For over four years now whenever they took me to my office in South Delhi they didn't bother to ask me what I did. They would talk about film stars and the new flicks that had been released that week, the politics of the day as played out in the political circles and aired on television sets, Tendulkar's innings and even the problems caused by all the Bangladeshi migrants they knew. I loved it all. Autowallahs I have believed, have some of the most interesting tales to tell. So I heard them on. And for their own reasons they loved the captive audience in me. But the conversation, much of it one-sided (from their side) only dealt with issues pertaining to the larger interest of human kind. They couldn't bother their lives with what I did. And I was glad.
Suddenly, sometime early morning last week, one of the strange guys at the Chitto park autostand surprised me on my way to the Noida office. He opened his morning chat with ``You know madam I happened to be at the right place at the right time sometime back.''
The journalist in me got interested. I thought this would be earth shattering. Wonder what this guy saw. Or heard. Could be a story. A lead. A scoop. Or what- the- hell, could be one of those innane but funny tales to recall at a dinner get together later in life. I waited with baited breath, my eyes gleaming. ``Boy! What's up.''
And my autowallah I think sensed that. With dramatic pauses he said, ``I was passing by Escorts hospital last week. There was a huge crowd there. People just didn't want to move. They had blocked the traffic for hours and I even had a showdown with one of them there.''
I wondered. What could it be at Escorts? And why do I need to know a week or so later. I was losing interest... till he said... ``So do you have a television job?''
``Haan? What? How do you know?,'' I blurted. I didn't remember telling any of these guys from the autostand about my transition from print to TV. How in the world did he know??? And before I could ask he turned around to say, ``I saw you. You had a mike in your hand. Talking into a camera. You work with TV. Right? What were you doing there?'' It was the Amitabh Bachchan illness story, I remembered. I had done some live linkages for the channel from outside there.
I must admit, I was surprised. In the years I've put in print journalism, there was
no such thing about any random autowallah knowing what you did for a living. Life was all about sitting on the fence and watching it tip-toe by from there. All these years, I was just a faceless BYLINE. I loved it. And with that came the comfort of lying through my teeth about being a MBA aspirant when I wanted to avoid a conversation with a fellow traveller on the state of affairs of the country.
Now I know I can't lie. The pleasures of conning the world like that are now over. But am not complaining. In my still very new a stint with Television, it has delivered what it promised. On air...Every extra gulp of air is noticed, every well meaning pause registered and every appearance accounted for. The autowallah that morning just confirmed it for me.
Late night when I got back home, after covering the first day of MCD demolitions in the city, the gatekeeper of my colony got up from his seat by the fire to ask me, ``Aaj aur kitne makaan tudyaye? (How many more houses did you get demolished today?) Everyone knows.
first published:January 04, 2006, 19:07 ISTlast updated:January 04, 2006, 19:07 IST
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I think I have probably arrived.(If I am to believe the many faces that tell me that this is precisely that.) My regular autostandwallahs... I have been summoning them every now and then,at weird hours and for even weirder routes for years together now, are now asking me what I do for a living. I didn't quite think it was important for them to know as long as they got their money after I had done my trip with them but now they want it explained.
For over four years now whenever they took me to my office in South Delhi they didn't bother to ask me what I did. They would talk about film stars and the new flicks that had been released that week, the politics of the day as played out in the political circles and aired on television sets, Tendulkar's innings and even the problems caused by all the Bangladeshi migrants they knew. I loved it all. Autowallahs I have believed, have some of the most interesting tales to tell. So I heard them on. And for their own reasons they loved the captive audience in me. But the conversation, much of it one-sided (from their side) only dealt with issues pertaining to the larger interest of human kind. They couldn't bother their lives with what I did. And I was glad.
Suddenly, sometime early morning last week, one of the strange guys at the Chitto park autostand surprised me on my way to the Noida office. He opened his morning chat with ``You know madam I happened to be at the right place at the right time sometime back.''
The journalist in me got interested. I thought this would be earth shattering. Wonder what this guy saw. Or heard. Could be a story. A lead. A scoop. Or what- the- hell, could be one of those innane but funny tales to recall at a dinner get together later in life. I waited with baited breath, my eyes gleaming. ``Boy! What's up.''
And my autowallah I think sensed that. With dramatic pauses he said, ``I was passing by Escorts hospital last week. There was a huge crowd there. People just didn't want to move. They had blocked the traffic for hours and I even had a showdown with one of them there.''
I wondered. What could it be at Escorts? And why do I need to know a week or so later. I was losing interest... till he said... ``So do you have a television job?''
``Haan? What? How do you know?,'' I blurted. I didn't remember telling any of these guys from the autostand about my transition from print to TV. How in the world did he know??? And before I could ask he turned around to say, ``I saw you. You had a mike in your hand. Talking into a camera. You work with TV. Right? What were you doing there?'' It was the Amitabh Bachchan illness story, I remembered. I had done some live linkages for the channel from outside there.
I must admit, I was surprised. In the years I've put in print journalism, there was
no such thing about any random autowallah knowing what you did for a living. Life was all about sitting on the fence and watching it tip-toe by from there. All these years, I was just a faceless BYLINE. I loved it. And with that came the comfort of lying through my teeth about being a MBA aspirant when I wanted to avoid a conversation with a fellow traveller on the state of affairs of the country.
Now I know I can't lie. The pleasures of conning the world like that are now over. But am not complaining. In my still very new a stint with Television, it has delivered what it promised. On air...Every extra gulp of air is noticed, every well meaning pause registered and every appearance accounted for. The autowallah that morning just confirmed it for me.
Late night when I got back home, after covering the first day of MCD demolitions in the city, the gatekeeper of my colony got up from his seat by the fire to ask me, ``Aaj aur kitne makaan tudyaye? (How many more houses did you get demolished today?) Everyone knows.
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