Behind the News: Voices from Goa's Press
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Title: Behind the News: Voices from Goa's Press
Author: Various
Release date: March 1, 2004 [eBook #11523]
Most recently updated: October 28, 2024
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEHIND THE NEWS: VOICES FROM GOA'S PRESS ***
Copyright (C) 2003 by the individual authors
Behind The News: Voices From Goa's Press
Copyleft, 2003. May be copied provided entire text is
kept intact, and credit is given to all who have
contributed to this work. While every attempt has been
made to maintain accuracy, we would appreciate
inaccuracies being pointed out. Feedback may be sent to
goajourno@indialists.org
This book was collaboratively written between August
2003 and October 2003, through Goajourno, a cyber
network of journalists and former journalists who have
worked in Goa.
Copyleft 2003. Writers of the respective individual
chapters retain their right to be identified as the
authors of their work.
This is work-in-progress. and currently is in draft
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First e-version: October 10, 2003 (draft)
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1 Sixties' stories: Free Goa's first elections
Chapter 2 Goan journalism: Views from near and far
Chapter 3 West Coast Times : A dream ruined
Chapter 4 Novem Goem: The Roof Caves In
Chapter 5 The Herald of A New Ethos
Chapter 6 oHERALDo: an untold chapter
Chapter 7 The banyan tree: working under Rajan
Chapter 8 Rural Goa, unheard, unsung...
Chapter 9 A year apart... journalism and leaving home
Chapter 10 Growing up with the Herald...
Chapter 11 In black & white... newsdesk nuggets
Chapter 12 The proof of it all...
Chapter 13 Birth pangs at Sant Inez
Chapter 14 An era of free sheeters
Chapter 15 Journalism in Goa: An outsider looks in
Chapter 16 An accidental Bhailo
Chapter 17 Why Konkani failed its readers...
Chapter 18 Romi Konkani, hanging on a cliff
Chapter 19 Comrades in crime: Police reporting
Chapter 20 Of sports... and sports journalism
Chapter 21 From journalist... to publisher
Introduction
If you believe in miracles, here is a small one. An
e-book, written collaboratively by over a
dozen-and-half journalists, many with amazing stories
to tell. Their willingness to do so, says something.
For one, it indicates a generosity to convert memories
into history, which would otherwise have been consigned
to the dustbin of amnesia. This is particularly true,
as the media seldom writes critically about themselves
in Goa. More importantly, it also suggests that there
are many in Goa who have a story, and are willing to
narrate it. If only they're given a chance. As
mediapersons, we need to ask ourselves why these
stories are not allowed (or encouraged) to surface in
the first place. It's impossible to believe that there
is such a drought of ideas and issues in Goa, and the
general lack of debate in the media would make it seem.
October 10, 2003 marks the 20th anniversary of the
Herald's English-language edition. Many of us
journalists who contributed here are no longer, or
perhaps never were, associated with that daily
newspaper. But, the launch of this product undeniably
opened up avenues for a generation of journalists in
the state. In addition, it rewrote the rules of
journalism for all of us here, for better or worse.
Hence the choice of this date for the first release of
this book.
What is being said along these e-pages refers to
critical times in the history of post-1961 Goa.
Needless to say, views voiced here stem from personal
experiences, oftentimes are subjective, and likely to
generate even more debate. But personal viewpoints are
also important, in that these help to complete our
understanding of particular events, episodes, and
individuals. It is no coincidence perhaps that this
series of essays is critical of some held up as icons
of Goa's journalism over the past four decades. You
might feel the criticism is unfair; but other versions
do need to be heard.
This is, of course, not the last word on the subject.
Nor does it claim to be a comprehensive account -- what
got included depended on who was willing to write their
'story' when the call for chapters went out.
This unusual work is humbly devoted to those who are
not, or cannot, be with us, as we go down the corridors
of time and look at the past decades. Journalists whom
Goa has produced, but perhaps were never adequately
recognised over the years. Like the innovative Ivan
Fera, who died young along with the promise of immense
talent and many bylines in journals like The
Illustrated Weekly. Or, Norman Dantas, who's early
death was at least in part triggered off by despair
brought on by the unfair deal he got from journalism in
Goa. We need to also remember the many who are not here
with us, pushed out -- both by limited opportunities,
as also politics in the press -- to migrate far and
wide and earn a living on distant shores. To all of
them, and the unsung heroes of journalism of the
post-Liberation era, this e-book is devoted.
Chapter 1:
Sixties' stories: Free Goa's first elections
By Ben AntaoBesides his stint referred to in this chapter, Benedito
Martinho Herculano Antao (b, 1935) worked for the
Indian Express in Bombay (1965-66). He then won a
journalism award from the World Press Institute, moved
to the US for a year's study, work and travel. Later,
he spent 10 weeks at the Denver Post (1967), worked for
a Catholic weekly in Toronto, and was a copy editor in
the mid-seventies at a major Toronto daily. He also
taught high school English, drama and religion for 22
years, before retiring in 1998, and qualified as a
certified financial planner in 1988. Currently, he is
involved in fiction writing, for which purpose he sees
journalism as a "great training ground".
There is a truism in journalism that goes like this:
facts are sacred; comment is free.
When I first read it in one of the books on journalism
that I borrowed from the USIS library in Bombay in the
late 'fifties, I was filled with such fervor as to
consider the vocation in journalism that I was
contemplating on, at the time, akin to the priesthood.
The concept of 'freedom of the press' particularly
attracted and engaged my young mind, burning with
idealism to bring about genuine equality in Indian
society and to see us as a truly "honorable people" as
the Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru had said we were.
In other words, journalism would offer me a platform to
make a difference.
After a season of doing freelance sports reporting for
The Indian Express in the city now called Mumbai, I
felt much like a lover. One who is not content with
merely kissing but wants to explore the whole body. And
as a follower of another truism, namely, he who seeks
finds the way, lucky circumstance fell into my lap and
I found myself doing freelance work for the Goan Tribune,
a fortnightly published in Bombay to espouse the
cause of Goa's political freedom from the Portuguese rule.
Here I got the opportunity not only to write about
sports, but also to do general news reporting and
profiles of prominent Goans. In little over a year,
though, my budding love affair discovered a flaw in my
inamorata -- the lady fancied the use of hyperbole and
propaganda as legitimate means to promote herself. My
idealism received a jolt of reality when Lambert Mascarenhas,
editor of the periodical then, engaged in
propagandist campaigning, suggesting that such slanted
writing was necessary to achieve the end. However, my
burning desire to express myself in writing overruled
my squeamishness.
After the Liberation of Goa in 1961, Lambert went to
Goa and became joint editor of a new English-language
daily, The Navhind Times, owned and published by the
Dempo Brothers, who had become wealthy in the mining
business. My fascination for the mistress of journalism
remained still intact, not to mention the hidden agenda
of my wanting to change the world.
So I went to Goa and joined the paper in June 1963.
Considering myself as a protege of Lambert, I enjoyed a
special status at the paper, doing both reporting and
sub-editing. It didn't take me long, though, to notice
that Vassantrao Dempo, the elder brother, was keenly
interested in the image of his newspaper and its
editorials. He had hired two editors, a Catholic and a
Hindu named T. V. Parvate from Maharashtra, ostensibly
to give balance to the paper's news and views. Often at
around 5:30 p.m., I would see Mr. Dempo carefully
perusing the editorial that Lambert or Parvate had
written before it came to the newsroom. The editors
wrote on alternate days. I would know, for example,
that Dempo had suggested a change in how a certain
point of view was expressed in Lambert's editorial
because Lambert often invited me to sit across his desk
while he wrote an editorial that was based on my news
report. Mr. Parvate, a fast and fluent writer, only
occasionally asked me into his partitioned office to
verify a fact or a figure.
Naturally, my curiosity propelled me to ask Lambert why
it was necessary for him or Parvate to have their
editorials okayed by the ultimate boss. After all, both
of them were professionals who knew and understood the
law of libel and defamation. Lambert, flashing his
customary smile by way of indulging me, a novice in the
game of politics, said it was a condition of his
contract. Besides, what was the big deal? An editor
could just as well express his own viewpoint as that of
the owner. It wasn't a loss of freedom. We live and let live.
Reporters too
I thought about it and gradually came to the conclusion
that reporters also indulged in self-censorship. Facts
may appear to be sacred, but as a reporter I choose
them to slant a 'story' in a particular way. Moreover,
space in a newspaper is always limited, forcing me to
write to a certain word count, in effect compelling me
to sacrifice many 'facts'.
The above was true not only in Goa and Bombay where I
worked as a general reporter for The Indian Express
(1965-66) but also in Toronto where I worked as a copy
editor on the foreign desk of The Globe and Mail in
1975-76. The foreign editor would throw at me reams of
teletype copy from Reuters, Associated Press,
Agence-France Presse, and The New York Times News Service
on a current story, such as race riots in
Johannesburg, or post-revolution democracy woes in Portugal
or the Patty Hurst kidnapping by the Symbionese
Liberation Army in San Francisco, and ask me for a
10-inch column story. This required that I cut out a
lot of 'facts' from the 2000 words of wire copy and
shape a news story in about 500 words.
Going back to Goa, I remember the one-sided coverage
that Navhind Times carried during the month-long
campaign for the historic, first general elections held
on December 9, 1963. And I was part of it.
Now Vaikuntrao Dempo, younger brother of Vassantrao,
was a Congress candidate in the Pernem constituency.
The Dempo Brothers had made a substantial cash
contribution to the national Congress Party, in effect
buying a ticket for Vaikuntrao in the Goa elections.
The local Goa Pradesh Congress Committee, headed by
Purushottam Kakodkar, a freedom fighter and an apostle
of Mahatma Gandhi, was deluged with names of suitable
candidates. It was hard pressed to make a judicious
choice, a key problem being the candidate's vision of
the future of Goa.
At this time, after the 30-member Goa Legislative
Consultative Council, headed by Maj.-Gen. Candeth, the
mustachioed military governor, was dissolved and a writ
for the first democratic elections was issued, two new
political parties came into being and declared their
election platforms. One was the United Goans, led by
Dr. Jack de Sequeira, which stood for a separate state
for Goa. The other was the Maharashtrawadi Gomantak Party,
with Dayanand Bandodkar at its helm, which stood for
Goa's merger with Maharashtra. The Congress, waffling
in between, promised that Goans would be consulted
about its future in the Indian union.
The elder Dempo let it be known that his paper would
support the Congress in the elections and, therefore,
all news coverage must be oriented towards Congress
candidates. And as the chief reporter at the paper, it
fell to my lot to deliver the news with this bias. On
the campaign trail, I traveled the length and breadth
of Goa, speaking to Congress candidates and often
manufacturing 'news' that purported to show that
people, by and large, were in favor of Congress
candidates. Lambert and I even drove to Pernem one day
to see how Vaikuntrao's campaign was coming along.
However, my one dependable contact was none other than
the 50-year-old Purushottam Kakodkar. His office in
Panjim was open to me at any hour of the day. Knowing
that our paper was solidly behind him, he was generous
with his time and forthcoming, giving me full access to
campaign reports sent to head office from the various
constituencies. During the campaign, Lal Bahadur Shastri,
the Indian Home Minister, visited Goa to lend his
support to the Congress candidates. Kakodkar arranged
for me an exclusive interview with the minister. In the
interview, Shastri affirmed that a separate status for
Goa was on the cards. A day after my story appeared on
the front page, Kakodkar told me that Shastri was
pleased with my report and had asked him to extend his
congratulations to me. I was more than touched by this
solicitude. I was feeling giddy, riding on the carousel
of a mutual admiration society.
My friend Ben Saldanha of PTI in Panjim filed a report
based on my interview; so did Joshi of The Times of India
bureau. As a representative of a news agency, Saldanha,
of course, had to be objective and he was. As a
matter of fact, he would often feed me stories about
the other two parties, based on the 'inside'
information he had received. He himself couldn't use
that information for his news agency, but I could. And
whenever I mentioned this 'fact' to my editors, I was
told to just let it pass.
Now, as the campaign was getting into high gear,
another friend L. S. Bhandare, an architect by
profession, who represented UNI (United News of India)
told me that the United Goans' campaign (workers
dashing about in open trucks with loud music and
handing out campaign literature) reminded him of
elections in London, England. He too drew my attention
to how successfully the UG party was appealing to the voters.
Convinced
But having persuaded myself willfully with
auto-suggestion, and having been on a one-track
crusade, I remained convinced that Congress would win
the day. On the eve of the election, a day of pause in
electioneering, I wrote an upbeat story (about three
takes) and handed it to Mr. Salkhade, the news editor
from Maharashtra. He scanned the intro and set it in
the tray of stories for the front page. Then he looked
up and said to me, "You know, Kakodkar is going to be
the chief minister of Goa."
It was about 4 p.m. Something in the tone of his voice
gave me pause. Then a wild notion entered my head, a
spur-of-the-moment impulse, with no rhyme or reason, a
mad folly that sometimes seizes lovers at play. I
phoned Kakodkar.
"Hello, Purushottam." Although only 28, I was now on
first-name basis with him.
"Hello Ben."
"It's a day of rest for you today. Is everything okay?"
"Fine."
"I've just finished writing my lead story for the paper
tomorrow. Looks like Congress will win with an
overwhelming majority. You must be pleased with the
campaign. What do you think?"
"We have to wait and see," he said in a voice devoid of
any emotion, but not exhausted. In this respect,
Kakodkar came across as cool and circumspect, a man in
full control of his emotions.
Mr. Salkhade was busy editing copy at the other end of
the newsroom, beyond earshot. That wild notion came
rushing again, prompting me to make the pitch, even if
it was only hypothetical.
"Purushottam, can I ask you something?"
"Sure, of course."
"You know our paper has been very good to you and the
Congress. And I, more than anybody else, have been
responsible for all the publicity you've received. Soon
you'll become the chief minister of Goa. Now I want to
ask you: what will you do for me?"
A pause and, "What do you mean?"
"What I mean is, if you become the chief minister, can
I be your press secretary?"
"I can't answer that."
"Why not?"
"I can't do it."
"Listen, I know you're not the chief minister yet. But
in the event that you do become the chief minister,
could you not at least tell me what your disposition
will be?"
"No."
"You know, I can't believe you're saying this. I am not
asking you for a job. I already have a job. All I am
asking is, if you become the chief minister, what will
you do for me? That's all."
"I can't do anything," he said.
"That's the answer I get after all that I have done for
you? I am disappointed. Goodbye and good luck tomorrow."
"Thank you," he said and put the phone down first. I
pictured him, in his customary white khadi bush shirt
and pants, wearing a self-righteous expression on his face.
During this call, over the carriage of my Underwood
typewriter, I was watching the news editor for my voice
carried unusually far. But he was focused on his work
and didn't look up in my direction.
I lit up a cigarette and hunched over the typewriter,
dismayed beyond description. I had heard that Kakodkar
was a highly principled man, and then with a sinking
feeling in my gut, I realized I was being used, a means
to the end. I shall never forget that moment.
Then I walked to my favorite bar to nurse my bruised ego.
Three days later, the election results came out. The Congress
was wiped out without a single seat in Goa. The MG won
14 seats to the UG's 12, with two independents, plus an
independent winning in Diu and a lone Congress victory
in Daman.
I kept brooding about Kakodkar. Did he know something
that I didn't? Was that why he said he couldn't do
anything for me? I had no heart to ask him that. After
that personal and private telephone conversation, the
two of us carried on as if nothing had happened. And
during the next year, my encounters with Kakodkar
became strictly professional but cordial.
Echoes in Toronto
But the manipulation of news by newspaper proprietors
was not limited to Goa. I heard a similar echo in
Toronto in the nineties.
In the 1988 elections, the Progressive Conservative
Party of Canada, led by Prime Minister Brian Mulroney,
had won a second majority with 169 seats out of 295 in
the House of Commons. The Liberals were in opposition
with 83. In the ensuing five years, the Mulroney
government brought in a new bill called Goods and
Services Tax, a highly controversial measure that
proved unpopular with the majority of Canadians. Still,
the government went ahead and passed the tax bill -- a
7% tax on all goods and services effective January
1990. During this term, Mr. Mulroney was also
criticized for being too friendly with the Americans.
In the 1993 election, the public was fed up with the
Tories (PC) as reflected in the opinion polls. But the
press and media had no clear idea as to how deeply the
people loathed the policies of the Tories. The shocker
came on the night of the election-October 25. The fall
from grace for the Tories was as stunning as it was
deserved. They won only two seats in total, each in the
province of New Brunswick and Quebec. The Liberals, led
by Jean Chretien, returned with a huge majority of 177
seats. The Liberals are still in power, having won the
next two elections in 1997 and 2000.
However, an interesting development regarding the power
of the press took place in 1998. A wealthy Canadian
newspaper mogul named Conrad Black financed a new daily
in Toronto called The National Post. Black told readers
that his paper would advance an alternative point of
view, a far right conservative position on politics in
Canada. As owner of London's Daily Telegraph, the
Jerusalem Post, and Chicago's Sun-Times, Mr. Black
hired top talent and spared no expense, at least for
the first two years, to make the Post successful in
creating and wooing the conservative voice in Canada.
In the 2000 election, his paper became as one-sided as
Navhind Times was in 1963. The paper supported a new
party called Canadian Alliance, a highly conservative
group drawn mostly from western Canada, and was
hell-bent to destroy Prime Minister Jean Chretien and
the Liberals. Alas, the people didn't buy it! And the
Liberals forged ahead with a third majority win.
During this time, Mr. Black's personal agenda of
wanting to be a peer in the House of Lords in England
came out front and centre. The British Prime Minister
Tony Blair recommended and the Queen accepted that
Conrad Black be made a Lord. But sweet revenge raised
its arms and Jean Chretien said Black couldn't be a
Lord while being a Canadian citizen. Black was forced
to renounce his Canadian citizenship. Not only that,
but Black sold the National Post in 2001 for a tidy
profit. He is now Lord Black of Crossharbour in the
House of Lords.
