, I had never thought I would get to work with him. The time at CEI was, in a sense, an extension of my education. But after he died in April last year, I saw the same mediocrity and politicking, I was so wary of in newspapers, creep into CEI. If I stayed, that’d mean a violation his memory and I felt I’d become a part of the mire. So, that was that, and I left.
The first couple of months as a work-from-home writer/editor were nightmarish. But, slowly, magically, things changed and I am grateful for that.

In the last year, I have worked with diverse clients and all of them have been positive experiences. The major part of my work was for a medical tourism company, which involved viral marketing and SEO. It’s a lot of hard work, patience, and persistence, but you do get a teeny-weeny high when you see an article you wrote show up on the first page of Google.
My journalism background does place me at an advantage over most others. I have worked with publishing software like QuarkXPress, Adobe InDesign, Dreamweaver; I have edited some of the toughest texts on earth, namely, Indian legalese; and I respect the sanctity of a deadline. This is a unique combination.

I have had happy clients till date and their feedback has made up for the lack of a security blanket. And I’m hoping I’ll never have to take up a job again. I’d like to rely on my skills and resources to grow independently, even if things take some time to shape up.

FYI for the Government of West Bengal: One high tide over, many more coming

I wrote this on Sunday in my diary, and wanted to post it the same day. I am hopelessly late, but here it is:

Today, the high tide will finish what Cyclone Aila left unfinished a fortnight ago.

About 900 km of the Sunderbans’ 3,500 km-long embankment was breached by Aila. The water that will surge through today will determine the fate of the people of Sunderban for the next couple of years. Saline water will make the land un-cultivable. More people will slip below the poverty line.

It would be expecting too much from the state government to have had some sort of preparation for the cyclone. (This document that I found after a very brief search says, “A simple frequency distribution of all observed cyclonic activities in the Bengal delta suggests that these events usually occur twice per annum: in late May and in early November.” It also adds that climate change will cause more storm-like surges in the Sunderban in the 21st century.)

But the high tide does not come all of a sudden. Between the cyclone and the high tide, villagers toiled all by themselves to re-build as much as they could. Thousands fled, but I cannot fathom the strength and courage of those who stayed and put brick on top of brick and hoped they could save their land. They ignored the plight of their own families and worked on the embankment for up to 12 hours a day on some chire (parched rice) and gud (jaggery).

The CM on his visit to the cyclone-hit villages requested people to sort this out on their own. And, if they did, he would pay them Rs 81 per day for work done on rebuilding the embankment. (It turns out they were paid not more than Rs 26 or so per day.)

Why was the army not called in to work on the embankment? How can villagers be left on their own to deal with a problem that is not local at all? Does the CPM government even realize the implications of Sunderban drowning?

Even after the high tide came and caused fresh misery, the army has still not been called in. There will be many high tides, and there is the monsoon yet to come in its full fury. In reaction, the government will do the same thing it has been doing over the years: nothing.

Forget Sunderban, uprooted trees are still lying on the main roads of Kolkata. The civic administration said it doesn’t have enough axes to cut the trees up. (Somebody should nominate these people for Lying Through Their Teeth award, or for The Best Excuses to Skip Work award.) For once, they may be telling the truth. The axes have all been sent to the suburbs for some cleaning up work.

Oh, and in the meantime, the mayor of Kolkata came up with an interesting idea. He was so touched with what the CM did for the cyclone-hit, that he nominated him for the Nobel Peace Prize. (This one gets me, and I am at a serious shortfall of words for this.)

I am amazed at this apathy. And I shiver when I realize that all it took to show us the government’s impotence is a cyclone that never really hit with all its force. It kind of swept past and ravaged south Bengal on its way out. But what if the eye of the cyclone was Kolkata?

At least, after we saw the state government’s relief efforts (?), we know that we are on our own. At least, we have places to run to, and buses, cars, trains, and planes to go there. Not so, for the people of Sunderban.

The dilemmas of American journalism, and my tiny role in it

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote a few music articles for the Advocate Weeklies, part of an American newspaper group. It was interesting to interview the musicians and the money was good. And what the heck, I got bylines.

I learned this week that this was sort of an outsourcing experiment. Here's their explanation for why they outsourced their issue.

