MiDDAY shock in middle of the day

I was just driving to office, on 4 Dec 2011, when the call came. It was past 4 pm and there were only two things on my mind; a political story on the design of B Sriramulu, who had just won the Bellary bypoll, and happiness to work for a newspaper such as MiDDAY. There was no hint on its funeral preparation.

Irony is that I was thinking how fortunate I was to be a part of MiDDAY because it looked more stable than the papers recently launched editions in Bangalore and struggling for existence and the journalistic freedom I was enjoying was not to be seen anywhere in the leading newspapers. Just the previous day, the city editor Aditya Anand had called me to his chamber to tell that he had met the group editor Sachin Kalbag and the owner Mahendra Gupta, and they had told him MiDDAY Bangalore was on top of their priority and it would be stronger by next April.

The caller, Anand, our designer in MiDDAY, said he was hearing some corridor talks about shutting down of Bangalore operations and the next day edition was the last one. In fact, I had missed the call because I was busy on the mobile phone negotiating car loan with a bank executive, who had found MiDDAY as A1 Company on his priority list and was enthusiastic to lend. On seeing his name in the missed calls list, I called Anand casually and he gave me the death message with half confirmation.

Feeling an ice mountain on the chest, I called Susheelan, our admin head, who confirmed the news.  Aditya said the announcement was just made and he was not sure about the fate of the editorial staff although Sachin was in talks with the management about a possible re-absorption.

So, where was the space for the story of instability of the government, when my own position was unstable? A moment before I was the Brahma foreseeing the death of D V Sadananda Gowda government coming in the form of Bellary Yama Sriramulu. A moment after I was a petty creature praying for survival ( yet, I filed the story as the last one in MiDDAY Bangalore).

With a blank on the mind, I turned the direction to The Times of India after asking a bosom friend to come down. She was in tears. How many times she could see me jobless and help to find a new job. It is coming to me in cycles with an average interval of two years; this time for none of my fault, previous cases were nothing to do with professional reasons though. I had offers in other news papers, but had let them go. I had joined Bangalore Mirror, but came back within hours of signing the joining report after the then group editor Abhijit requested.

When I reached the office at 5.30, it seemed a burial ground with the staffers wearing mourning look. An official mail from the CEO said he was happy to move on to strengthen MiDDAY Mumbai after closing operations at Bangalore and Delhi. He had cheered us at the end.

It was funnier, the day after when the publisher descended to address us. When everyone was leering at him in hope that he would announce the re-absorption plans, the publisher dropped hints at ditching us with a month’s salary. And he was ready with the draft of our resignation letters. The CEO had written them and we just needed to sign.

The meeting scheduled for 10.30 was called at 4.30 and no one was in a mood to have breakfast or lunch. When the video conferencing was on, the HR officials connected from Mumbai just delivered a cold funeral speech that had nothing for us. And the HR head said they had to wait till 4.30 because they were deliberating on the ways to protect our interest and finally figured out paying a month’s salary and writing resignation letters for us. There was no question of re-absorbing the existing staff that was only ten in number.

It was the scenario that we witnessed in the morning and why they took so long to arrive at the same conclusion? This absurdity explains the decline of a strong brand such as MiDDAY, I thought. A mediocre leadership would be potential enough to sink a ship as large as Titanic, but it would not be able to float a blade of grass.

A girl, who was yet to complete a month with MiDDAY, was not able to make the HR understand her problem. She had managed to find a job for her and the new employer was asking for three months’ salary slip. She could not say her company shut shop even before she could get the first month’s salary because on records she had resigned and was relieved from the company. She wept, but there were no takers. The HR head stuck to his framed language and showed his readiness to repeat it for any number of times.    

I was not in a position to seek solace from my friends outside because they were long ago rendered jobless by their employer. They are my TV channel friends and we were trying to figure out job opportunities for them and it was precarious that all of a sudden I stood jobless before them. And it was their turn to console me. It was when my eyes got moisture after one of them told me I would get a job and he was with me to share the agony. At the moment he had forgotten his own agony and tried to cheer me up. He is one of the finest sports journalists on TV. His honesty and passion for journalism are unblemished. Yet, he was thrown out of the job and there is no placement for him even after six months.

Why this Kolavery in the media? Why we are so insensitive and brutally unprofessional?

But, the response I got from the fraternity was appreciable. Many sympathised with me, while some of them helped in fixing appointments with editors. The first confirmation call came from The Times of India Hyderabad. Although my love is with Bangalore, I have no option left with but to pack up for Hyderabad.

Missing Bangalore in Bangalore

I think I can’t write on Bangalore, the city where I am born and brought up. A biased view, I am afraid, would come in the way and the picture would not be in its true colors. I think I know the metropolis fairly well, but the blind love would not allow me criticizing it. I may end up eulogizing the notionally pleasant weather and large large-hearted people.

I can certainly write on Hyderabad, the city that feeds me. No fear of becoming biased with my heart being somewhere else- and I am sure the writing would be objectively critical. But, the problem is I am blind to the city in the first place as I am yet to discover it. The hot weather and indifferent vehicle driving are just peripheral experience that is not an adequate stuff to write about a city like Hyderabad.

So, I am caught in between blind love and blind vision. My relationship with Bangalore is a natural love affair, while it is an arranged marriage between me and Hyderabad. Love gives you high and in the kick you can’t sense its grotesqueness. On the other hand an arranged marriage prompts you to be apprehensive about your yet-to-be- discovered partner and you are ever ready to put the person under scanner.