I started this article with the observation that facts
are sacred and comment is free. Both elements of
journalism, it seems to me, are flawed. Like beauty and
sex, freedom of the press is in the eye of the beholder
and in the loins of the performer. It's all relative,
never absolute.
Chapter 2:
Goan journalism: Views from near and far
Eugene CorreiaCanada-based Eugene Correia has worked for a wide range
of national-level newspapers published in India.
Besides those listed below, he has also written for
India Today, and a number of expat Indian publications
published from overseas. What stands out is this
journalist's sharp understanding of Goan issues and
politics, and his memory for detail, all the more
remarkable since he has been based outside Goa for
virtually his entire working life.
I must admit I have no direct connection with
journalism in Goa, in the sense of having worked in the
state. However, I was involved in Goan journalism in
Mumbai (then Bombay), but that too in a limited way. I
wrote few pieces for the Konkani-language papers such
as The Goa Times and Ave Maria and the English-Konkani
weekly, The Goan Sports Weekly. After Goa's Liberation,
and till I left India for Canada in late 1981, I took
more than a cursory look at how journalism is practiced
in Goa. I read The Navhind Times often, as the paper
was available in Mumbai during the 1970s.
I was involved in mainstream journalism in Mumbai since
my college days, first with The Indian Express and
later with the Free Press Journal. I provided freelance
services for both papers in the sports department. It
was my dad's cousin, Felix Valois Rodrigues, who
inspired me to take up journalism. A versatile writer
in English, Konkani and Portuguese, he worked for the
Indian Express in New Delhi till his retirement.
Getting into the field
Felix Uncle, as I called him, introduced me to the news
editor of Indian Express in Mumbai and I was given a
chance to work in the sports department under CSA Swami
. The news editor, S Krishnamoorty, popularly known as
SKM, who regarded by many as more powerful then the
editor because of his close relationship with Ramnath Goenka,
The Indian Express proprietor.
As a freedom fighter who served in jail for his
anti-Portuguese activities, Rodrigues was
well-connected in Goa. After my graduation, he gave me
an introductory letter to Lamberto Mascarenhas, who was
by then no longer the joint editor of The Navhind Times,
Goa's first English-language daily.
Mascarenhas, in turn, gave me an introductory note to
K.S.K. Menon, who had been co-editor with Mascarenhas,
and later promoted to editor. I took the letter to
Menon and, after reading it, said he would contact me
if any position arose.
He gave me back the note. I read the Mascarenhas'
scribbled note and was shocked. Mascarenhas had
introduced me as a "chap" from "my village". It was
true, we both came from Colva, but to a young man like
me seeking a job it was horrifying to read a learned
man like Mascarenhas call me a chap.
It's also true that Mascarenhas and I belong to
different strata in Goa's caste system. I couldn't
believe a man of his stature could introduce me in such
a demeaning way. I think I have the note somewhere in
my collection of memorabilia.
I never got a job at The Navhind Times. In later years,
I met Mascarenhas in the office of Goa Today. From his
days at The Navhind Times to owning Goa Today,
Mascarenhas had become an icon in Goan journalism. He
had also gained reputation as a novelist for his
acclaimed book, Sorrowing Lies My Land. In subsequent
years, I learnt a lot about Mascarenhas as a man and
his role as a freedom fighter in the liberation
struggle in Mumbai. One of his best friends, Professor
Edward Mendonca taught me at St. Xavier's College.
Mendonca and I came to know each other well after me
finishing my graduation. Twice I saw him very drunk and
I had to hail a taxi for him and drop him near his
house in Colaba.
Mendonca reputation for booze is legendary as his
mastery over the English language and his ability to
teach. He and me spoke at times of Mascarenhas's
reputed novel. Mendonca's hand can be been throughout
the book, and many English scholars have also been
curious about it. Because of his alcoholism, it became
easy for many to dismiss Mendonca's influence in
Mascarenhas's book as a boast from a drunkard. Those
like me who knew Mendonca reasonably well have reason
to believe that Mendonca could be anything but a liar.
I held no grudge against Mascarenhas for calling me a
"chap", but deep inside me I carried the wound. Even in
Goa I would go to see him. On one such visit, I asked
him if he would provide me with an opportunity to write
for his magazine. He dismissed me summarily saying he
prefers reputed writers. I thought he would encourage a
young journalist like me. I resolved never to write for
the magazine and I have never written for it.
When I learnt the magazine was taken over by the Salgaocars,
I felt happy. Happy not because the magazine no
longer belonged to Mascarenhas, but happy because I
felt the new owners and the new editor would give
opportunities to new writers. As we now know, it has
happened. Goa Today was no longer the domain of one man
and his ego.
On another visit during summer, I was dressed in a
suit. I was to meet the then Chief Minister Dayanand Bandodkar
and later attend a wedding in the city. Since I had no
personal means of transport, for me to travel from
Bogmallo to Panaji and back twice would be difficult,
so I had worn the suit and left home early morning. As
soon as I told Mascarenhas that I was going to meet
Bandodkar, Mascarenhas's face changed colour. He
admonished me for wearing a suit to see the chief
minister, saying that journalists must be dressed
informally. I explained to Mascarenhas, but I could see
that Mascarenhas bore some hatred for the late
Bhausaheb, as the chief minister was affectionately known.
That very same day, I met some journalists, including
Michael Fernandes who, I believe, was The Indian Express
correspondent in Goa. I told them that Mascarenhas
seemed piqued at me for wearing a suit. If I remember
correctly, Fernandes said that Mascarenhas has a
personal bias against Bandodkar regarding the
withdrawal of government advertisement. He told me that
Mascarenhas and Bandodkar were once on a friendly
basis, but both had fallen apart.
I think my second adventure in getting a job in Goa
came when Erasmo de Sequeira launched his paper, Goa Monitor
. I applied for a position but never got appointed. The
paper lived for a brief time.
Some years later, my uncle told me that he has an offer
from the Chowgules to start a Konkani daily. I came to
Goa for a visit and went to see Rodrigues at his
residence in Darbandora. He and I designed the logo for Uzvadd,
though it may have been refined when the paper was
launched. Rodrigues never took up the position as he
was to be under the editorial supervision of Madhav Gadkari,
the then editor of Gomantak. Gadkari was fiercely pro-Marathi
and my uncle felt his efforts to promote Konkani journalism
would be subverted by Gadkari. To my surprise, Evagrio Jorge,
the noted freedom fighter and news reader at
All-India Radio in Panaji, was its first editor. The
paper was well received. As expected, Jorge and the
owners or probably Gadkari had a difference of opinion.
In a short time, Jorge was out and he launched his own
paper, Novem Uzvadd.
Throwing light on Uzvadd
Without the financial muscles of the Chowgules that
sustained Uzvadd, Jorge's paper suffered. I think it
was also during this time that a group started another Konkani
daily, Novem Goem. I am not sure why Uzvadd eventually
folded up.
My friend, Cyril D'Cunha, started a sports weekly
called Goal, and I was its Mumbai correspondent. I
contributed many stories till the paper went under for
reasons unknown to me. This was my direction connection
to Goa's journalism. Later on, I was offered a job at
the West Coast Times, a daily launched by the House of
Timblos. At least two senior colleagues of mine at the
Free Press Journal went to Goa to start the paper. One
of them was Y.M. Hegde and the other, P.R. Menon.
Before going to Goa and even after the paper began
publishing from Margao in South Goa, Hegde said it
would be good for me to come to Goa. I forget the year
it was launched and if I was still a freelancer at the
Free Press Journal or on its staff. By then, I was not
keen on settling down in Goa. To me, Goa was still in
the backwaters of journalism. To leave a city like
Mumbai where journalism made blood rush in one's veins,
and go to Goa, where things moved at a snail's pace,
was something I dreaded. When I wanted to come to Goa,
I was found unwanted.
After leaving Free Press Journal and joining The Hindu,
I met Raul Fernandes one day in Mumbai. He was scouting
for talent for O Heraldo, then about to be turned into
an English-language daily. I knew Fernandes, though not
as well as his brother John and his dad, Antonio
Caetano Fernandes.
The Fernandes family was close friends with my friends
in Mumbai, the Ribeiros, owners of the Goan restaurant
in Dhobitalao called Snowflake. When in Goa, my friend
and I went to see AC, as he was popularly known, at the
Casa JD Fernandes store in Panaji. And whenever John
came to Mumbai to get supplies for their store, he
would visit Snowflake where I hung out most of my time.
Raul Fernandes and I met at the Kyani Restaurant in Dhobitalao
and he offered me to come to Goa as chief reporter.
The offer was unattractive financially for me to leave
The Hindu. I was given the impression that Ervelle Menezes,
than with Indian Express in Mumbai, was joining as
editor. Fernandes was in consultation with Menezes, I
was told. At a second meeting, Fernandes informed me
that Rajan Narayan was chosen to be the editor. I was
surprised. I never had any admiration for Narayan's
journalism. I had heard some stories about his
resignation from The Mirror, a monthly publication from
the Eve's Weekly group. Even though the offer of chief
reporter was not tempting, I was not keen on working
under Narayan.
I knew Narayan on a hi-and-bye basis when I was at Free
Press Journal and he was at Onlooker, a
sister-publication from the Free Press Journal group. I
forget what position he held at the Onlooker magazine,
and whether Narayan was there when M.J. Akbar edited it
or later when M. Rahman took over.
I once covered a function at the United States
Information Services (USIS) office in Mumbai where
Narayan was present. A well-known scholar of Black
studies was visiting Mumbai from the United States.
Narayan carried with him a book by this scholar. I
found it very preposterous on Narayan's part to bring
the heavy volume to the meeting.
In fairness to Narayan, he made O Heraldo what it's
today. I also heard some allegations about his
wheeling-dealing with powers-that-be in the government.
Many journalists and some politicians told me that
Narayan deserved the violent attack on him as his
journalism was biased. No matter what his journalism
is, the attack on him was a shameful incident in the
history of Goan journalism.
I am told he's Goa's bravest journalist. Maybe true, as
I am in no position to judge that from here in Canada.
But I find his writing very weak. His editorials and
columns have lot of spelling errors and the grammar is
often flawed. His column, Stray Thoughts, is not well
composed. Just a month or so ago, someone gave me old
copies of O Heraldo. Going through his column, I found
his thoughts not very cohesive. He writes in a
disjointed way. One thing I will agree, he writes
strongly, not sparing those whom he targets. If carving
a well-written piece is his fault, then using strong
language is his forte. I form my opinion not on just
the few papers I read recently, but also from reading O
Heraldo during my visits to Goa and from those at times
posted on the Goanet email list (http://www.goanet.org).
On holiday
Just after a year's stay in Canada, I came to Goa on a
holiday. One fine day, Fulgencio Rodrigues, once the
leader of the toddy-tappers association and a candidate
for the assembly, and a fellow-villager in Bogmallo,
came to my house and told me that Umaji Chowgule wanted
to meet with me.
I was taken aback as I didn't know Umaji personally.
Rodrigues, who worked for the Chowgules, took me on his
scooter to meet him Umaji at the Chowgule offices. To
my surprise, he offered me a job as joint editor of a
sports daily the Chowgules were then planning on
launching. The other editor was to be Antonio Botelho,
a former sports writer at The Navhind Times, who I knew
well, both as writer and later as one of the
office-bearers of the Goa Football Association.
I was a landed immigrant in Canada and my first
experience in Canada was not very good. There was
recession then on and I was finding it difficult to get
a job in my field. I worked in a warehouse for
sometime, making enough money to buy a ticket to India.
The offer came with a flat in the Sant Inez locality of
Panaji and a car. I told Umaji that if I accept the
position, I would forfeit my landed immigrant status in
Canada. I asked if what would happen if the paper
failed to fly. He said he would absorb me in the public
relations department of the Chowgules. I went to Sant
Inez with one of the Chowgule officers to select a
flat. I picked one. After that I went to the Gomantak
building to meet with Narayan Athawale, editor of Gomantak
. Umaji had explained that Athawale would be the
overall in charge of the new paper.
After speaking to Athawale, I met some workers. I
noticed some tension among them regarding the launch of
a new paper. The workers felt that profits from the Gomantak
paper would be diverted to sustain the new sports
daily. In other words, the workers would get lesser
bonuses. The atmosphere in the press seemed vitiated. I
was also aware of what happened to Evagrio Jorge. I was
contemplating whether I should risk my Canadian
immigration to remain in Goa. My heart and mind was
divided, and so was my family. My dad said I should
stay back as the job prospects in Canada very dim, but
my mom said I should go back and see what the future holds.
At the same time I was engaged and in a week or two
would get married. My future wife insisted that I
forego the offer and return to Canada. I gave the whole
thing a good thought and decided to tell Umaji that I
was not interested. He had told me that if I decide to
accept the offer, I should finally meet Ramesh Chowgule
who, I think, was the managing director of the Chowgule
group. I believe the paper was never launched. To this
day, I am not sure how the Chowgules came to know about
me. My hunch is that Prashant Joshi, former official of
the Goa Cricket Association, whose family owns the
Joshi and Sons Auto Center in Vasco, told Umaji about
me. I had gone to visit Joshi in Vasco when I came to Goa.
During my next visit to Goa, I was happy to know that
one of my colleagues at Free Press Journal, Padiyar,
was editor of The Navhind Times with another former
colleague, M.M. Mudaliar, as his associate. In fact,
Mudaliar was passed over by the management after Bikram Vohra
left to go to Khaleej Times in Dubai. Mudaliar and me
had lunch one day in a Panaji restaurant and he seemed
quite distraught. Padiyar, who joined The Navhind Times
from The Times of India where he had moved from Free
Press Journal, had a brief stint as editor as he passed
away following a heart attack.
I knew the publisher of The Navhind Times, Vilas Sardesai,
well because of his involvement with soccer. Once
when I was in Goa, he, D'Cunha and I travelled in a car
he borrowed from Vohra, as his own car was unavailable,
all the way from Panaji to Margao to watch a soccer
match. I never asked Sardesai for a favour to get me a
job at The Navhind Times. I was content working in
Mumbai where journalism flourished those days and
continues to do so till today.
Grown since
When I check websites of Goan papers or when some
friends and family bring Goan papers to Canada from
their visits, I notice that Goan journalism has grown
since I saw it first-hand. It behooves well for this
field that Goa now enjoys many dailies and has
correspondents of many leading Indian papers.
The quality of reporting and editing is still not very
impressive. What is, however, impressive is that the
new breed of journalists shows lot of guts and
vitality. I once discussed the teaching of journalism
with Fr. Planton Faria, who used to run the Diocesan
Communication Centre at the Archbishop's House at
Altinho in Panaji.
He showed me the student paper and I saw some good
writing. I am not aware if the centre is still
operating. Fr. Faria was editing a Konkani paper while
also running the centre.
It has been my ambition to have a journalism college in
Goa named after Frank Moraes, one of the finest editors
in Indian journalism. There may be many who would
dispute my suggestion on the basis that Moraes didn't
do anything for Goan journalism per se, and I totally
agree. No matter he did play a direct role in Goan
journalism, but he was a Goan journalist of repute.
One may argue that during the Portuguese days there
were many Goan journalists who played crucial roles in
promoting Goan journalism. Some of these journalists,
who were also leaders, were in the forefront of Goa's
liberation struggle. Maybe so, Moraes too played a
vital background role in Goa's liberation, largely
because of his close friendship with Prime Minister
Jawaharlal Nehru.
Whatever the case, a college of journalism, affiliated
to the Goa University, is a dream that I cherish and
hope it would be realized in my lifetime. Goa has a
privileged status in the history of the written word in
India with the publication of the first-ever book in
the country. Journalism is part of the written word
and, hence, a college that fosters the growth of
journalism would be ideal in the serene surrounding of
Goa's educational landscape. That's my thought to
ponder for those in the decision-making positions.
Chapter 3:
West Coast Times : A dream ruined
Valmiki Faleiro One of Goa's own, home-grown profilic writers between
the mid-seventies and mid-eighties, Faleiro worked his
way through other professions too, before coming back
to commit himself in writing once again, only to reveal
a style that remains as readable as ever. Luckily for
Goa, Faleiro doesn't rule out the possibility of taking
to the pen -- or should one say, the computer keyboard
-- sometime in the near future.
Summer, 1978. Whether Goa's only English daily hit
newsstands in Margao at 9 or at 11 in the morning,
mattered little. I was preparing for my final B.Com.
exams due in a few weeks and had, in any case, tired
myself of asking The Navhind Times' management to make
it a newspaper (for us in South Goa) that went with
breakfast, not brunch.
My association with The Navhind Times (NT) had begun
precisely on February 23, 1975. NT carried an article
penned jointly by D.M. Silveira and me. (Silveira was
one of my two English lecturers at Margao's Damodar College
and, with the other, B.G.Koshy, later turned to
journalism: Silveira was Editor, ONLOOKER, of Mumbai's
FPJ group and Koshy the Associate Ed. of The Current Weekly.)
Then on, the NT Editor, Dr. K.S.K. Menon, encouraged me
to write. Off and on, he would also commission me to do
Sunday features, sometimes full-page, on topics of
prevailing reader interest. Between 1975 and 1978, I
had some 45 by-lines at the NT, then a 6-pager (10
pages on Sunday.)
Sometime in between, Dr. K.S.K. asked me to join the NT
desk -- with free education at Dempo College of Commerce
and no-night-shifts baits. I ought to have grabbed the
offer. The company was great: K.P. Nair (News Ed), the
incredibly witty Balan (Chief Sub), my friend Patrick Michael
(a gifted Malayalee who, with me, but surreptitiously,
covered North Goa for The Current Weekly -- together we
had done the Siddarth Bandodkar shooting story, but who K.S.K.
ensured stayed as Proof Reader without promotion at
the NT!) Gabru and Cyril D'Cunha were at the desk and
Gurudas R. ("Kaka") Singbal, Pramod Khandeparkar and
Jovito Lopes on the field?