And here are my articles:

Licking it clean (Interview with Cake)

Living up to The Dead. (Interview with Dark Star Orchestra)

A lot of people, Indians and Americans, are upset with the New Haven Advocate staff for this experiment and the debate is getting nastier on their site.

I presented my views to Peter Applebome of the New York Times in an email interview. Read the story here: Made in India, but published in New Haven

Read below selected parts of the email interview:

PA: First, as someone who loves writing on music, I really liked both your pieces. I'd hate to see what would happen if American journalists tried to write for Indian publications on Indian culture. It certainly would not have been half as good as the work you all did.

Were you happy with the result and did you think it was displayed and handled properly?

Me: I agreed to do the stories on Cake and Dark Star Orchestra because it sounded interesting, and it was.

If the New Haven Advocate staff was trying to prove that local journalism cannot be outsourced, I'd say they're laboring the obvious. A city is best reported by people who live in it. Period.

That said, they did not mention the quality work some of us did. At least, I have the NHA editor's word on it.

Anyways, I wouldnt hold this outsourcing experiment against them. I somehow feel this is a defensive reaction against the pressures the NHA staff, and US journalists in general, must be feeling in these hard times.


PA: I think they thought of it as an aesthetic experiment -- how would this work out? -- and, for the most part, the work was interesting and good.

Me: If this was a purely aesthetic experiment, why do they talk of losing jobs? Why do they quote the local theater employee saying, "Outsourcing stories to reporters living abroad is only hurting our wonderful local reporters, who desperately need the work right now."

Are they trying to use the aesthetic point to serve a personal purpose, that is, to hold on to their jobs?


PA: Were you told of the idea of the Outsourced Issue concept and what did you think of it? Did you think it was appropriate, harmless or in any way demeaning?

Me: No, I wasn’t told of the concept. Not telling me was harmless, I’d say. But, I’ll repeat, in not acknowledging the quality work some of us did and in implying that it couldn’t match up to theirs, they’ve been unfair. They say, “We hope this issue will provide insight as well as a strong note of caution.” Caution against what? Losing local flavor, or not matching up to American journalism standards? They’re not clear on that.

Also, this issue cannot be a benchmark on Indian journalism because among the contributors, there are very few journalists. I, for one, am a trained journalist.

PA: Do Indian journalists have the same level of fear about the future of journalism as Americans do?

Me: Well, we don’t have the same fears, that is, I don’t think any Indian journalist thinks her job can be outsourced. India is too intricate for that.
The media industry had been booming in India till the slowdown happened. So, am not sure we have the same level of fears.

PA: What advice would you have for American journalists and media executives afraid of seeing jobs continue to wither away? What should they be doing?

Me: Journalism cannot be outsourced. It is aesthetically and politically important that local journalists retain their jobs. Yes, American newspapers are going through tough times, but outsourcing is not the answer. And, unlike banks and car companies, newspapers cannot go to the government with a begging bowl for ethical reasons.

Will increasing their cover price help? I don’t know. There are no easy answers here.

PA: To be honest, I'm still trying to figure out what I think of this experiment. For the most part, it seems to me a pretty benign one -- you guys put out a really interesting issue, it's absurd to think you're going to take jobs from people in New Haven.

-- End of interview --

Others have been talking about the Advocate's outsourced issue, too:

So Here's What Happens When Alt-Weeklies Start Outsourcing Their Phoners With the Guy Who Plays Trumpet for Cake to India

Will Glide Outsource Hidden Track to India?

Left Out!!

Ok, I have the flu as an excuse this time, yay!

The importance of Mamata's victory cannot be entirely clear to people who have not lived in Bengal or have followed its politics closely. (If you live outisde Bengal, what you think you know is not true. The English media do a very good job of not reporting things as they are.)

Some people within the state, too, are sitting up and taking notice of the 'rabble-rouser' (who's now being called 'the fiesty lady' by TOI!). She can no longer be laughed off, you see, and that is becoming inconvenient.

Linc's aunt from the US called and was ecstatic to hear about the election results. As I went on to give her more details, she quickly added, "Don't say that too loud. You never know."