When I landed in Hyderabad twelve years ago for a brief period of employment, for the first time, I did not find it strange as the sounds of the city had a streak of acquaintance. Bangalore had already introduced me to Reddys and Naidus, who were not any different in Hyderabad. The visual was not strange either because the Telugu film posters were more ubiquitous on Bangalore walls than those in Hyderabad. While our own Soundarya had set the silver screen ablaze, a gyrating Megastar was no way alien. In fact, the cacophony with all the known elements had made me feel at home.

A visit to Chennai was even more unsurprising. It was just like slipping from my neighbourhood Chamrajpet, where the atmosphere is a mix of Kannada, Tamil, and Urdu, to the neigbouring Srirampura, where Tamil is dominant. I am deliberately not mentioning cantonment area in this regard. Bangalore Cantonment is certainly a Tamil area, but it has a European blend in its culture as it was in the Madras province during British rule. I didn’t find this part of Bangalore in Chennai. It was more like being in Srirampura, when I roamed around Paris, heart of Chennai city, with the Thumbis and Machhas around. When you go to Srirampura in Bangalore, a Macchi -- it is a distortion of Machha the saala or brother-in-law -- will greet you. And if the same thing happens to you at Chennai, then there is need for a Bangaloerian to feel out of place. Moreover, our stylish bus conductor is the style king there, and our Melukote Cheluvi is the Selvi and Puratchi Talaivi there.

When I was in Delhi, I didn’t miss Bangalore at all. Mysore was the first city in pre-independent India to take up the cause of Hindi propagation and Hindi Prachara Sabha is still an icon of the heritage city. In Bangalore, a clone of Mysore, Hindi is as natural as the breathing air. Bhachhans and Khans are loved here not just because Sholay was shot at the rocky Ramnagar or Coolie and Coolie No.1 were filmed in Bangalore, but because the Bollywood is in the heart of a Kannadiga because the Rashtrabasha is in his blood as a manifestation of his Desh Bhakthi. And Shivaji Nagar’s Urdu makes you feel gallis of Dilli your own.

So, wherever you go you will find Bangalore. But, can you find Bangalore in Bangalore? I had not encountered this question until I came to the city for a holiday after spending a few months in Hyderabad. On my entry to the city, a piece of Hyderabad welcomed me; the same Telugu film posters and loud dancy music. It was early in the morning and a paper vender was sorting out the bundles of morning newspapers on pavement, and the biggest bundle was that of Sakshi, the Jagan-owned Telugu daily. Second in size was of its archrival Eenadu. Where is the question of missing Hyderabad in Bangalore?

Even Chennai was very much alive in the city. The coffee shop owner gave an impression that he just can’t follow a word that is not Tamil; even steamy idly and sambar was just spreading nothing but Chennai flavor.

An auto rickshaw driver, a security at the gate of the apartment, and a vender of pani poori were all helpful in reminding me of Delhi.

But, where is Bangalore? It would be exaggeration if I say I did not hear a word of Kannada in Bangalore; it was there in the intimate circles of friends and families. I was happy to find a piece of Bangalore under the rubble of many pieces of Bangalore.

Whenever I speak to my Bangalore friends over phone in Kannada, my Hyderabad friends ask whether it wasTamil. In Bangalore, when a person speaks Telugu, or Tamil, or Hindi, I have seen no Kanndiga ever asking which language it was. I think that is the essence of Bangalore.

A mid-summer night's dream

On that sizzling summer night, a grope of slight breeze through window was soothing. He turned as he felt the wetness of the pillow. Sweat dripping down the neck had him drenched and even the bed was wet and cool. The setting had a strange contrast in it; coolness generated and enhanced by the heat. The air wouldn’t have such a cooling effect if the night had not been so sultry. He began enjoying the fleeting moment. He knew the cramped room will again be stuffy with the wind going away, and it occurred to him the shortness of life; a night, no matter how dark and hot, is a matter of a few hours. A day, no matter how bright, is a matter of a few hours. A fresh morning is only a span of two hours between five and seven; a romantic evening is just a stint of two hours between five and seven.

Even when life is fleeting, the ruthless night was dragging. A few hot hours of darkness seemed endless; no end of the tunnel in the vicinity. It occurred to him that life is short when it is enjoyable and it is long and heavy when it is unbearable. One who is suffering from headache wants his pain end the moment he pops a pill. But, it takes time for the pill going into the system and the span of the time is the length of the real life.

He needed a pill to rid the plaguing night. A memory of the beloved should have been the panacea. Alas! Her insensitiveness to his pain could only make the memory painful and paradoxically amnesia was the remedy. He struggled to forget the good moments he enjoyed with her because the memory was making him sleepless and complete loss of memory was the medicine for insomnia.

How cruel life is and how ostensible the mind is; if you try to forget something, it would only amount to an effort to recall it. The intent to forget makes the memory deeper. His razor sharp memory was a bane at the relentless night. The pounding reminiscence had life imploding on him and he was buried under the heaviness. There was no whimper of air as he gasped. He wanted to breathe easy, breath a fresh cool air. We wanted to come out of the room getting exposed to chillness of the dark night, heaving a deep sigh. But, how could he do that with his limbs not responding? The numbness developed in him just gave him the taste of death. He couldn’t even cry for help. He gave up even before giving it a try.

He tried to recall his favourite God; who is he? Earnestly, he had once felt love in the past and had likened love to God because the comfort it had given him was nothing short of divine happiness. But, where has it gone now? Why has it deserted him when he needed it the most? Why he is suddenly dumped to be lonely?

Love is with you when you love; it deserts you when you forget it. At the instance of its occurrence to him, the room lighted up as dawn broke. A slight breeze again blew through the window; his hand touched mobile phone, he dreamily searched the inbox; an old message dazzled; “You are a fool, because you have the habit of forgetting me.”

A deep sleep overwhelmed, he closed eyes with a smile that he could not resist.