For reasons that will take me off this track, I
declined the offer. Promising Dr. K.S.K., however, that
I'd join the day I complete graduation -- though I
never really meant to take journalism as a career. I
had set my sights on becoming a Company Secretary after
B.Com. but while doing the correspondence course,
thought I'd work -- and earn pocket money.
The '70s were times of MRTP culture. There were
monopolies and there were restrictive trade practices,
and Commissions that could barely hold them in check.
Even though Dr. K.S.K. to my sheer amazement once
bragged that the Prime Minister's private secretary
telephoned him while he was shaving just that morning
(to compliment him on the day's "excellent" editorial),
fact was that NT rarely traveled 35 kilometres to Margao
before 8 or 9 in the morning. Times wouldn't change
and the NT stood still. It was a proud monopoly, which,
after all, had weathered challenges from the likes of
Goa Monitor (Papa Baba Sequeira-owned, Jagdish Rao
-published, Mario Cabral Sa-edited and Alfred De Tavares
-chief reported.)
Back to the summer of 1978. As our 'unholy trinity' of
Aleixo, Shekhar and me daily sat at the Govind Poy
house on Abade Faria Road, Margao, preparing for our
final B.Com. exams, I missed Kaka Singbal -- a.k.a.
Balsing, the Sunday columnist and Chief Reporter of NT
-- and Sripad P. Madkaikar, who at one time or the
other published most of Goa's dailies. Both had called
at home earlier in the day. Kaka left a note saying he
had something "interesting" for me and would I kindly
see him soon. I met him at his Patto quarters early
next morning. He said he had quit NT and joined a
newspaper that was going to be published -- from
Margao! He said the proprietor, Panduronga (Chalebab) Timblo
-- Papa to most of us -- had made a blanket offer:
whatever the NT offered me, he would offer more!
I immediately went to Navhind Bhavan. Dr. K.S.K. was
seated with Fr. Lactancio Almeida, then Editor of
Vauraddeancho Ixtt. I explained that it would help me
cope with my Company Secretary studies from the
comforts of my own home in Margao? The ex-Army man
perennially dressed in cool white almost sprang from
the chair, his neatly waxed whiskers bristling with
rage: "Are you going to that W.C. s**t Times?"
He tried a different line, "Are you going to join my
competitor and stab me in the chest?" And yet another,
"Remember I am the P.A.C. (Press Advisory Committee)
chairman for another three years -- and as long as I'm
around, I'll ensure you don't get an accreditation!!"
I was painfully aware that I was reneging on a promise,
that by joining a competitor, I'd hurt the hand that
had, in good measure, groomed me. But Company
Secretaryship was my object -- not journalism -- and I
honestly imagined that studying the course material and
sending out its Response Sheets would be better done
from home and without working on shifts, as I'd at NT.
[I was, eventually, recompensed with poetic justice. I
hadn't reckoned that joining a fledgling -- nay,
nascent -- publication as its Staff Reporter, with
added responsibility of news-gathering in South Goa
(which meant re-writing copy from mofussil
correspondents who largely hailed from a vernacular
background) would be so engrossing an affair that I
ended up sending not a single Response Sheet to the
Institute of Company Secretaries of India!]
The West Coast Times (WCT) began churning out dummies
by late-June 1978. My die was cast on June 6, 1978, by
way of acceptance of the appointment letter, personally
signed by Papa (Panduronga Timblo) himself. One of the
most promising publishing ventures in the history of
Goa's print media was about to take off?
The mid-'70s witnessed a boom in Goa's mining industry,
both in terms of productivity and profitability.
Panduronga Timblo Industrias (PTI) had evidently also
made pots of cash, particularly from its manganese
mines in Rivona, Quepem. While brother, Gurudas' Timblo
Private Limited (TPL) had during this time invested in
some far-sighted (but alas, badly managed) industrial
enterprises, including fertilizers, rubber footwear and
collapsible tubes, youngest brother, Modu's Sociedade
de Fomento Industrial (SFI) was consolidating its
strengths in mining and diversifying into hospitality.
PTI did not lag behind -- with Parshuram Paper Mills at
Chiplun, industrial gases in Bangalore and, to the
surprise of many, an English-language newspaper from Margao!
A rival to Hobson's choice NT
The last comment may be off the mark. As I later learnt
from Papa himself, the project was conceived from a
broader vision. Throughout the Konkan, from Ratnagiri district
in Maharashtra to South Canara (now Dakshin Kannada)
districts in Karnataka, no English-language daily was
available before noon or afternoon those days. While
the Mumbai dak editions of Times of India (ToI) and
Indian Express (IE) did the honours in coastal
Maharashtra, it was Bangalore's Deccan Herald in
coastal Karnataka. Goa's NT, which took only a couple
of hours less to reach Margao, could not be expected to
travel beyond its borders on mass circulation basis --
till WCT arrived, NT was in fact believed to have
pegged its circulation (to avoid re-classification to a
higher bracket, which implied higher minimum wages to
staff and workers!)
It was Papa's dream to fill this void of a morning
English-language daily for the entire Konkan, from Goa.
Hence the West Coast in the newspaper's name.
Competition to NT was only incidental. (I am not aware
of any family feuds among Goa's mining magnates at the
time and shall stand corrected if there was any such
raison d' etat. If there really were any differences
between the two families, they would be buried some
years later: under blessings of the Partagal Swamiji,
Papa's grand-daughter, Pallavi, was given in marriage
to the Dempo headman, Vasantrao's son, Srinivas -
current Chairman of the Dempo group.)
The infrastructure put into place to realize Papa's
dream matched. A modern civil construction,
meticulously designed, was put up at Davorlim, just
beyond Margao's municipal boundary. Editorial,
advertising and printing departments were housed under
one roof for optimum synch. All sections of the
newspaper's production process, from subbing to
typesetting, from proof reading to optical processing,
from plate-making to the final printing, were so
located as to achieve maximum production speed.
Attention was paid even to minor details, like sending
galley proofs to the news desk in a jiffy. Such were
the conveniences that the edition could go to bed by a
leisurely 4.30am (the print run took barely half an
hour.) Communication lines were made as reliable as
possible, given frequent power interruptions. Both PTI
and UNI ticker services were subscribed to (though only
the PTI had a carrier station in Margao to cope with
breakdowns.) A full-fledged bureau was set up in
Panjim, connected to the editorial offices in Davorlim
by teleprinter link.
The printing technology employed was said to be the
best available in India -- except in typesetting, where
for some unknown reason, Lino machines were used
instead of computers (maybe the value of lead scrap, in
place of katchra bromides that computers generated
those days, had something to do with it!) No more
block-making for photographs and illustrations; these
were optically processed directly to printing plates. A
modern web offset printing machine was brought in
(together with a Delhi-based Haryanvi operator who soon
acquired fondness for palm feni from nearby Jose's bar
and other unprintables from across the Rawanfond
railway tracks!). The machine churned out, if I
remember right, 50,000 copies/hour. Even the camera
purchased for the Staff Photographer was a
top-of-the-line German Leica, complete with an array of
lenses and filters, worth a lakh of rupees of 1978.
Krishna Kurwar managed the plant, under the
GM-cum-Publisher, Madkaikar. The result was a
refreshing, never-before-seen product on the landscape
of Goa's print media.
To match, a high-profile editorial team was put
together under the stewardship of Konkani-speaking M.G. Bailur
and his Associate, Tulu-speaking Y.M. Hegde, both
originally from South Canara. The backbone of the
newspages, the News Editor, was P.R. Menon, the old and
revered FPJ warhorse. The complement of three Chief
Subs and about a dozen Subs was picked from various
national dailies -- Goa could come up with only two
pairs of hands on the news desk. Being unfamiliar with
local affairs, this cast added onus on Kaka Singbal and
me to mark the priority of our dispatches in the
initial days!
The news-gathering team headed by Kaka (assisted by
Dharmanand Kamat in Panjim and Karamchand Furtado on
the TP link) was, of course, entirely home-bred. I
rushed college-mate Leslie St. Anne thro' a crash
course in typing to join me in Margao. In South Goa, we
had Radharao Gracias and Joey Rodrigues (both law
students then), Felicio Esteves (who went on to become
a Ministerial P.A. and co-author of the infamous Marks Scandal
subsequently scooped by me for the FPJ), John Carlos Aguiar
in Ponda, Vallabh Dessai in Quepem, Minguel Mascarenhas
in Sanguem, Kelly Furtado in Vasco, and half a dozen stringers
across South Goa. Manikrao (brother of the
award-winning ToI photographer, Prabhakar M. Shirodkar)
was our lensman, assisted by Lloyd Coutinho in Margao
and Lui Godinho in Vasco, excellent photographers all,
who provided the memorable photo inputs that shot the WCT
to instant fame.
WCT hit the newsstands in early-July 1978. We raced. In Margao,
I concentrated on at least one off-beat,
human-interest, interview-based or photo-story per day,
carried usually boxed or in anchor position. Aware of
our printing process strengths, I never lost an
opportunity to get Manik shoot a good pic, including
one that had to be clicked from a bubbling canoe in
choppy waters off a rocky beach in Betul, South Goa.
[This one was of a rotting human male corpse --
sprawling, shocking and white on the dark rocks - which
the cops had neglected to recover despite the local
Sarpanch's days-long complaints. P.R. Menon splashed
the pic in the lead-story position. I had to take
Papa's reprimand the following morning -- it seems the
Lt. Governor was taken so aback picking the morning's
WCT that his P.A. personally called Papa to complain
about bad taste. But I still considered the
two-and-half Rupees paid to the canoe man for the ride
a fine expense!]
Consciously, though, we shunned sensationalizing and Kaka
firmly shot the idea of carrying the day's matka
figures. We refrained from gimmicks like carrying dummy
advertisements, especially in the Classified columns,
barometer to a newspaper's popularity.
Instead, we went for innovative editorial content.
[Including, at my instance, a SundayMag column on
Sleight of Hand by the Salcete magician, Marco. When
Marco didn't show up for a couple of weeks, leading to
howls from eager readers of his column, Y.M. Hegde was
so furious that I had to fill in with a piece on how
Marco had performed the Vanishing Trick and restore
YM's trademark smile!]
To further notch up circulation, I almost coerced Madkaikar
into breaking the back of monopoly newspaper
distributors in South Goa -- by selling retail bundles
to any willing vendor on an initial sell-or-return basis.
Results were evident. By month 6, we sold around 4,500
copies in and around Margao alone, compared to less
than half that number by NT. Circulation problems,
however, persisted in North Goa, including delayed
deliveries to news stalls in the northern talukas. But
then, we had just two vehicles to cover the entire
territory. ("Penny wise, Pound foolish," P.R. Menon
forever rued, he never carried much of an impression
about the managerial abilities of Goan mineowners --
all his life, after all, Menon had worked in a
establishment owned by the Karnanis, Marwaris to the
core!) Even then, overall, WCT's print order would be
just about 2,000 copies short of the NT. And at the
rate we were going, the gap would fast be closed and surpassed?
My heroes, of course, were Shivram Borkar and Babal Borkar,
ace drivers who by day ferried the shift editorial
staff to and from quarters in Margao to office in Davorlim
. By night, the duo snoozed whatever time available, on
heaps of 'raddi' in the press. And zipped their way
with newspaper bundles to either end of Goa before the
crack of dawn -- in terribly overloaded, ramshackle,
dieselized Ambassador cars that should have been a
delight to Mario Miranda and Alexyz (we used a
syndicated pocket cartoon, incidentally, since Mario
was with the ToI group in Mumbai and Alexyz hadn't yet
surfaced as a cartoonist.) Babal and Shivram, true
heroes who virtually were at call, round the clock,
round the year. [They of course made out-of-pocket
money, ferrying passengers on the return. When this
reached Papa's ears, he tailed one of the drivers one
fine morning. When the unsuspecting fellow stopped to
take in passengers, Papa is reported to have pulled
alongside and advised the driver, "Bhara, bhara, taxi
ti!" The man was often magnanimous. The driver did not
lose his job.]
By the first year of publication, despite impressive
circulation figures, there were no signs of advertising
revenue picking up to reach the financial break-even
point. To the sheer dismay of our well-knit editorial
team, there were also no signs of implementation of the
pan-Konkan Plan. The management, instead, began
fighting shy to inject fresh investment in the
enterprise. Corners started getting cut. Virgin plates
came to used only for jacket pages, inside pages were
processed on recycled plates. Papa's dream began to
show signs of fatigue?
By the third month into the second year of publication,
amid this uncertain scenario, arrived Nicholas
("Nicky") Rebello, a lino-typesetter and leader of the
NT worker's union. I will not hedge a bet if Nicky was
'inspired' by his employers, but having been in touch
with him much after his retirement from NT at his home
in Betim, I can vouchsafe Nicky didn't travel to Davorlim
by any 'political' inspiration. My best guess is that
some restive workers of the WCT press, aware of wages
being paid at NT, must have approached and invited
Nicky to Davorlim. The workers of WCT press got
unionized and Nicky soon served a Charter of Demands.
The management stood its ground, often unreasonably in
the opinion of the editorial team - which of course had
no locus standi in the imbroglio. As the strike showed
signs of protraction, P.R. Menon, known for leftist
leanings from his fiery days at the FPJ, tried to
intervene with the management. To no avail.
(P.R. Menon was forever of the conviction that
managerial skills of Goan mine-owners were limited to
blasting, transportation and shipping -- and after the
importer's cheque arrived, to distributing the proceeds
to those who had blasted, transported and shipped. And,
of course, to profits!) Papa, strangely, sometimes used
queer management methods. There was this Chief
Accountant, hired for the PTI group, on a then princely
salary of Rs.4,000 a month. To get a feedback on the
Chief Accountant, Papa assigned a peon drawing no more
than Rs.250 a month. After office hours, the peon would
report to Papa on the activities of the C.A. from
which, inferences on the Chief Accountant were drawn!
But a man of immense experience and intuition he was.
From the streets of native Assolna in Salcete, where as
a child he hawked textiles, a wooden yard measure slung
across his shoulder and a coolie with a headload of
wares in tow, Papa must have surely post-graduated from
the University of Experience. On occasions when I was
seated in his chamber, his P.A., Sambari would buzz to
announce a visitor. In a flash Papa knew why the man
had come, what he would say, and had the replies even
before the visitor entered! I personally saw flaming
creditors leave his chamber smiling, even though not a
paisa had yielded! He had that rare ability to disarm
even the most irate visitor. But when it came to the
WCT strike, I have always held the belief that a man of
such calibre who could have easily placated the
agitated workers and even broken their Union, was
somehow carried away with the opinion of one trusted
man, who was obviously misleading him -- and since I've
named names, I will exclude Madkaikar and Kurwar.]
With no end to the strike in sight, Bailur, Hegde, Kaka
and me next met and virtually pleaded with Papa to
concede some sops to the striking workmen and get the
publication going. I think the establishment (may not
have been Papa) thereafter regarded as being pro-Union!
The editorial team, bulk of which was from outstation,
met frequently during those bekaar days and finally,
the painful decision emerged that we tell the
management to either settle the dispute with the Union
or we quit en masse. The management was unmoved. We
quit, but Papa's dispenser of bad advice insisted on
serving 'dismissal' letters!
And thus a lofty dream to publish from Goa, the land of
Banna Halli, an English daily serving the entire of
Lord Parashuram's Konkan on the West Coast of India,
went phut. A modern press and process, an excellent
editorial team -- path-breaking infrastructure in Goa's
history of newspaper production -- lay in waste.
The venerable Bailur returned to retirement, as did
P.R. Menon. Y.M. Hegde joined Mumbai's Shipping Times
as Editor. The Chief Subs and Subs returned to their
original publications or to new jobs. A Goan Sub,
Vincent Rangel, from Tivim-Bardez, went into business,
as the Mumbai-end partner of Manvin Couriers. I joined
the FPJ Group (Free Press Journal, its
tabloid-eveninger Bulletin and fortnightly, Onlooker)
as Goa Correspondent; moved in like capacity to IE when
FPJ's Chief Editor, S. Krishnamurty joined IE's Mumbai
edition as Resident Editor; played a role in J.D. Fernandes'
decision to start an English avatar of the near
defunct Portuguese O Heraldo (including the hiring of
its first editor) -- and almost joined, but didn't
quite -- as that newspaper's Chief Reporter, for
reasons that Rajan Narayan should know. And finally got
into business. Without regrets.
Chapter 4:
Novem Goem: The Roof Caves In
Paul J FernandesPaul Fernandes, known to journalists in the state for
his amiable nature, as also his ability and inclination
to do off-beat and far-from-the-beaten-track stories,
has published a vast amount on issues that concern
rural Goa, archaeology and the average resident of Goa.
He was recently winner of a Centre for Science and
Environment (Delhi) fellowship to study water issues in
Goa.
Konkani as the official language of Goa was then still
a distant dream. And granting of statehood to the Union
Territory, a remote possibility. A few Konkani
protagonists casually discussing the issue felt that a
medium was sorely needed to project the aspirations of
true Goans. And only a "people's newspaper" free from
the shackles of the capitalist could achieve that, they thought.
A few years earlier, Uzvadd, reincarnated as Novo Uzvadd
and Novo Prakash, had become defunct after its editor
Evagrio Jorge learnt a few bitter truths. The Herald --
in its new English-language avatar as also in the
much-touted role of a champion of Konkani -- was yet to
appear on the horizon.
It was then in 1980 on a dark night ... in Panjim ...
that the idea of launching a Konkani daily was born.