I am hoping my children (to come) and I will not have to shush ourselves up like their generation did. That is really the whole point of all this.

We are always asking for it. Men, beware!

This comes about 2-3 weeks late; no excuses for the delay. I simply have to catch up on my blogging. I had written down some thoughts when I heard of the American student's rape in Mumbai:

Going by what some people had to say on prime time TV about the TISS American student rape, and going by everything that I have come across till date, we women folk always seem to be asking for IT.

We wear a chudidar, we ask for it.

We wear a saree-blouse, we ask for it.

We wear figure-hugging jeans and low cut t-shirt, yeah, we are craving for it.

We wear clothes that show more than hide, you bet, we are most definitely asking for it.

‘It’ can range from men leching their brains out, being groped, whistled at, elbow-to-breast bumped, being told downright insulting things, molested, and being plain raped.

This American student went out with a friend at 10.30 in the night. (When I was in Mumbai for a short time, I saw that this was a pretty common thing: I’d see families coming back from Juhu beach with sand in their slippers and colourful balloons in their hands at 1 or 2 in the night.)

After some pubbing, she went to the flat of a person, who was friends with her friend. There were other men, too, by this time. According to a girl on TV today, she should not have done this, that is, going to the flat. Another aunty said that she should not have gone out at all at that hour.

Yeah, of course, she shouldn’t have. She went to the flat, perhaps because her friend was one of the men; perhaps because she was tipsy, sloshed, and wanted to cool it off; perhaps because she didn’t know she was about to be gang-raped.

But she should have known better, shouldn’t she, than to be the only woman – that too white – around 5 or 6 depraved Indian men, for whom a drinking, pub-going woman who then accompanies them to a flat in the middle of the night can only send out one message: am here for the taking, the raping, murdering, etc.

Am not even talking here about what some men may have to say about why they think they can rape women. No time for that shit.

But what enrages me is the attitude of those women on TV. I don’t expect them to side with the American student just because they are women. For the same reason, I cannot accept them laying down rules for another woman.

If you wish to live your life wrapped up in a saree, or believe that distrust of men is a woman’s best weapon, that’s your prerogative. Don’t dump it on another woman.

I find this attitude very sick: these women do not see themselves as individual beings, independent existences. They have fallen in line, and expect others to. It’s a sad thing when the oppressed becomes the oppressor and doesn’t even realize it. I wish I had more time to write about this, but I must stop here.

Some related interesting links I found:

Sleepwalking no excuse for rape (Now, Indian men don’t need such lame excuses, do they? Women are asking for it all the time, you know.)

A feminist theory of rape defense

Lost Season 4 - Yipeeeeeeee!!!

To vote, to vote! (But first to get my name on that List!!)

I want to tell my own little election story today, though it might already be somewhat late for that.

About a week or so ago, I put in an application to include my name in the electoral roll for the fourth time in about eight years. The last two attempts were in Kolkata, the first one was in Hubli.

This time we set out from the house, determined to get my name on the electoral roll, or well, perish trying. We may not have perished, but wilt we did (it was about 39 degrees C, and a woman died that day of heat stroke). We hunted down the right office and the right person – no mean task in a government of West Bengal office – and put in the application.

We had to go up and down four buildings (Shaw Wallace House at Bankshall Street, Jessop Building, a nameless one, and New Secretariat) over about five hours to achieve this. It was quite like a treasure hunt, a clue here and a hint there.

Our misery was because of the Great De-limitation that had made our constituency – Burtolla – non-existent. Though it made sense for us to be part of Manicktala, we weren’t. It turned out that we were now part of Jorasanko – where Mr Tagore’s house is situated. We didn’t know which constituency we were part of, and that was disconcerting. It was as if, electorally, we didn’t exist. Our identity was at stake now.

But we wouldn’t even have known we didn’t exist, if not for the last-minute check by the very helpful officer in charge of Manicktala constituency. We had almost submitted my application there, when he discovered that our street didn’t exist in his constituency. Ananda Babu helped us out here and told us we were in Jorasanko now.

In between these buildings somewhere, a group of leching government officers tried their best to make us give up. (They were a bit put off that they had to stop leching at me to talk to us.) They plainly told us roll revision was not on and we were trying in vain. But, fearless voter (Linc) and voter-to-be (me) as we were, we strode on.