And talk about the requirement of funds for the mammoth
project threw up a novel idea. The way out was a 'pad-iatra
' (or, long march across Goa on foot) through the
villages of the then union territory. At a follow-up
meeting, the individuals involved formed a Trust --
called the Novem Goem Pratishthan. They crowned the
then young seminary-student turned trade union leader
Christopher Fonseca, who floated the idea of a
pad-iatra, as its general secretary.
Trustees were Sara Machado, Advocate Pandurang
Mulgaonkar, Gurunath Kelekar, Dr F M Rebello, Advocate
Antonio Lobo, and Gustav Clovis Costa. Mathany Saldanha
and Fr Braz Faleiro played a stellar role in getting
the idea through.
And so began an eventful, and an unforgettable, 70-day
trudge through the nooks and corners of Goa. There were
some 70-odd volunteers, which included a few women and
two vivacious sisters, Tina and Colete Xavier, students
at that time.
The pad-iatra started on October 26, 1980. Fonseca
recalls that wherever they went, they received a good
response. Money, small and big sums, was contributed.
There were occasions too when -- language being a
sensitive issue in Goa -- they were insulted. But they
had decided not to retaliate in any way. A person spat
on a young pad-iatri, Srikant Chodankar, when he
knocked at his door for his contribution for the new
paper. But he bravely said 'thank you' and stepped out
with the others.
Two of the girls accompanying him burst into tears, as
participants from that venture recall.
The eventful 'pad-iatra' ended on December 31, New
Year's eve. By then, the volunteers had managed to
collect around Rs 250,000, a tidy sum considering that
this was just in the start of the 'eighties, when the
rupee still had more value than now.
Needless to say, it took about six months to create the
requisite infrastructure to launch the daily. Finding
premises, purchasing machinery and recruiting the
staff. When the Novem Goem first hit the stands in
1980, many naturally had great expectations that it
would serve as a people's paper. Several dailies in the
past had not survived for long, given the huge
requirement of funds
Indeed, Novem Goem could not scale great heights; but
it had many 'lows' during its span. The coverage could
not be extensive, nay it was even below average. This
is perhaps understandably because the publication could
not engage a big team of reporters or set up a network
of reporters in all corners of Goa. But it carried to
work with few expectations and fewer rewards.
During the agitation, the tabloid served to keep the
mass of Konkani lovers, specially in its heartland of Salcete,
if it can be called that, posted of various
developments. The paper served to forge a relationship
and bridge the gap between the old Roman Konkani
writers and those who had just started writing in the
Devnagri script. Well-known poets, writers, such as
Uday Bhembre, Dr Bhikaji Ganekar, Manoharrari Sardesai
were among those who often contributed their writings
to the paper.
The paper also sought to raise the standard of Konkani
among its readers by often explaining difficult words,
as compared to the poor quality of writing in most
Roman script periodicals. I myself recall contributing
to a column Aichim Don Utram (Today's Two Words), which
gave the readers two new words to learn daily, with
meanings in English and also illustrated by examples.
'Konkni uloi, Konkni boroi, Konknintlean sorkar choloi'
(Speak Konkani, Write Konkani, Administer The State In
Konkani), the slogan coined by one of the trustees,
Gurunath Kelekar, gained currency and set the mood
among Konkani lovers.
While the paper finally closed down, coincidentally, it
did so after Konkani was included in the Eight Schedule
of the Constitution of India and Goa was granted
statehood -- two of the avowed objectives for which the
Trust had launched the paper. Many may be skeptical
about the contribution of this small paper to these two
great and important causes. But having worked in this
paper for just over three years as a sub-editor, I
recall that Dr Rebello, as its editor, contributed
significantly to the chorus for the twin demand.
DURING THE ENTIRE existence of the paper, its
management had to face several struggles and even
upheavals among the trustees.
Its problems started from the day the presses were set
up. While an offset machine could have been bought, a
Glockner machine owned by one of the Trustees was sold
to the Trust. With that, it was only possible to print
a tabloid paper. The machinery subsequently gave
several problems. How a newspaper cannot survive
without infusion of frequent doses of capital was best
exemplified here. Advertising revenue was very low,
though there were phases when its staff pooled their
efforts to raise funds by canvassing for advertisements
through their own initiative. There were managerial
problems, too. With lack of experience in running a
paper, and negligence by some of the Trustees at
certain stages, the roof finally had to cave in.
A former trustee alleges that the quantum of
advertisements released by the government to the paper
was meagre, and the staff even led a morcha to the
Secretariat, alleging shabby treatment. This continued
even after Konkani was made the official language of
the state.
If the paper survived for around a decade, it could be
termed as a miracle of sorts. There were around 7,000
readers, who religiously read the daily. However, the
poor coverage towards the end saw its readership go
down sharply. The emergence of a slickly printed and
produced Konkani-monthly Gulab also hastened its death.
However, there was no dearth of sympathisers. Gulf Goans
contributed generously, and quite often, to keep it
afloat. But tiatrists were largely not among them as
they showed apathy towards it vis-a-vis advertisements
of their shows. They preferred an English-language
daily and very few advertised in Novem Goem, if at all rarely.
The real heroes and the sufferers in the bargain were
the Novem Goem workers, who toiled during its entire
10-year existence. Lack of revenue meant that they
often received their salaries late. On the 10th of any
month, it was not unusual for the management to
announce they would give some advance on the salary.
For one thing, the salary was being delayed; over and
above, to be told that they would get it in
installments was the ultimate affront. More so when
these were people with families to feed. But this went
on month after month, specially during the last few years.
They were entitled to a scale of salaries under Palekar
Wage Award -- the Central Government-notified standards
then in force for minimum wages to be paid to
journalists -- but they accepted graciously whatever
they were offered. This was, naturally, much below the
Wage Board recommendations.
And the employees, having few options, hung on with
commendable courage, though there was no hope of a turn
around. Their toil and sacrifices were really something
to think about. After the paper closed, they should
have received their dues from what came in as the
proceeds from the sale of machinery and the balance of
a raffle draw, which had been floated to raise funds
for the paper.
But they are yet to be given their due.
The paper finally went to bed for the last time some
time in June 1988. And a novel experiment to offer a
people's paper to the masses made a quiet and sad
exit....
Chapter 5:
The Herald of A New Ethos
R.K. NairR.K. Nair sees himself as a battle-scarred veteran too
(adding, "though close friends in Goa may describe me
as bottle-scarred"). He has 'seen action' in Kuwait and
Iraq after his departure from Goa. Back in India after
the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait, he worked for the Indian
Express. He then went to Oman, returning again to take
up an assignment with the Hindu, where he currently
works.
So the Rajan era has finally come to an end at the Herald
. Sad though it may seem in human terms, it is unlikely
to surprise anyone who has at least a nodding
acquaintance with his brand of journalism -- especially
his strident and sensational approach to contentious
issues, such as the language agitation of the 'eighties.
By the time I arrived in Goa, the Herald (formerly O Heraldo
) had celebrated the third anniversary of its
re-incarnation as an Englishman -- but it was not yet
out of the birth pangs. It often looked like a one-man
show. The six-to-eight page broad-sheet was Rajan
Narayan's play-field, and he played with gusto -- solo
at times, fast and loose frequently. His output was
phenomenal. He wrote the lead story, the front-page
anchor, the edit almost everyday, six days a week, for
several years. Besides, there also was the long-winded
'Stray Thoughts', on Sundays.
Life at The Navhind Times was sedentary by comparison.
In keeping with the image of Goa being a land of
laid-back lotus eaters, the NT staffers were under no
pressure to perform. Being the dominant daily, news
came naturally to the NT. In those days, it operated
out of a small rented building, adjoining a bar and
restaurant, on the outskirts of Panjim as the new
building near the Panjim market was under construction.
The bar and the building belonged to the then Mayor of Panjim,
an affable man whose employees entertained the NT
staffers on credit. The editorial staff got an off-day
after two days of work -- that's 10 offs a month, which
was a luxury that journalists in other papers could not
dream of.
The first thing that struck one about the
English-language Press in Goa in those days was its
utter lack of respect for the readers' intelligence.
I'm sorry if this view offends anyone, but the
small-town mentality, the self-serious posturing and
the patronising editorialisation of news reports were
all too obvious in both the NT and Herald.
But there ended the similarity. In other respects, the
two papers were a study in contrast. Herald was
technologically superior. Having introduced computers
ahead of the NT, its printing was neater but the paper
was replete with errors -- typographical as well as
factual. The NT too had its share of typos. But it made
few factual errors, because, as critics would say, it
seldom reported facts!
The NT used vintage Lino machines for composing and its
antiquated printing machine broke down quite often. The
morning paper hit the news-stands well after 10 am on
such occasions. The printing was awful -- full of black
patches, missing letters and blank spaces that
challenged the imagination of the reader. Still it
retained its readership, mainly because it was
perceived as the more credible of the two.
Rajan Narayan failed to rise to the occasion and offer
a credible alternative. Herald behaved like a spoilt
brat throwing tantrums. It lacked a sense of
proportion. Too often, it played to the gallery, fanned
sectarian passions and threw norms to the wind. With
its rabble-rousing shrillness, Herald managed to gain a
foothold among a section of the Goan population,
especially in South Goa where the NT was perennially
late to arrive. But Herald was not taken seriously even
by its ardent supporters. Journalist Devika Sequeira
once summed up the situation neatly: Herald was
laughable and the NT evoked tears!
All that changed with the arrival of the Gomantak Times
. The NT Chief Reporter Pramod Khandeparker quit to
join the GT. The NT was jolted out of its complacency
-- it was facing a challenge it had never faced before.
Work on the new building was speeded up, and the
relocation carried out in a hurry. Computers were
installed and a new printing machine was ready.
But all that was not enough to ward off a threat from
the rivals. Its content had to improve. Acting Editor
M.M. Mudaliar was in a bad mood. His calm and composed
disposition gave way to a brittle temper. He yelled at
the management people, and threatened to have the
editorial staff sacked.
One day, I diffidently approached him with a piece of
writing and asked for permission to launch a column in
the Sunday supplement. He was reluctant. I was new and
untested. And I was not even a regular -- I was on
voucher payment. But he decided to give it a try and
carried the piece on the front page of the Sunday
Magazine. It was titled 'A peep into Goan psyche'. The
column was called 'Small Talk' and it appeared under
the pseudonym of R.K. Yen. The response to the first
piece was incredibly good. Mudaliar readily published
the second one and, when the third piece appeared, I
got the appointment order.
By then Mudaliar had been confirmed as Editor and the
paper was ready to face the world with new vigour. The
editorial offs were curtailed to once a week. The
printing improved and new features and columns were
gradually introduced. The NT had arrived. The threat
from GT looked feeble now. They had good journalists
and better technology, but had forgotten to hire good
proof-readers. The paper was full of typos, even in
headlines.
The NT was relieved -- at least temporarily.
The arrival of GT had a big impact on the Herald too.
Rajan Narayan began to behave like one possessed. He
blamed Chief Minister Pratapsing Rane and the NT for
all the ills of the world. His frustration was
beginning to show. He railed against the NT and Rane at
the drop of a hat. Once, two people were killed in
police-firing in Vasco following a group clash. It was
the lead in the next day's NT, but the Herald
completely missed the news.
A reader's letter was published in Herald a few days
later: "Where was your reporter when the firing took
place in Vasco? Had he gone to Baina for a quickie?"
The Editor's reply: "We don't enjoy the patronage of
Chief Minister Pratapsing Raoji Rane. So we missed the news."
(As if Rane had called in the NT and given out the news!)
Rajan Narayan is essentially a rhetorician. He has a
way with words and can argue his case convincingly. But
his writings carried little conviction, which was the
major reason for Herald's credibility crisis in those
days. But the fact that he changed the media scene
there cannot be disputed. In my view, the fundamental
error he made was to plunge into the middle of things,
rather than remaining a level-headed observer that a
good journalist is supposed to be. He made an
over-zealous effort to ingratiate himself with a
section of the Goan society and failed miserably. The
fact that even today his Goan credentials are
questioned bears this out.
As everything has two sides, the Herald experiment (if
one could call it that) too had its pros and cons. The
single most significant achievement of Herald, in my
opinion, was to raise a breed of bright young
journalists who cut their teeth in journalism there.
Most of them left disillusioned and bitter with the
paper and its Editor, but they have done reasonably
well elsewhere. But for Herald, they would not have
come to this field.
And Herald did manage to provide some relief (comic
relief, according to critics) from the tedious fare
offered by the NT. It was sharp and pungent -- too
pungent for many. Almost every report packed a sting in
its tail. Some of the fare dished out in the guise of
investigative journalism was just gossip laced with
outrageous bias. But all this lighted the scene up and
served as a reminder to the NT to wake up and take notice.
Rajan Narayan never hesitated to name his rivals,
especially the NT, while making disparaging remarks.
The NT, on the other hand, took a diametrically
opposite stance: it skirted controversies altogether.
Its unwritten policy was never to report or comment on
anything controversial, let alone naming names!
But that had to change to keep pace with the changing
times. I lampooned Rajan Narayan in my columns
occasionally, which Mudaliar permitted reluctantly. It
must be said to Rajan Narayan's credit that he not only
took my pot-shots in good humour, but, according to
Herald sources, also stopped a couple of juniors who
wanted to hit back at me.
I met Rajan Narayan only once; but then it was hardly a
meeting. Rather, I saw him from a distance at a
midnight carnival in Panjim. After the edition was
over, my NT colleague Anthony and I decided to take a
round. We saw Rajan Narayan surrounded by a group of
revellers. In a red T-shirt and bermudas, with a red
ribbon around his head and a glass of feni in hand, a
wobbly Rajan Narayan with bleary eyes was quite a
spectacle. Anthony nudged me and asked, "Can you
imagine Mudaliar in such a scene?"
Never. Mudaliar was, by comparison, dapper. In fact,
his first advice to me when I called on him for a job
interview was to be always mindful of my reputation.
"It's a small place. Everybody knows everybody. And
liquor is cheap here," he had said.
I left Goa rather bitterly.
I fell out with Mudaliar over an innocuous remark in my
column. I used to report the traditional cricket match
between the legislators and journalists in the column
in a running commentary form. That year (1989), the
Legislators XI led by Chief Minister Rane trounced the
Press XI, led by Mudaliar. I made a passing remark that
age was apparently catching up with Mudaliar. He deemed
it too personal, and stopped talking to me. There were
enough people around to fan the fire; and he refused to
recommend me for a promotion. One thing led to another
and I soon decided that my future lay elsewhere.
But I've no hard feelings about anything now. In fact,
I recall my days in Goa with nostalgia and gratitude.
It was a turning point in my career and I fondly
remember my association with a wonderful people. I
learned many things in Goa that stood me in good stead
in later life and it will always remain etched in my
memory as a part of my youth.
I wish all my friends and acquaintances over there,
especially Rajan Narayan, good health and success in
whatever they are engaged in now! I learnt of
Mudaliar's death quite recently through an e-mail. I
was saddened. I fondly recall my association with him.
Despite the differences of opinion that resulted in our
parting of ways, Mudaliar was a thorough gentleman and
working with him was an enriching experience. I cherish
his memories!
Chapter 6:
oHERALDo: an untold chapter
Valmiki FaleiroValmiki Faleiro, a Goa-based working journalist between
1975-83, covered Goa for national publications like The
Current Weekly, the Free Press Journal group and the
Indian Express. He was Staff Reporter with the West
Coast Times and as a freelancer, contributed to various
journals like The Navhind Times, Goa Today, The Sun
Weekly, Newstrek, Detective Digest, Mirror, Newsmag.
The early 1980s. Happy days were here again for Goa's
first English-language daily, The Navhind Times (NT).
After a brief challenge to its other crucial attribute,
that of being the only English-language daily, from Goa Monitor
in the late 1960s, NT had just staved off another.
West Coast Times, launched July-1978, blazed a luminous
trail in quality journalism but, like a comet after a
brief showing, vanished into oblivion.
NT was back to its snug-seat monopoly.
A slave of the economic thought of Adam Smith, David
Ricardo and John Stuart Mill, or our own Nani
Palkhivala, JRD Tata and M.R. Pai, I have been a votary
of free enterprise and competition -- and allergic to
monopolies. A monopoly is bad for any consumer. And
infinitely worse in a crucial commodity that helps form
a society's opinion.
I had been speaking to some wealthier Goans, my idea of
launching a broadsheet weekly, which would, over a
period, be converted to a full-fledged daily. A tabloid
(like Goa Monitor) did not appeal; and mere excellence
in editorial content and quality printing (like West
Coast Times) did not suffice. What mattered was the
capacity to financially sustain a daily newspaper (by
absorbing annual losses even while continuing to
maintain quality) until the product turned round, which
could take some years. That kind of money in Goa only mineowners
had -- like all of Goa's major dailies! So my idea was
start small, stay around till you built adequate
advertising recognition and support, and only then
convert to a daily -- at a fraction of a daily's
budgetary requirement and without having to own
printing facilities from day one.
Even then, not many Goan businessmen I was in touch
with were willing to risk any substantial venture capital.
It was around this time, June 1983, if I recall the
month correctly, that a mutual friend in the printing
business in Mumbai and Goa, told me that A.C. Fernandes,
Patrao of the Panjim stationers Casa J.D. Fernandes,
was toying with the idea of an English-language daily.
The mutual friend suggested I discuss my ideas with Fernandes.
A.C. Fernandes wasn't a mineowner, not yet anyway, but
I had heard he was a shrewd businessman. He purchased
Goa's only extant Portuguese-language daily, O Heraldo,
not so much for love of the language or its dwindling
local readership, but evidently for the intrinsic value
of its press and its centrally-located premises. It was
said he took full advantage of the daily's lable, in
those days of the Permit Raj, to import (from Italy?) a
Lino typesetting machine, which actually was used for
all and sundry job works of the business house -- even
as the major part of good ole O Heraldo continued to be composed
by hand!
But what the heck! A shrewd and street-smart man, I
reckoned, would any day be better than a cash-filled
dumbo. Moreover, what Patrao may have lacked by way of
adequate resources was made up in having his priorities
right. His love Goa and her way of life, his concern
about increasing corruption in Goa's polity and
aspiration for rightful honour to the mother tongue,
were transparently genuine.
The mutual friend arranged our introductory meeting,
over lunch at the A.C. Fernandes residence at Santa Cruz
one rainy Sunday. The sharp-eyed (and, as I was later
to discover, sharp-tempered) Patrao, his demure wife
and sons, John, Raul and Oswald, with the mutual friend
and I sat across a carefully laid table. I spoke about
WCT and why it failed, my ideas for a successful daily
and my business plan for such a venture. A.C. Fernandes
(the sons, those days, played second fiddle), I think,
was impressed. And thus began a relationship, where I
did my best to midwife a second English-language daily
for Goa -- or almost.
The search was on for an Editor. Ads had been placed in
the major national dailies. Surprisingly, about a dozen
pros were willing to come to Goa! But the best were out
of reckoning, they expected salaries the kind Patrao
never figured existed! Ervelle Menezes was the best
bet. When I covered Goa for the Indian Express a couple
of years before, Ervelle was a Chief Sub at IE's Mumbai
edition. After Bhat, the then News Editor, died in
harness, Ervelle had taken over as the News Editor and
was in that position at this point of time.
From deep within, I hoped that Ervelle it would be to
launch the Herald as its founding editor. A
professional and a Goan, he was a suitable choice. For
me too: I had been, by now, ordained to be the to-be
newspaper's Chief Reporter, on insistence of A.C. Fernandes
and his son Raul. My own plan had been to be with them
till the day the newspaper took off; I was, by this
time, already getting into business, developing
family-owned land at Fatorda, Margao.
I never met or spoke to Ervelle about this job. Raul
had, and I gathered that Ervelle was indeed interested.
I was aware that he had come to Goa to check things
out. Ervelle, of course, is around and it would be for
him to say why he declined. What I surmised at that
time, though, was that Ervelle must have been put off
by local opinion about A.C. Fernandes' financial
capacity to sustain a daily newspaper to the stage it
generated its own resources. Ervelle of course
explained it had something to do with his mother's illness.
Ervelle's decision was a great setback to the plan --
there was just one last application left in Raul's file
of responses for the Editor's post. If I had not urged
its consideration earlier, it was because the applicant
lacked experience with a daily newspaper. The
applicant's only exposure to a daily was a brief stint
at the Financial Express -- not a mainstream newspaper.
His c.v. spoke of experience at Mirror. But then,
magazine journalism is not the same as what goes into
the making of a daily newspaper. Moreover, the
applicant wasn't even into journalism for quite some
time: he presently dwelt in the dreary world of
advertising and public relations, at one of Mumbai's
lesser-known firms. Such was the irony.
What the NT had been to Goa's English readers, a
Hobson's choice, Rajan Narayan's application now was to
Raul and me!
Fearing that Patrao may get discouraged enough to
abandon the newspaper idea, my airflow changed and I
convinced A.C. Fernandes that we invite the man and
take a closer look at his credentials. Rajan was lodged
at Panjim's Hotel Mandovi (I wonder if he ever stayed
there again, used as in later years he was to offered
or obtained five-star hospitality across Goa's coast!)
Patrao, Raul and I met him. The parleys went so long in
the afternoon that there was no restaurant open for
lunch. Rajan and I had to make do with puri bhaji at
Cafe Real (I wonder, again, how he'd have raved and
ranted in his latter-day popular Sunday column, Stray Thoughts
. But beggars were not choosers, those days.)
To me, Rajan came out as a clever and crafty mind. But
again, what the heck! At that point of time, the NT had
a clever and resourceful skipper at its helm. I had
known Bikram Vohra from my days at the Indian Express.
When marched to Ahmedabad as Resident Editor of the
IE's local edition, to fend off competition from the
formidable Times of India, one could count on Bikram to
come up with extremely off-beat ideas: he painted the
town red with the slogan, Keen ahead of the times, read
the Express! To compete, we would need a crafty mind
and I though Rajan fitted that bill pretty well. From
me, Rajan wanted to learn more about Goa --- its
history, economy, religions, cultural mix the
background of its English-language press and, of
course, of the A.C. Fernandes clan.
Rajan was obviously impressed with my views on how the
newspaper should be. He said he was immensely happy to
have me around, that things would be difficult talking
to A.C. Fernandes and Raul alone. He was also glad I
would be the newspaper's Chief Staff Reporter. He
pleaded that I stay back in Panjim that day, so we
could discuss in greater detail. The kid that Raul then
was, also decided to stay back. We sat in Rajan's
Mandovi room, drinking his favourite Old Monk (not
Raul, then a teetotaler, I don't know if he's still one.)
We were immersed in plans and strategy, more than in
the rum.
It was well past 9 p.m. and there was a knock on the
door. Being closer, I rose to answer, but obsequious as
Raul was, insisted on doing that himself. Raul had
barely opened the door when we heard the sonics of a
resounding slap across the face. A furious A.C.
Fernandes hollered, "Mama and I were so worried about
you." (It seems those days the Fernandes household was
being terrorized by another Fernandes household in the
Santa Cruz neighbourhood, so much that no member of the
former went home unaccompanied after dusk; if late, a
group of employees from the shop or press escorted them
home.) That was among Rajan's first personal
impressions of his future employers!
Twenty years is a long enough span for perceptions to
change. But I believe my opinion carried the weight of
near finality with the Patrao. Rajan Narayan would edit
the to-be Herald.
Next morning, we met with the Fernandes, again to work
out a blueprint for the newspaper's editorial
requirements, right down to a list of furniture! From
the way bare essentials were being economized, Rajan
privately kept asking me whether these guys could
really run a newspaper. I kept assuring him they would.
We agreed that together we would keep prodding them if
they wavered. On the way back to the hotel (he was
returning to Mumbai that day), Rajan said I was the
only person he could trust and would I please mail him
on a weekly basis on the progress of implementation of
the agreed blueprint.
This was essential, he explained, because as discussed
and agreed, he would be asking some friends in Mumbai
to quit their secure jobs to join the Herald and he
didn't want to put people in trouble if the paper was,
after all, not going to take off. During the period to
the run up, I wrote and kept Rajan informed of the
progress and, in reply, he kept reminding me to press
the management on the tasks that remained unfulfilled.
Quite a balancing act, for me!
In the course of such weekly back and forth postal
exchanges, Rajan asked for my reiteration that I would
stand with them as one -- if ever the management acted
funny with any of them in future. I presumed he was
concerned with risking his Mumbai team's future. I had
mentioned to Rajan earlier in Goa how the entire
well-knit editorial team at WCT had quit en bloc in the
face of a stubborn management vis-a-vis the workers'
strike. Till now, I had no reason whatever to doubt the
man's integrity. I wrote back, naively in retrospect,
that I was committed to being one with the team and
should one be touched, all would go -- or something to
that effect.
Rajan obviously didn't throw away that letter, as I had
routinely done his.
In time, Rajan returned to Goa -- bag and baggage. His
Mumbai team was to follow once we were staffed and
ready to run dummies. At the wooden-floored 1st storey
Herald office opposite Panjim's Municipal Garden, work
was on at a feverish pace. Rajan and I conducted
interviews for 'subs', reporters and correspondents. We
bagged some gifted hands -- Frederick Noronha, Bosco
Souza Eremita.
On the field, Devika Sequeira was to assist me with
Mumbai's Sushil Silvano on the local crime beat,
together with school chum Nelson Fernandes to cover
sports and Lui Godinho on the camera. I roped in some
old field hands from my WCT days, down to the last
detail of Nandu Zambaulikar, to ferry newspaper bundles
south of the Zuari!
Ticker lines were installed, typewriters and telephones
put in place, and the Mumbai team arrived (I recall
only S. Vaidyanathan on the newsdesk, though). The
machine, finally, began to crank. It was decided we
give readers a preview. One Sunday (or was it another
public holiday?), a few weeks ahead of the formal
launch on October 10, 1983, a special edition was given
out gratis to English-language newspaper readers in
Goa. The edition was packed with features, and news of
the day. I wrote something on bus transport woes of the
Goan commuter, if I recall right.
Dummies began rolling. Agonizingly, I began to see the
penny-wise-pound-foolish dictum again at work (as I
had, in the later stages, of WCT's short life.)
Expensive computers had been brought in but A.C. Fernandes
cribbed on appointing experienced hands as
compositors. A daughter-in-law came in after her own
regular office hours to help at computer keyboards.
John's wife worked late into the nights.
Result was a delightful melange of howlers -- which
continued for a good while after launch of the
newspaper. Every expense, however trivial, had to get
Patrao's direct approval. If Rajan wanted a chair
cushion, he'd have to convince the old man why his
posterior ached! But the good news was, the rumble and
stumble continued without interruption. We were close
to D-day.
That was when one fine sunny morning, as I was about to
cross from the Panjim Municipal Garden pavement to the
Herald office across the street, Raul emerged from the
stationery shop, as if casually, and waved me to hold
back. He crossed the street and invited me for a cup of
tea at a nearby cafe at Jesuit House, Jasmal or Jesema.
Once seated, Raul developed an unusual countenance and
began vaguely referring to the salary that had been
offered to me (Rs.4,000 per mensem.) I imagined there
must have been a family council the previous night. I
reminded him that I had not asked the figure, that I
had merely accepted what was offered -- and that I was
with them in this not for the money, but for a dream to
break a monopoly. I suggested the figure could be revised.
That's when the bombshell broke. "It's not about the
amount of salary," Raul stated, "it's..."
"You mean I'm not wanted here anymore?" I butted in, in
disbelief. "You can take it as something like that,"
Raul said. I was too shocked to even ask why. Having
known Rajan fairly well by now, I instinctively felt
his hand in this. Didn't even feel like meeting the
others at the office or the Patrao at the shop
downstairs. Over the previous several months, I had
worked to virtually midwife the Herald and however much
I may have been, I did not wish to upset the scene when
the baby's umbilical cord was about to go.
I just took the next bus home.
And on that very unpleasant note ended my brief
association with a newspaper that over the last 20
years, tottered, steadied and thrived -- even if in
large measure on the guile and brilliance of one crafty
man, Rajan Narayan.
Without doubt, the oHeraldo marked a new chapter in
English-language journalism in Goa. A lot of latent
young talent found expression. Investigative journalism
got its fair image. Above all, the average Goan reader
now had a choice, and the inherent benefits of
competition. Happily for Goa, the combination at the
right time of the Proprietors and of Rajan Narayan and
some excellent members in the editorial team, clicked.
Despite shoestring budgets and lack of official
advertising patronage in the initial years, the
newspaper survived, cracked a monopoly in a vital area,
and will now shortly enter its 21st year of publication.
I lived and worked in Goa (for myself, of course!)
during these 20 years and saw the manner in which this
one man notched circulation and endeared himself to the
average English-language newspaper reader, especially
of the minority community. Rajan, a crafty
non-practicing politico, in no time had comprehended
the Goan mindset, particularly of the Cristao, as he is
fond of referring.
And the brightest star in his horoscope also arrived in
good time, in the form of the Konkani official language issue.
While other editors dithered, Rajan lost no time in
recognizing the scope of the issue (he had the genuine
backing of his Patrao of course) and almost went
overboard with his undying love for Konkani, Goa and
Cristaos liberally splashed all over the place, for
months without end. With a 'sympathy and empathy' never
before seen, the Mai Bhas formula worked magic for
Rajan -- as it did, I must concede in fairness, to a
couple of other politicos, some with a degree of merit,
like Luizinho (my namesake) and Churchill Alemao. The
true heroes, however, have almost been forgotten!
In fairness, again, it must be conceded that to have
run a newspaper with all of Herald's infrastructural
deficiencies, was no mean feat. There must have been,
in the initial stages, a lot of pain and personal
sacrifice -- but let's also not forget that Rajan was,
those days, without the responsibilities of a family
and with only a pint of Old Monk for company, and the
option to return to Mumbai's drab world of advertising!
He slogged, manipulated, and was rewarded with success.
What, however, happened after such undreamt success hit
the head sooner than Old Monk did, is a story I must
leave best to be told by many a gifted journalist, who
worked with Rajan. At least one such is alas no more in
our midst -- Norman Dantas, son of a former
publisher-partner of Goa Today. Rajan marginalized many
a gifted Goan journo because he perceived them as
threats to his position!
Back to my 1983 story.
It was some seven or eight months after that
uncivilized Cafe Jesema or Jesmal episode that the
mutual friend who had introduced me to the Fernandes
revealed the truth. Rajan Narayan, my trusted senior
colleague, days before the oHeraldo could hit the
newsstands, showed my letter to him on the editorial
team standing as one -- and quitting as one if need
arose -- and convinced the Patrao that here was a snake
already scheming to kill the newspaper before it was
even born! How the intrinsic illogic of this premise --
since the Fernandeses were well aware of my commitment
to the newspaper -- did not strike them, I shall never
know. Rajan had successfully weeded out what he
imagined would be future threat to his position (in
this case, entirely imaginary, since he at the time
knew that I was sooner or later getting into my own
business).
That was the first case. Many were to follow.
Other than weeding out rivals -- real or imagined --
Rajan is believed to have done some pretty nasty things
on the side. He played his reporters one against the
other, to fetch desired coverage of stories that suited
him the most. He is alleged to have killed many a good
story. And all this from behind the mask of being the
self-appointed keeper of Goa's conscience and probity
in her public life. The powerful Stray Thoughts (which,
incidentally, started off with Bolshoi the dog,
borrowed from the celebrated ToI columnist and later
owner/editor of Mumbai's Afternoon Despatch & Courier,
Behram Contractor a.k.a. Busybee) came in handy here. I
know the legion of Goa's five-star hotel GMs,
practicing and aspiring politicos, or even the
occasional industrialist locally mired in controversy
(like Dr. Jindal, of Meta Strips, the day after some
crude bombs went off at Vasco's St. Andrew's Church)
will not publicly admit the manner in which they rubbed
shoulders with St. Rajan!
I hear that the editor who brought a refreshing change
to the English-language print scene in Goa, has finally
been paid in the same coin he had paid many a
subordinate -- by making the subordinate's life so
miserable that there was no option but to resign.
Having known Rajan Narayan the way I did 20 years ago,
I have my doubts whether he will leave on his own. Of
course, he has already announced plans to publish a
weekly in Goa -- owned by the readers!! He knows the
Goan mindset all too well, and has already started
drumming up support via the Herald editorial columns
with typical (even if more virulent) anti-Hindutva,
pro-Cristao/Church writings that may border on the dangerous.
Of course, if and when Rajan Narayan does launch his
weekly, he will be infinitely better placed than the
Patrao, A.C. Fernandes was in the monsoon 1983. Let's
wish him luck!
Chapter 7:
The banyan tree: working under Rajan
Frederick NoronhaFrederick Noronha was part of the original batch of
trainees with the Herald during its re-launch in 1983.
In 1987, he became Goa correspondent for the Deccan
Herald. Since 1995, he has been a full-time freelance
journalist, writing mainly for the outstation media,
including the Indo-Asian News Service. He has an active
presence on the Internet, and has been for journalism
training to Germany and Sweden. He is founder of the
Goajourno, India-EJ and ThirdWorld-EJ mailing lists,
that seek to build collaborative networks among
journalists.
Reports or features critical of large companies are to
be avoided by and large. No report on a corporate
situation, however much it may be considered in the
public interest, shall be sent to the press without
prior clearance from the editor. We cannot afford to
antagonise potential advertisers. -- Editorial
guidelines, from Rajan Narayan, May 3, 1984.
Denying journalists the right to express his or her
views is like denying oxygen to a human being. -- Stray
Thoughts, by Rajan Narayan, September 2003, www.rajannarayan.com
AN ACTIVIST friend argues vehemently that this editor
single-handedly opens up space more than any other in
Goa. Some staff who worked under him have a sneering
you-don't-know-the-inside-story attitude. Others credit
the man with making them what they are. For the average
Goan Catholic, Rajan Narayan is virtually a hero in
real life, if not the newspaper equivalent of a patron saint.
Undeniably, this is the man who has shaped Goan
journalism for at least two decades, and has big plans
for more. Any venture to understand the contemporary
media in this small state would be incomplete without a
chapter on Rajan Narayan, who at the time of writing
(end-September 2003) has just announced his decision to
resign from the Herald.
This writer epitomises the love-hate relationship many
a journalist in Goa would share with someone who
suddenly descended on the Goan scene sometime in 1983.
Someone who has critically shaped the understanding of
Goa, including how we see ourselves and what are the
issues we define as important.
Clearly, Rajan -- by design or default -- has
contributed in significant manner to the Goa debate
over the past two decades. If one has to name the five
positive aspects of his legacy, it would be his ability
to extend the debate (by saying things no editor would
say); heading an organisation that, by design or
otherwise, actually gave a chance to many youngsters to
enter the profession; building up a till-now
sustainable alternative to the once arrogant lone
English-language daily in the state; giving space for
speedy growth to youngsters entering the profession
(even if, ironically, blocking that very growth later
on); and for taking on some of Goa's most sacred of cows.
But Rajan's ability to cast himself in the
'anti-Establishment' mould is equalled by his skills in
brokering deals (the recent track of contentious and
fast-confused charges over the Rs 300,000 government
sponsorship of the SARS campaign at Remo Fernandes'
50th birthday is a case in point, as are the
willingness to propose projects to a government that
are otherwise blasted from the editorial pulpit). This
rather personalised essay, obviously biased and clouded
by a string of personal experiences, seeks to narrate
one person's run-ins into Goa's most long-serving
editor. Perhaps from it could emerge a few snapshots
outlining how things really work in the Goa media.