It ended at the rather old New Secretariat building, Or, at least, that’s what we’d like to believe. Election day will tell.

Oh, and that’s not the end of it. It was still eating Linc that he couldn’t find his street in the Manicktala list, so he got on the net and made the bloomin discovery that our street didn’t exist even in Jorasanko. Well, actually, it did, but under a changed name.

Now, though he called and faxed about this mistake to the election office, and they said they would look into it (! – as they always do), our entire para (street) might just get disqualified from voting because our street doesn’t exist on their list. Aah, the suspense is eating me up.

Mridangam – as defined by Umayalpuram K Sivaraman

Not everyone gets to learn from the master. But today, thanks to technology, one of the greatest living mridangam vidwans, Sangita Kalanidhi Umayalpuram K Sivaraman, is accessible to all people passionate about Carnatic music.

The incredible genius of Umayalpuram has been distilled into Mridanga Cintamanih, a pack of 7 DVDs, with the intention of preserving something invaluable for the generations to come. The DVDs, divided into four levels, are instructional and cover the entire spectrum of playing the mridangam - from the beginner level to the nuances of accompaniment to vocal music. This DVD pack has great value as reference material to students at universities and the like.

The Level I DVD, begins from the beginning and instructs the novice mridangam player on the placement of fingers, posture, and introduces him/her to Adhi, Roopaka Chappu, Misra Chappu and Kanda Chappu talas.

The rest of the levels are broken up into two DVDs each. The Level II DVD showcases advanced sequences along with demonstrations of Gathi Bedham (change of speed), aruthis (short endings), moras, and korvais. They seem easy and simple when Umayalpuram handles them masterfully, but can be a challenge to learners.

The undeterred student of percussion music will find more treasures waiting to be explored in Levels 3 and 4. The former hands out more insider knowledge, normally acquired only after years of learning from the master, like intricate patterns and techniques like Pecking, Gumki, Arai Chapu followed by detailed Taniavarthanams in the 4 basic talas. The art of tuning the Mridangam is a bonus with this DVD.

In Level 4, the student learns about what it takes to play mridangam for concerts, both vocal and instrumental, where the mridangam player has to not only hold his/her own, but also play in harmony with the vocalist or other instrument players and contribute to the unified beauty of the music. Light classical music, from folk to bhajans, is also packed in.

The mridangam lessons enunciated in the DVDs are also available in .pdf format and includes an excerpt from Umayalpuram’s book, too.
The total length of the 7-pack instructional music series is 22 hours at the end of which, the mridangam learner is many musical miles ahead from where he/she started. Of course, the journey is never complete but one is definitely well equipped for it.

And, it’s not just the mridangam enthusiast, but the world of classical music at large, that profits from this presentation, which can rightly be called Umayalpuram Sivaraman’s magnum opus. This marriage of musical genius and the best of technology is to be treasured.

Annana Nenapu

Annana Nenapu is a delightful book written by Purnachandra Tejaswi about his father, Kuvempu. The book begins from the beginning, albeit that of the son, and not the father. And the many stories that Tejaswi tells us about his childhood not only reveal less-known quirks of the poet, but also are such fun to read, thanks to his cheery narrative.

For me, it was even more of a pleasure to read such springy and lively Kannada sitting in Kolkata. At times, the writer does get somewhat involved with experiences and events that are strictly not related to Kuvempu and he acknowledges such digressions. But memory is such a strange thing, isn’t it? You can’t train your mind to sterilize and compartmentalize what it sees, analyzes, and stores. Like the canvas cot that Tejaswi associates with Kuvempu in an inexplicable way.


The book also reveals Kuvempu’s views on languages, mainly Kannada and to some extent English, and his heart-warming love and respect for both. Such an attitude is hard to be found these days.

This book has been with me for quite a few years now and had become one of those books I wanted to read someday. I am glad I read it at last. I absolutely loved Tejaswi’s style. Ah, wish I could lay my hand on more of his books.

MIndless googling

When work numbs my mind, I numb it further by typing in senseless stuff. For 'write something' I got this. Quite schizophrenic.