ONE'S FIRST impressions of Rajan was meeting up with a
long-sleeve and tie-clad middle-aged 'uncle' during an
interview a month or two before the launch of the
English-language Herald in 1983. The location was in
the old balcony (now demolished) that stood almost over
today's Cafe Shanbhag, near the Panjim Municipal
Garden. Besides Rajan, also sitting in on the interview
was Valmiki Faleiro, who was egged on by the recent
public debate to tell his side of the story in another
chapter. (Devika Sequeira, then still in her 'twenties
but quite in command of the situation, willing to spend
extremely long hours and clear about what she expected
to bring out a thoroughly-worked on feature page or
front-page report as we later saw, had interviewed me
in an earlier round. Being quite thick-skinned, one
went in once again for another interview when
advertised subsequently, only to be told that it was
just as well one had returned, as the earlier
applications had got misplaced!)
In the second round of interviews, my first encounter
with Rajan, it took this then raw third-year college
kid quite some to gauge some clues about the identity
of this man shooting across the questions. Only a
syllable or two gave hint of his South Indian origins,
and with his formal clothes, he could have easily
passed off as a scion of a landed Goan family. Rajan
did seem a bit embarassed to make the offer of Rs 300
as the payment for a trainee sub-editor. But money
didn't matter, and the joy of becoming a journalist
while still in college more than sufficed. In any case,
this princely sum was thrice what one then irregularly
earned as an articled clerk to a chartered accountant.
This offer was made on the spot, and accepted as instantenously.
In no time, we got that that telegram calling on us to
join 'immediately'.
One recalls rushing into the colonial styled offices of
what was to become the Herald -- we then didn't even
know what the paper was to be called, whether it would
survive, who owned it, or whom we were working for.
Within minutes of each other, Bosco Souza Eremita of
Santa Cruz, Flavio Raposo of Carenzalem, Oswald Pinto
of Aldona and myself took up our seats on the bare
sub-editor's table, learning the basics of a profession
that some continued in. Bosco seemed to be
disillusioned that journalism offered so little scope
for creative writing; but he stayed on and worked his
way through Goa Today, Gomantak Times, the Portuguese
Lusa news agency, and the Jesuit-run UCAN, apart from
The Week and others publications. Flavio opted for a
life in academics. Oswald Pinto went across from one
form of reporting to another, and stuck with working at
the less-insecure 'reporting' section of the state
legislature. Reminiscing old times still brings back a
smile. We remain friends.
But this was not always the situation. You could argue
whether it's a Rajan-influenced legacy, but at our time
the staff would often be at loggerheads with one
another. It could have just been a faulty manner of
encouraging subordinates to improve in their
performance, but promises of promotions to more than
one candidate, and repeated if unfair comparisons with
one another, sometimes did leave strained relationships
among the staff that otherwise worked together fairly peacefully.
But there were the plusses for working in a fresh new
paper too. In the initial days, Rajan was almost a
godfather. "How much are the $%#@$%s paying you?" he
would sometimes ask juniors. Often, a recommendation
from him actually got translated into a raise.
He had his style of encouraging juniors. This, coupled
with the acute staff shortage at the Herald then and
frequent resignations from staff, meant a junior
sub-editor could get enough of an ego-boost to do the
front-page layout within a year or so of joining!
Talking about resignations, in the first four years of
its operation, the Rajan-edited Herald listings showed
that at least 30 journalists had left its rolls. Part
of this could have been due to the poor and
unsatisfactory compensation offered by a paper with
drew an infinitesimally tiny number of adverts compared
to today. Some left for better prospects; but
opportunities were few and far between anyway, then as
now. A few went on to continue their education; Alvis Fernandes,
one of the young men recruited through the informal
Miramar boys' network that proved to be a useful feeder
channel, was halfway through aeronautical engineering
anyway. But at least part of the resignations were
accounted for by the intrigue that dominated the place,
the growing curbs on free expression that could keep
the spark of idealism alive and politics enkindled
among the staff.
Among those who quit in the first four years were
Sushil Silvano (Deputy Editor), S. Vaidyanathan (News
Editor), Devika Sequeira (Assistant Editor/Chief
Reporter), Oswald Pinto, Bosco Souza Eremita, Flavio Raposo,
myself, Alvis Fernandes, Edward Rodrigues, Lovino Gomes,
George, Francis Ribeiro, Elston Soares, Lionel Lynn Fernandes,
Derek Almeida, the brothers Francis and Agnel Fernandes,
Goldwyn Figueira, Agnel Rodrigues (sub-editors/chief
sub editors), Perves De Souza, Cherryl DeSouza, Anna Mendes,
Valentino Fernandes, Armenia Fernandes, Sharmila Kamat,
Babacier Gonsalves (all reporters), Alexyz Fernandes
(cartoonist), Lui Godinho and Menino Afonso
(photographers), the other Francis Ribeiro and John Aguiar
among others (correspondents) and trainees including Sinha,
and Shanti Maria, now an advocate in Panjim. This
list would obviously be incomplete, having missed out
some names.
In 1987-88, at the time of the launch of the Gomantak Times,
a number of journalists left hoping for a better work
environment. At that time, when asked for his comment,
Rajan told the Goa Today something to the effect that
the paper he was editor was "better off after the
opportunistic and mercenary people have left us" for
jobs elsewhere.
Grabbing an opportunity to to claim our right to reply,
four of us who had just left took the opportunity to
make a point. The anger and irritation felt at that
time comes out in the note then written, to which the
signatories were myself (listing the donkey first, so
as not to deny the fact that one felt strongly about
this then as now), Armenia Fernandes, Valentino
Fernandes, and Francis Ribeiro. It's worth recalling,
to put the issue in context:
"Since October 1987 (that is, till mid-February 1988),
one chief sub-editor, one sports sub-editor, two
reporters, a cartoonist and a correspondent resigned
from the Herald. Instead of deceiving oneself by
calling these people 'opportunistic and mercenary', it
would be more profitable for Mr Narayan to be honest --
at least to himself -- over why such a number of
journalists resigned from the paper.
May we point out that under Mr Narayan's stewardship
itself, not a single journalist involved in launching
the English-language Herald a little over four years
ago is still with the paper today, except for Mr
Narayan himself.
And, would Mr Narayan care to explain why it is only in
his paper that 'opportunistic and mercenary people'
(including us, by his definition) are found in such
large numbers when it comes to looking for jobs elsewhere?
To us who know, Mr Narayan is hardly convincing when he
says that 'some junior people may have left' but
Herald's 'top is still intact'. It calls for deep
soul-searching on the part of Mr Narayan to find out
why scores of journalists have resigned from the Herald
since October 10, 1983 -- the date which the paper was
launched...
ON THE FLIP side, Rajan -- at least in his early phase
-- had the ability of encouraging his staff. After a
great job done in covering the Commonwealth Retreat,
the reward was not just a good word but also a meal at
the nearby Hotel Aroma. (For the CHOGM, Devika Sequeira
and Lui Godinho sneaked into the area, and anyone would
have thought they were just a couple of Indian
tourists; Perviz teamed up with Rajan himself to chase
the then-admired now-infamous Robert Mugabe to a church
in Chimbel where the once-charismatic leader had gone
to trace his ancestors from an empire that once ruled
central Africa and part of current-day Zimbabwe. S Vaidyanathan,
the former Financial Express chief-sub who's role in
stabilising the Herald desk often goes largely
unmentioned today, did his usual thorough job on the
desk, and we trainees simply joined in the fun with our
prank calls what not.)
Rajan can also be an ideal boss, if he so chooses and
if he trusts your work. Of course, it can also be
difficult to fathom the logic on which this trust is
based, in an editor who has strong, if unexplained,
likes and dislikes. But his you-manage-things attitude
did occasionally help. At one point, we convinced Rajan
that the long and difficult night-shifts of those days
were stressful, and asked for a five-nights, three-day
schedule. This meant that we got two off-days in every
ten days, or six in a month. Rajan's response was
something to the effect that this was fine, provided we
at the news-desk managed things among ourselves and
didn't then make a case for more staff. We did. It
worked. Any desk-man taking off during the crucial
night-shift, made sure to get in a mutual replacement.
In a word, this system probably worked better than
system of policing shifts. The point here is that if he
so chooses, Rajan's style of avoiding micro-controls
could actually make for a workable management strategy.
But this phase seems to have ended nearly exactly one
year after the launch of the English-language Herald,
when the staff got the drift their their editor was
unable or unwilling to take their issues into account,
and almost all jointly formed a union. When Rajan
learnt of this, his reaction was one of a man betrayed.
Part of the problem could have been that Rajan also
perceived the insecurity of his tenure. One got the
feeling that the paper was not being improved beyond a
point, as this could make those at the editorial top dispensable.
Over the next few years, the fetters started coming on.
Rather quickly. To the staff, it was pretty clear who
Rajan's own sacred cows were, even if the editor
posited himself as the paragon of a free press. From
industrial groups lacking their own mouthpiece in
print, to some of the dissidents then harassing the man
whom Rajan got into mutually-arrogant ego-clashes with,
Pratapsing Raoji Rane.
Rajan also had a perchance to hob-nob with politicians.
One of our colleagues always attributes his survival in
journalism to then political bigwig Dr Wilfred de Souza
. How so? Obviously Rajan had flung across a copy to
the sub concerned with a 'Find the mistake in it, or
get sacked' threat. Just that time, Dr W's car pulled
up alongside the newspaper entrance. Rajan was gone,
and so vanished the threat of a loss of the job.
(As anyone who worked on the desk would concede,
finding errors on paper, when under pressure, can be
the most difficult task. Specially if they are your own
errors. Everything looks correct. This writer too has
made the stupidest of errors, notwithstanding the
reputation of being a fairly careful and concerned
desk-person.)
In our early days at the Herald, some of us
college-kids who were blessed with two-wheelers -- even
if we needed two jobs and a loan to manage these --
doubled up as 'pilots' to the seniors. It came as a
shock to one's post-teenage idealism to hear Rajan
argue after being ferried to a lengthy confabulation
with a Congress dissident: "XYZ is a good politician.
The problem is just that he is so bloody corrupt." Or
words to that effect.
If the early freedom was quick to vanish, it didn't
take much time to realise that every new paper goes
through this honeymoon with truth -- extended only as
long as the time required to build up its credibility.
For the CHOGM, Rajan allowed this writer to report on
protests from a citizens' group concerned about the
pouring of crores down the drain in the name of
building infrastructure. If one recalls right, the
figure was around Rs 50 crore (Rs 500 million), a huge
sum by early 'eighties standards. Another issue that
was a concern then was the manner in which the event
was being used as an excuse by luxury hotels to expand
their properties. At this time, Rajan's diktat was
clear: let the criticism go before the event, but once
the CHOGM Retreat starts, no more of it.
Such attitudes, and this was surely not the only case,
meant the stifling of a crucial voice at an important
time of Goan history. Resultantly, the outstation
media, for instance, didn't get a clue that such
questions were at all being asked in Goan society. When
it comes to recording the history of the 'eighties,
there will likewise be many gaps or black holes... and
many could be led into believing that these events
simply didn't occur.
Rajan's role in the Konkani movement would be another
interesting issue for research. Many a Catholic from
Goa, both here and among the diaspora, tends to read
him as being a "hero for Konkani". (Dr Teotonio De
Souza, historian, commented on Goanet on September 18,
2003: "I have known Rajan Narayan while still in Goa
and admired his contribution to the Konkani cause.")
But the issue is more complex. Needless to say, Goa's
media adopts a dog-does-not-eat-dog approach, and for
most of the time avoids criticising each other. Rajan's
role in the language agitation is yet to be adequately
evaluated. The Week magazine, in an article written by
the journalist Ashok Row Kavi (who went on to become a
prominent gay activist, but that's not particularly
relevant here) did a critical piece on the role played
by Rajan and the other Narayan, Athawale:
It's titled 'The two Narayans' and says:
THE three worlds in Hindu mythology always shuddered
when the chant 'Narayan, Narayan' echoed in the cosmos.
It meant that Narada, the roving rishi, was making his
petty-fogging presence felt.
Goa has two Narayans and there is internal trouble
there. One is Narayan Athavle, editor of the Marathi
daily Gomantak, and the other Rajan Narayan, editor of
O Herald an English daily from Panaji. They are
fighting each other claiming that they are fighting for
two languages, Marathi and Konkani.
Their credentials can be questioned, though no one
bothers to do that. Athavle is an outsider: a
Maharashtrian Chitpawan Brahmin; Rajan Narayan is from
South India and is fighting for Konkani in English.
Athavle's editorials are pure petrol on Goa's red hot
embers. Starting with Ooth Marathe Ooth (Wake up
Marathas, wake up), Athavle, who supports Rane, has
carried on a relentless battle to show that Konkani is
a 'boli' (dialect) and not a 'bhasha' (language).
Athavle has published some 25 eminently forgettable
novels, and has had a lackluster career in Lok Satta,
the Marathi daily of the Express group.
Athavle gets quite alarmed when someone mentions
'Vishal Gomantak' (Greater Goa), which to him means
'expansionism'. But he has no qualms at all when he
says that Goa should finally merge with Maharashtra
because "their cultures are the same".
In his zeal to propagate the interest of Marathi, he
has even neglected the success of his newspaper which
has been falling in circulation. Tarun Bharat,
published from Belgaum in Karnataka, has taken away
6,000 out of the 18,000-odd Gomantak circulation. Yet
Athavle has such a strong grip over the owners, the
Chowgules, that he even overseas recruitment. No
Christians are employed in that daily.
Apart from editing O Heraldo, Rajan Narayan, a former
editor of Imprint, now speaks from political platforms.
Narayan has become more a pamphleteer than a
journalist. He often attends the strategy sessions of
the KPA. He has at times tried to maintain a balance
but has failed because he is viewed suspiciously by the
Hindus and because the Christians patronise him.
Rajan Narayan is a professional doing a job and taken
up with a cause which he would just as well drop like a
hot brick if he got a better challenge somewhere else.
However, the turn he has given to the O Herald has
taken its circulation to 12,000 from the 4,000-odd it
was selling before he took over its editorship. "I
don't make any pretensions that I'm being objective,"
says he. "I'm here to fight for Konkani."
Come what may, the two Narayans, both non-Goans, are
slugging it out through reams of newsprint. And both
are accused of polarising Goa's good people as never
before. (The Week, Jan 18-24, 1987)
The figures noted above of the Herald's circulation
don't seem to be very accurate. It was more like a few
hundred in its Portuguese days -- specially towards the
fag end of playing the role of being the "only
Portuguese language daily published in Asia". But Row
Kavi raises a point long back which probably didn't get
the attention it deserved.
By the time the 1985-87 language agitation was drawing
to a close, this writer was a chief sub-editor at the
Herald. Perhaps the cynical games visible all round
convinced one about not getting caught up in the
meaningless emotionalism that was ruling both
linguistic camps. Basic questions were not being
raised. What primarily was a caste-fuelled was being
fought out along linguistic lines. Many of those who
took up these issues -- as subsequent events showed --
were more keen on cornering a share of the spoils for
themselves and their kin, rather than really empowering
the commonman (and woman) to utilise a language they
could be more at home in. Rajan's own role was critical
in shaping the language issue the way it worked out.
The average Catholic became a hard-core, if later
disillusioned by the subsequent twist of events,
supporter of the Konkani camp, without quite
understanding the unstated issues involved.
On the language front, like many other controversies in
the state, this one too polarised journalists. The
United News of India news agency, though its then Goa
correspondent Jagdish Wagh, then put out a 10-take
article which echoed the Marathi side of the arguments.
Rajan's first response was to dump it in the
waste-paper basket. To one's mind, it made sense that
both 'camps' knew each other's positions on the issue.
Specially because this was one issue where the average
Catholic reader -- who hardly reads Marathi -- was
largely unable to keep abrest with the thoughts of one
side of the debate. To Rajan's credit, he was quick to
accept a suggestion from a junior, and decided that the
article be carried on the edit page. But if one thought
he did this because of the need for a diversity of
voices, that was simply untrue. Some days later, a
gleeful Rajan informed that it was just as well he had
taken up that suggestion, since the UNI write-up had,
in turn, provoked a series of lengthy polemical
responses from the Panjim-based Konkani hardline
supporter Datta Naik written to project the Konkani
cause. It was a point-by-point attempted refutation,
and more. A whole lot of more grist to the linguistic
mill that ultimately served to build circulation,
allowing Rajan to boost his bargaining power on this
basis.
If Rajan played a crucial role in stoking the language
controversy, he was also vital in bringing it to an
abrupt and unexpected end. On the day the language bill
was passed in the Goa assembly, an angry Churchill Alemao
stomped into the Herald office. He demanded to know
how the screaming headline read something to the
effect: 'Konkani made official language'. Alemao's
criticism (with some validity, even if ironical in the
backdrop of his own exclusivist approach which sought
compltely illegitimise the Marathi demand, in what was
in is more of a caste-defined battle) was that the
headline was not justified when the dialect and script
used by a small minority had been given official acceptance.
Later realties also elaborately demonstrated that the
Rane-Khalap drafted official language bill was
extremely ambivalent, if not wholly unimplementable.
Nobody knows for certain whether Goa has one or two
official languages, or almost-official languages. Each
official purpose for which it is to be used would have
to be specifically notified, leading to further
bickerings. Besides, almost everyone would like to
leave the act unimplemented, since it would open up a
can of worms and endless more problems if anyone went
ahead implementing it. The official invitation cards,
now printed in four languages -- English, Hindi, and
Konkani and Marathi -- are enough of an indication of
what a joke this has become.
Nonetheless, the Konkani experience did not stop Rajan
from subsequently claiming that the paper under his
steering had "demonstrated dramatically its influence
by succeeding to get more than 75,000 people for the
Konkani language". Of this, he tried to make a case for
better terms -- service conditions, allowances and
possibly commissions on advertisements "generated" for
the paper.
EVEN AS HE ANNOUNCED recently his decision to quit the
Herald and launch his own weekend paper, Rajan is back
to donning his role as a 'protector of the minorities'.
But even as he stokes fears here, a genuine question
could be whether this is anything more than a marketing
strategy. His claims of being committed to secularism
could be dismissed by critics as little more than a
cynical strategy of stoking minority fears, to build a
potent constituency, just as some politicians in Goa
have done -- to convert into a permanent votebank of
sorts a large segment of the Catholic electorate. In
July 1987, Rajan told his staff, this writer then being
one of them: "Our basic constituency are the Catholics,
whether we like it or not. So much so, anything on the
Pope or developments in Christianity should be
interesting to our readers."
Rajan was however quick to understand -- unlike most of
the other editors brought into Goa to head papers here,
who sometimes take years just to understand that this
small state doesn't need a scaled-down version of a
national newspaper -- that local news was of vital
importance. To cite a Rajanism, in the form of a blunt
directive to the news-desk: "The Rajya Sabha election
in Goa is of much greater consequence to use than a
peaceful Yath Ratra (sic) in Ahmedabad. In Punjab, for
instance, I do not think we should take cognisance
unless the death toll is above 10." (This was in times
when the Punjab violence was as Kashmir today.)
Rajan was quick to argue that a new paper in Goa should
address those segments which are significant in size.
One can question his obvious strategy of playing on
minority fears and building up a minority psychosis.
Even when viewed from a very narrow sense, this could
be damaging to the interest of the minorities
themselves.
But Rajan's ability to convince the reader still holds.
In September 2003, some Goan expats across cyberspace
were carefully watching the unfolding drama as Rajan
hurriedly launched his http://www.rajannarayan.com
site. Making his an issue of freedom of expression, and
indicting the man who weeks back graced Rajan's
birthday -- Manoharbab Parrikar -- was bound to strike
a chord. Afterall, haven't we in the Press in Goa been
complaining about increasing pressures from the BJP government?
On September 16, 2003, one expat suggested that
"perhaps the only way to overcome the muzzling of the
press is for Non-Resident Goans to fund an alternative
newspaper, where the journalists can do what they do
best without their livelihood being threatened." He
went on to suggest: "Now is the time for Non-Resident Goans
who care, to come to the assistance of journalists in
Goa. As an alternative, we could support Rajan
Narayan's new venture and give him the freedom to speak
out. Democracy and freedom are at stake in Goa. It is
time for all Goans who love their motherland, to put
their money where their mouths are, and do something
for Goa."
To quite some extent the problem with contemporary
Goa's journalism is governments who don't like
criticism and therefore target certain newspapers or
journalists. But this is not the entire story.
Managements who seek to use their papers to get undue
favours, licences, or whatever are another part of the
problem. So are us journalists who don't carry on our
job neutrally and without quid-pro-quo motives. But the
editors who have long been acting as censors, and
implement the agendas of the first two categories
above, are also part of the problem. Unlike in the
'eighties, you can hardly expect an editor to stand up
for you in today's Goa.
Journalists in Goa are facing a situation where space
to write the truth is increasingly shrinking; and
editors, including Rajan, have also played their role
in making this happen. At another level, the State is
working overtime to incorporate journalists, promote
'friendly' publications and thus indulge in other means
to control opinion. While Rajan Narayan has undeniably
been one editor who was willing to say the things
others were simply not willing to say, this was done
not very consistently. Quite a few who worked under
Rajan would probably have their own story to tell. It
would really help if the average Goan was less gullible
and didn't judge issues along emotional lines alone.
The plus side also needs to be taken into the equation.
It was Rajan who pointed out to the importance of the
readership of government employees and pensioneers; to
the fact that international news needed to be focussed
on countries which Goa had long links with, or had
large Goan expat populations. He told his staff
something that seems to be beyond the comprehension of
many Goan editors: "There is also considerable interest
in Portugal. An election is scheduled in Portugal soon.
Let us keep track of the election and other
developments in Portugal."
(But one should not get misled into thinking that those
working under Rajan always had clear policy guidelines
to work under. Most of our time at least, policies were
based on whims and fancies, to gauge the rationale of
which often left one bewildered.)
He was also among those to try and shift out of the
protocol reporting -- an attitude which says 'this
report has to be there, because it has to be there' --
that journalism in a Navhind-defined Goa was notorious
for.
But then, implementing this vision was a problem. For
one, Rajan himself didn't consistently follow up on it.
Secondly, he didn't seem to believe in having competent
persons around him and preferred to work with someone
who was less likely to pose a challege in the years to
come. In addition, a considerable time was spent in
politcking, both within the organisation and beyond.
Working under Rajan meant coping with the unpredictable.
In many cases, Rajan didn't quite give other
journalists the impression that they were welcome to
contribute to the Herald. (As an aside, one of those
asked to contribute a chapter in this book, a senior
Goan journalist who has written for a number of
national and international publications, misunderstood
that the invite was to write for the Herald. The journo
simply wrote back a two-liner to declining saying that
apart from the lack of time, "Rajan won't accept my
name in his paper.")
In one of my freelance stints there, a curious case
pertained to a curious firm selling matresses at the
price of Rs 60,000 to a 100,000 and more. They claimed
all kinds of near-miraculous properties went along with
the matresses. Concerned citizens drew one's attention
to this issue, and after researching the issue, one
wrote one's report on the issue. Rajan was furious. He
accused this journalist of "not checking the other side
of the story". In reality, the firm refused to let
anyone come to their demos, unless they were duly
introduced by someone already caught in the
costly-matress trap. It later turned out that the
persons running the operations in Goa were linked to
the family of the publisher that brought out a magazine
Rajan had earlier worked for! When this issue was
raised during a recent journalist debate, Rajan
side-stepped it by raising the issue of whether one was
a staffer or freelancer while writing for the paper. He
generally confused the issue in some barely-relevant
detail, ignoring the questions of there was a clash of
interest in his role as editor here, as in many other
issues he has faced questions over.
Perhaps the most curious experience for this writer was
the one related to "Raul Gonsalves".
Sometime in the late 'nineties, a number of prominent
editors in Goa decided to impose a private 'ban' on the
writings of that abrasive but persistent letter-writer M.K.Jos
. Jos had the style of targetting editors and
journalists, which was obviously earning him
influential enemies. One may not be a fan of Jos, but
clearly a blanket ban on an individual is something
very unbecoming of a supposedly democratic society.
This writer's feature, focussing Jos with his plusses
and minuses, appeared in the weekend magazine section
of Herald, then looked after by Ethel da Costa.
Retribution was quick to come. A long piece was
published, in the same columns which this writer was a
contributor to, trying to drag this writer into a
fictitious controversy. It also sought to give a veiled
'warning' that anyone mentioning Jos could himself lend
in trouble. It later emerged that the article itself
was pseudonymously written by the editor of a rival
newspaper, claiming to be 'Raul Gonsalves'. Editorial
staff of the section confirmed that the contentious
article had been published at the behest of Rajan himself.
It could be argued that if Rajan has built a
larger-than-life image of himself, that has been
premises on the blocking out of a generation of young
journalists, whom he himself ironically had a hand in
creating. Today, Rajan's indespensibility to the Herald
stems from both a perception, not wholly true, that he
single-handedly built the paper, and the fact that
virtually nobody else in the organisation has been
trained or encouraged to write editorials.
To some measure, everyone who shares the above grouse
with this writer must be thankful to Rajan. Being
pushed out of local opportunity has helped many to get
access to wider fields. Today, Goan journalists are
employed in a number of places -- scattered across the
Gulf, to Singapore, Australia, Canada and beyond! Even
for those of us opting to remain back home, the hard
work involving in 'proving oneself' has helped to open
up new doors. Had it not been for such 'push' factors,
this writer would have probably been doing a boring job
just as a deputy news editor in some local newspaper.
Working in a Rajan-headed establishment also can cure
you of ambition. It was simply not worth the heart-burn
and infighting to rise to the level of a humble
chief-sub. This has helped convince this writer that
it's probably worth staying a humble correspondent --
possibly even freelance -- the rest of one's career,
rather than succumb to an ambition that takes
bitterness, rancour, cutthroat competition and so much
energy just to get a post in which one has to act more
as politician or manager rather than an effective
journalist?
Needless to say, on the other hand the younger
generation of journalists can indeed learn from some of
Rajan's good points. In many cases -- though not all --
he would be quick to highlight criticism of himself, in
the paper he headed. His ability to bestow confidence
on his juniors helped some to grow. (But, this was upto
a point. Also, his criticism and barrage of memos
seemed to be more linked to whether he liked someone or
not, rather than one's qualities and abilities to put
in hard work as a journalist.)
As for the writer of this chapter, one carried on
writing... and enjoying it immensely. But for most of
the past 20 years, that has been for an audience
largely outside the Herald. By some quirk of fate, one
managed to leave the Herald exactly after four years,
as planned. (Thanks to statehood, the Deccan Herald
decided to have it's first full-time staff
correspondent in Goa. Work on the news-desk was fast
ceasing to be a challenge, and the politics on the job
also made life difficult, even if the team that worked
there had a good team spirit and a youthful have-fun
attitude towards life.) Also, as planned, one put in a
two-line resignation letter.
As anticipated, my absence there was not viewed as a
loss; anyone who stayed on too long got the feeling he
or she was becoming a liability -- or that the law of
diminishing returns were applying. Whatever may have
been my failings, some of my colleagues pointed to the
fact that this writer was one of the few who had been
around from Day One, and was known for his attempts to
bring out a good product. Paste-up artists would
comment, "The day you leave, there will be a lot of
disappointment." I suffered from no such delusions. In
part, because nobody is indispensible. In greater part,
because one was aware of the attitude of Rajan Narayan
towards anyone who might one-day be competition.
Right I was. When I told Rajan of my decision, he had
just one question in mind: where are you going? On
being told that it was the Deccan Herald, a visible
sign of relief appeared on his brow. Not only was one
not joining the Gomantak Times, then viewed as the
looming-on-the horizon competition, but also another
journo was getting out of the way. Or at least, that
was how one intrepreted it.
Perhaps one was not wrong. Since then, one was at
Deccan Herald for the first seven years, a period
during which staffers were not officially allowed to
write for other publications. But, since 1995, when one
went into full-time freelancing, never did one feel
welcome to write for the Herald, whenever Rajan Narayan
was around. On the contrary, doing this would make one
feel like an encroacher or illegal alien overstaying
his welcome at a place not wanted.
At one stage, Rajan Narayan went for his lengthy
treatment, leaving behind no editorials for the paper.
Having never apparently encouraged anyone to rise to
the task of writing editorials, he apparently often
used this as his bargaining chip (as has happened
recently). Unlike in other papers, where the
middle-level journalists write the editorial, here the
space was very much Rajan's fiefdom. Being into
freelancing, and wanting to take up the challenge, one
wrote a set of 50 or so editorials during one of his
periods of extended absences during the 'nineties. This
was done at the request of the newspaper management,
and the staff apparently appreciated the move. Yet, on
his return, and probably realising that churning out
this many pieces -- that too, all on issues related to
Goa -- could be done by someone else too, Rajan went on
to write his editorial which claimed "friends in Goa and
Bombay are eager to bury me..." . Or something to that
effect. The "friend' in Bombay was, one guesses, Alwyn
Fernandes, a former Times of India journalist, who at
one stage was actively considering taking over the
editorship of the Herald.
(At a later tenure, after the Herald faced a crisis
when chief reporter Julio Da Silva suddenly opted for
contesting an assembly election on a BJP ticket, rather
than staying on in journalism. Since one had turned to
freelancing, contributing to a local daily sounded a
good idea. This continued for some time, till, again,
Rajan Narayan's return resulted in getting the feeling
of being unwanted.)
At the end of the day -- though nobody should try to
write a premature obit for his influence on Goan
journalism -- Rajan will probably be known for what he
has written. Not for what he made sure didn't surface.
In this context, it is perhaps important to put down
these perspectives on the record, so that the future
could have other views from which to judge contemporary
journalism in Goa.
Chapter 8:
Rural Goa, unheard, unsung...
Melvyn S. MisquitaMelvyn S Misquita represents a trend among some of the
younger journalists -- well-educated (he holds two M.A.
degrees), Net-savvy, and eager to extend the boundaries
of journalism in Goa should be looking at, apart from
just the Secretariat. Recently, his work made it to the
news in a major way, when the Indian Express carried a
large spread in its national-edition on how Misquita
had traced the strange story of the sinking of a World
War II British passenger liner, BritanniaIII, which had
dozens of Goans (including one of Misquita's
grand-uncle's) on board.
If my entry into journalism was accidental, working
with rural correspondents in Goa was equally
unexpected. One morning of May 1998, then editor of the
Gomantak Times, Ashwin Tombat, asked me to handle local
correspondents who were contributing to the newspaper.
He assured me that correspondents were an integral part
of the newspaper and, that, a strong network would play
a vital role in strengthening the newspaper.
While Tombat's ability to put forth persuasive
arguments eventually convinced me to accept this task,
I was determined not to remain 'stuck' with
correspondents for long. There were many reasons for
this. Firstly, working with correspondents invariably
meant that one would end up merely re-writing their
stories and would not have much time to work on my own
stories. And with barely two years of journalism under
my belt, there was no way I would allow my ambition be
condemned to the mere restoration of correspondents'
news items.
Secondly, co-ordinating with correspondents involved
vast amounts of patience, as each correspondent had to
be handled differently. Moreover, since most were
part-time correspondents and could devote only a few
hours to the profession, I could only expect them to
function for a brief part of the day. Then again, these
correspondents were based in different parts of the
state and my interaction with them was largely
dependent on telephones and other means of remote communication.
The correspondents were certainly happy to have me
around, as till then their complaints seemed endless.
"Our stories don't appear promptly in the newspaper
and, sometimes, they don't appear at all. People in our
locality then get upset and complain that we are not
sending in their stories," was a commonly echoed
grievance. "No one attends to our telephone calls and,
when they do, they keep transferring our calls from one
person to another and they finally disconnect the
phone," was another general complaint.
Their complaints certainly had some degree of
legitimacy.
It is a common perception -- especially among
English-language newspapers in the state -- that correspondents
are third-class passengers, who deserve little or no
decent treatment. Let me cite two instances to prove
this point. In one English-language newspaper, a
correspondent sent me a crime report, which, under
normal circumstances, should have been carried the next
day. To my surprise, the report was not published for
the next two days. The correspondent called me and
sought an explanation for the delay. Unable to give him
a suitable reply, I transferred the call to the
concerned sub-editor, who simply snapped back and
insisted that the correspondent need not bother about
his report and, that, the report would appear only when
there space was available in the paper!
Some time ago, a Vasco-based couple died in a road
mishap in Porvorim and the correspondent promptly sent
in the report. The next morning, I was taken aback to
find the item in a single column, virtually hidden in
the section for continued items on Page 4.
Incidentally, the distribution of saplings by an MLA
not only merited a double-column spread, but also a
decent photograph -- ironically, just alongside the
news item reporting the tragic deaths. The sub-editor's
reply, like his news sense, left me baffled. "So what?
So many people die almost everyday. What was so special
about these deaths?" Unfortunately, the sub-editor
failed to acknowledge the fact that the same news item
was prominently displayed in the other two
English-language newspapers.
A former colleague once aptly described such an
attitude as "'news sense' value which gets transformed
into 'nuisance value'."
In most cases, those serving on the news desk in
English-language papers have never worked as rural
correspondents and are, hence, unable, or in some cases
unwilling, to understand the intricacies of collecting
and sending news items. Confined to the four walls of
the newspaper office, some members of the news desk
play a role similar to that of a cook in the kitchen;
while rural correspondents are the waiters who have to
constantly interact either with an unhappy customer or,
in some cases, a satisfied customer. The news desk
essentially plays a vital role in the making or
breaking of a story sent by rural correspondents.
But then, the news desk is faced with pressures of a
different kind, which are not always understood by
rural correspondents, based as they are in remote
corners of Goa, who rarely witnessed the hectic
activity at the news desk, moments before the deadline.
On numerous occasions, news items placed on the page
had to be removed at the last moment to accommodate
late advertisements. As such, rural reports, no matter
how essential, simply couldn't find the space in newspaper.
Moreover, many correspondents are convinced that their
news items are more important than the others, so much
so that they cannot bear to find their reports delayed
even by a day. Quite often, their unhappiness over the
delay in printing their reports would become more vocal
with each passing day and, invariably, I became their
punching bag. This was largely because some of the
rural correspondents are considered important members
of the public in their locality and, at times, their
prestige and financial gains in journalism would often
be at stake with a delayed publication of their reports.
It must be admitted that over the years, journalism has
been turned into a prestigious and lucrative part-time
option for many of the rural correspondents. A few
years ago, a former editor mentioned to me that he was
on a trip to a remote village in Goa, when he decided
to attend a function in the locality. The place was
packed to capacity and he was forced to stand behind
occupied chairs. To his surprise, the chief guest
happened to be the local correspondent of his own newspaper!
This enthusiasm towards 'extra-curricular' activities
sometimes translates into political affiliation. In a
recent event which established the BJP-journo nexus in
Sanguem, a correspondent with a Marathi newspaper and
member of the Sanguem Patrakar Sangh was been
unanimously elected president of the Sanguem Unit of
the BJP. Similarly, the president of the Sanguem
Patrakar Sangh and a correspondent with an
English-language newspaper, was appointed the BJP booth
president of Tarimol-Sanguem. In most cases, reports
sent by correspondents to the news desk, in the past,
specially when there was no one in particular to look
after this responsibility, simply lacked form and
content. Illegible words either scribbled on scraps of
paper or sent as distorted faxed messages were among
the most popular methods deployed to communicate their
reports. In some cases, only a skilled pharmacist could
decipher the words used by some correspondents. Under
such conditions, the sub-editor assigned to such
reports had the arduous task of converting them into
decent stories. Quite often, the easiest way out would
be to forward the raw report to the dust bin. A
sub-editor flooded with such reports and working under
pressure would invariably exercise this option with
considerable frequency.
Then in June 1998, it was my turn to handle the
correspondent network under the fancy and wordy
designation of "Chief of News Bureau". In reality, I
had to play God in the laboratory. This meant
subjecting numerous correspondent reports to various
quality control tests each day and, in some cases,
creating sense from nonsense, before they were ready to
be read by thousands of readers in and around Goa.
Under such circumstances, I had anticipated that my
association with correspondents would not to last long,
that is, if I wanted to maintain my sanity in the
profession.
But this was not meant to be.
The days turned to weeks, months and eventually years.
And, before I knew it, my interaction with rural
correspondents went on to complete half a decade. I
have since handled thousands of reports either sent to
me through post, fax, emails or even dictated over the
phone. In most cases, the reports may have initially
appeared trivial or insignificant, but a little
refinement and some cut-paste commands have succeeded
in giving a new look to the report. And with
encouraging results.
In a recent case, the Pernem correspondent sent me a
report on action initiated by the local health
authorities, in view of the outbreak of viral hepatitis
in the state. In the second last paragraph of his
report was a mention that the authorities had decided
to shut down the Pernem police station canteen for
operating under 'unhygienic conditions'. In my view,
this was most significant and I refined the story with
this angle as the lead. Taking cue from the news item,
the Director General of Police issued a memo to the
Pernem police inspector, seeking an explanation for the
unhygienic conditions in the police canteen.
Incidentally, Herald was the only English-language
daily to carry this report.
Over the years, I have not only succeeded in building
up my tolerance level to the specific demands of
correspondents, I have also learnt to appreciate the
crucial role of those eyes and ears spread all over the
state. This experience has led me to believe that a
local newspaper which ignores rural news content will
be as effective as an orchestra playing music before a
deaf audience.
While there is consensus on the value of local news
content, the importance of rural correspondents has not
always been appreciated by the powers that be in the
newspaper. A correspondent is often treated like the
spare wheel of a vehicle, detachable and to be ignored
under normal circumstances. The merit is only
recognised in times of emergency, when a big story
breaks out in areas represented by correspondents. Then
too, it is a common trend that newspapers would prefer
to send its full-fledged staffers, often from Panjim,
instead of relying on part-time rural correspondents,
to cover the event. This is not to suggest that
full-fledged staffers have no right to tresspass on the
territory of correspondents, as it were. Rather, a
staffer would benefit a great deal by utilising the
expertise and local knowledge of a rural correspondent
to ensure an effective story.
To cite an example, a staffer was recently asked to
interview noted people in connection with a prominent
cultural festival in a village. The staffer was unaware
that the same festival is celebrated separately by two
groups in the village and, that, the article would need
to carry the comments of people from both groups.
Instead of seeking the assistance of a correspondent
from the area, the staffer went ahead and interviewed
five persons from the village. Eventually, the staffer
realised that four persons interviewed represented one
group, while the sole personality interviewed from the
other group went on to criticise his own group! The
article was published and the damage was done.
Organisers of the second group were aggrieved and
threatened to withdraw advertisements to the newspaper.
The issue was finally resolved when the local
correspondent carried a series of reports to clarify
the position of the organisers of the second group. Had
the staffer sought the assistence of the local
correspondent, the issue would never have been blown
out of proportion.
Then again, the 'who-has-written' preference over the
'what-has-been-written' has plagued many
English-language newspapers and this has largely
contributed to the 'City-Centric Syndrome'. There have
been instances to suggest that a news report filed by a
staffer has been accorded more prominence -- both in
space and display -- than a report sent by a rural
correspondent. Recently, tension flared up along the Tuyem
-Camurlim ferry route, after the river navigation
department wanted to shift the lone ferry to Tar-Siolim
for the five-day Ganesh immersion ceremony. An MLA,
sarpanchas of two village panchayats and over angry 200
people prevented the movement of the ferry. The
correspondent promptly sent the report and the item
could only find place in the lower portion of page 7,
normally reserved for routine and unimportant news items.
The controversy then erupted again for the nine-day
Ganesh immersion ceremony, when authorities finally
shifted the lone ferry from the Tuyem-Camurlim route to
Siolim. Commuters were unhappy to travel by the free
canoe service, while those travelling in vehicles were
forced to take a lengthy detour. On the other hand,
people in Siolim had the luxury of a ferry to assist
them in a religious ceremony. The correspondent sent me
the report but, this time, the item was published on
page 4, normally reserved for stories which have been
continued from page 1. Incidentally, six of the eight
news items which appeared on page 3 -- the most popular
'inside' page for Goa news -- were Margao-based news
items. "At least, you people carried the ferry story. I
sent the same story to my newspaper. But I did not find
my story anywhere in the paper the next day," remarked
an unhappy correspondent of another newspaper.
Newspaper authorities tend to justify this
'City-Centric Syndrome' by claiming that their readers
are concentrated in and around cities and towns and,
hence, an urban-based report would generate more
interest than a remote village-based story. To accept
this argument would be similar to assume that a
nutritional and tasty meal is possible merely with a
generous portion of rice, minus the curry, vegetables
and other side dishes.
Reports by rural correspondents add spice, flavour and
variety to a newspaper. It is no wonder that the
popularity of vernacular papers in Goa has been largely
due to the quality and quantity of local stories, both
from urban and rural areas.
Different standards adopted with rural correspondents
can be quite effective to confuse and demoralise them.
In one incident, a rural correspondent sent me a report
stating that a building constructed by a firm and owned
by an MLA, was being built barely metres from a high
tension pole. A labourer while at work accidentally
came in contact with the live wires and was seriously
injured. Though a police complaint was filed against
the firm and not the MLA, the correspondent was keen to
establish the link since since the MLA was largely
responsible for the negligence. However, the editor
pulled up the correspondent for attempting to introduce
the MLA into the story, when the police complaint did
not specify the direct involvement of the MLA.
Sometime later, the sister of a minister fatally
stabbed her husband to death. Though the minister was
not involved as he was abroad at the time of the
incident, the same editor called up the news desk,
asking them to insert the statement that the alleged
murderer is the sister of the minister. The minister's
identity was not specified in the police complaint and,
yet, the editor wanted to establish the link between
the minister and his sister.
The problems faced by rural correspondents are fairly
common and are not restricted to any one newspaper and
it has become a common trend for local correspondents
to pool in stories and resources. This in turn has led
to the creation of local level associations, commonly
known as "Patrakar Sangh" in most talukas of the State.
These associations have, in turn, branched out into
constituency-level associations. At present, the
numerous "Patrakar Sanghs" in Goa include the
Sanguem-Quepem Patrakar Sangh, Sanguem Patrakar Sangh,
Murgao Patrakar Sangh, Pernem Patrakar Sangh, Mandrem
Patrakar Sangh, Bicholim Patrakar Sangh and the
Bardez-based Zunzar Gramin Patrakar Sangh. Besides
safeguarding the interests of rural correspondents,
these associations provide support to its members and
also promote interactions with society by organising
various contests and cultural programmes.
Having served correspondents across two newspapers for
over half a decade, I have grown to appreciate and
respect their enthusiasm to the profession, despite the
difficulties that engulf them on a regular basis. If my
efforts have paid rich dividends, it is largely based
on my recipe called T.R.U.S.T, which includes the key
ingredients of Talent, Reliability, Usefulness,
Sincerity and Tenacity.
TALENT: Rural correspondents have often been judged by
their talent in the collection of news from their
respective areas. It is this talent that has enthused
many correspondents to remain in journalism for many
years, even though in most cases, monetary benefits
have been too meagre to justify their interest.
I have often worked with rural correspondents who have
little knowledge of English and, yet, they have
communicated to me stories which have turned out to be
impressive reports. There have been some correspondents
who have developed such strong contacts, that they are
easily identified by the masses in different parts of
the taluka represented by the correspondent. These
correspondents are the true representatives of the
newspaper in their areas.
Correspondents with remarkable talent have always
remained the prized possession of a newspaper and, in
many cases, have gone on to become full-fledged reporters.
RELIABILITY: By and large, rural correspondents have
been a reliable lot and have stood by the paper in good
times and in bad. These correspondents have sent in
their reports all year round, without taking into
account their weekly holidays, public holidays or
annual leave. In one newspaper, correspondents were not
paid for a number of months due to acute financial
difficulties and, yet, that didn't retard the flow of
their reports and they continued to serve the newspaper
with the same level of enthusiasm. This level of
commitment and reliability of correspondents will
always be an asset to any newspaper.
I had a correspondent who happened to fly to Bombay in
the morning, but that didn't stop him from sending me a
news item over the phone. Beyond doubt, this
correspondent, despite his busy schedule in Vasco, has
been one of my most enterprising correspondents and a
crucial component in my network of correspondents.
Correspondents located in remote areas usually cover a
huge geographical area and in most cases, travel many
kilometres to either collect or send a report to the
newspaper. Yet, this rarely deters them from sending
their reports.
USEFULNESS: While rural correspondents are primarily
responsible for covering events in their localities,
they are extremely beneficial to newspapers in a number
of ways. They can be of invaluable help in the
promotion of newspaper, be it circulation, generation
of advertisements or other areas of interest to a
newspaper. In fact, some correspondents have even
started advertising agencies of their own.
SINCERITY: This ingredient distinguishes rural
correspondents who pursue journalism as an end from
those who manipulate the profession as a means to an end.
Over the years, I have learnt to respect the large
number of rural correspondents, who have been sincere
to the journalism. This is not to say that rural
correspondents are insulated from pressures while
discharging their part-time duties. On the contrary,
they are most prone to influences within their locality
and hence, their ability to withstand the gravitational
forces of politics and economics has to be appreciated.
TENACITY: Another hallmark of most rural correspondents
is the persistent determination which has been the
driving force over the years. News items on a series of
issues filed by rural correspondents have prompted
authorities to initiate action. Recently, a
correspondent persistently highlighted the illegal
felling of trees in the taluka, inviting the wrath of
timber smugglers. Ignoring numerous threats to his
life, his efforts eventually paid off when arrests were
effected, lethargic local authorities transferred and
brakes applied on the illegal activities in the area.
My association with the Herald is yet to complete two
years, but I am glad that the Herald News Bureau has
developed a team of talented, reliable, useful, sincere
and tenacious correspondents. And I am grateful to have
been involved in this process.
Chapter 9:
A year apart... journalism and leaving home
Daryl PereiraDaryl Pereira came to Goa as a lost young member of the
widespread Goan diaspora. He promptly won many friends
by his friendly ways and have-fun attitude. In turn, he
not just discovered his roots more deeply (Daryl
recently chose to have his wedding in Goa), but also
earned for himself a profession. Besides opting for
Media Studies back in the UK, he currently works for a
search-engine promotion agency (or, put in plain
language, an initiative that skews search-engine
results, to allow you to be listed first, if you can
afford to pay).
A lot has happened since my time as writer and
sub-editor for The Herald's international edition. But
a brief stint in the mid-90's has left an indelible
mark on my psyche. Having said that, the Herald for me
is largely synonymous with India, journalism and
leaving home, so discussing it in isolation isn't easy.
Also, there was no clearly defined plan -- it was
something I more or less stumbled on by chance.
It turned to be a chance encounter of which I still
feel the repercussions.
I arrived in Goa from the UK early in 1995, after
scrapping a potentially lucrative yet un-inviting
career in accountancy, originally no more than another
faceless backpacker with meagre funds hoping to enjoy
the chilled hazy life of a shack-wallah. Shame I didn't
check the weather forecast. The small matter of a
monsoon put paid to any chances of beachside employment.
Offices filled with ledgers piled to the roofs were
enough to put me off venturing into the world of Indian
accountancy and, not wanting to follow the aimless road
back home, I desperately cast the net out wide. An
answer to an advert for a 'Person Required for English
Publication' -- one of the more ambiguous ads to grace
the career opportunity pages -- led to an interview and
my first trip to the Herald offices.
Finding the office more energetic and boisterous than
previous working environments I had experienced, a
barrage of writing tests and interviews left me feeling
like I had been through a whirlwind. The whirlwind
moved quickly. That very same day I found out I was the
new sub-editor for the Herald International Review, a
paper intended to serve the Goan diaspora.
Well, what this role meant in reality was that I would
read the articles awaiting publication, picking up the
odd grammatical error, but more importantly I was the
lowest common denominator litmus test -- if the pages
didn't stand up to my paltry knowledge of the Goan
political system then (the argument goes) it would not
be understood by Goans in the furthest-flung corners of
the globe.
Day in day out, I would take the long dusty climb up to
the top floor -- at the time we were sharing office
space with accounts. Not quite the close separation of
duty to which I'd become accustomed. And although their
elaborate entries in ledgers never became any less
cryptic, it did give me the opportunity to mingle with
those outside the editorial department.
During the early weeks of my tenure in May, the heat
soared. Then early in June the rains broke -- with a
fanfare of grumbles from most of the populace for the
three-day delay. Funny for me, as in the North European
climes to which I was accustomed, rain pretty much
randomly came and went. The ferocity of the storms also
came as a shock. Days heavily punctuated with storms.
The power cuts that ensued, hobbling our much needed
computers, led to a greedy lunge for the last drips of
juice out of the backup generator in order to crunch
out a few extra words. Once that dried up, we would
have little more to do than meditatively stare at the elements.
In the English political system, the summer is the
silly system. It's the time for stories of twins joined
at birth and how a routine trip to the hospital to have
a wart removed leads to three-years incarceration.
Falling over the same months, the monsoon season in Goa
seems to have a similar effect. The supply of news is
low, but the column-inches keep up their incessant
demand. Ministers with long-shot pleas for 'raindrop
tourism' (to wake up a beachside industry all but dried
up over the period) is enough to make front page news.
Perhaps that is the reason that it was felt pushing me
out into the midst of Goa on the hunt for fresh stories
couldn't do too much harm. It was only later that I saw
this as one of the perks of working in a small team
(there were only three full-timers bringing out a
24-page tabloid weekly edition). Feeling like a young
bird pushed from it's nest way before time I was forced
out, between showers, onto the streets of Panjim, to
interact with the local populace. Quite early on, I was
struck by the stony faces of small-league civil
servants. The UK broadcast journalist Jeremy Paxman
claims the relationship between a politician and a journalist
is like that between "a dog and a lamp post". I could relate.
However, a useful mentor, T helped me through my first
real interview. This got off to a bad start when, after
biking it through sheets of rain, we knocked on the
door -- only to be greeted with the merest slither of a
gap with a voice behind it. I could almost smell the
fear as the middle-aged housewife exclaimed 'naka,
naka', as T tried to negotiate us into the flat. Her
son, a bright student looking for entrance into
engineering college, had come up against a wall of
resistance -- communal motivations were suspected.
Eventually, after agreeing to keep the article as vague
as possible, she succumbed and we entered the flat.
Once in, hot chai and samosas were thrust upon us as we
sat on the main (and only) sofa in a clean and basic
flat. Seems like hospitality begins at the sacred
entrance -- perhaps the reason why were kept out for so
long. Antagonism and Indian snacks don't sit that
comfortably together.
Well, for my first time, all seems to be going well.
However, looking down as I rapidly scribble, I start to
notice a puddle emerging around me on the stone floor.
Early on in the rains and I haven't yet made the
connection between downpours and sandals. The puddle
grows and I feel like my shoes are slowly turning into
the source of the Mandovi. I have little option other
than to come clean. What followed was an episode with
me apologising, receiving a maternal smile and a towel
and a level of empathy I'm not sure could have been
reached any other way. As it happened, the article
created few ripples and the power of the press didn't
have quite the force the lady had anticipated.
My confidence grew, and, as the rainy season drew on, I
ventured out more and more.
Towards the end of August, the rains finally showed
signs of letting up. However there was talk in the
market place -- the fish didn't return. At street level
housewives were struggling to find the plump shimmering
mackerals with which they normally populated their
spicy yellow curries. In the areas surrounding the big
resorts, blame was laid on the proliferation of hotels
with their ever-growing need for the freshest produce.
Out at sea, traditional fishermen blamed the trawlers.
The National Institute of Oceanography, which is
responsible for monitoring the seas, observed from the
fence. Whatever the cause, changes were afoot on this
rural coastal land -- the once abundance of resources
strained as it's popularity started to mushroom.
As the clouds melted away for good, shacks started to
spring up like primroses in May. The hoteliers grumbled
-- their 'multi-cuisine' menus just weren't being read.
Politicians took sides with either faction. Some
framing the fight in favour of the shack-owning
under-dogs, others pointing to their lack of civic
responsibility with their spliced electricity wires and
overflowing rubbish out of the backs of the flimsy
beach side establishments.
On the backs of the tourists and travellers flocking to
Goa came the stories of the parties, drug deaths, Anjuna
hot-spots that managed openly flout local licences and
throb on till the early hours of the morning. Crime
also increased -- the mugging of tourists, either on
desolate stretches of beach or in their insecure
dwellings, became more and more widespread. The hotels
brought problems of their own. This being a time of
huge growth, water was sapped up beyond the limits of
the local ecology and the coastal regulation zone (the
area demarcated on the beach up to where the hotels
could be built) was debated and apparently ignored in
many instances.
The international ramifications of a sordid paedophile
ring is exposed, following the conviction of Freddy Peats,
a German national involved in the abuse and traffic
of Goa's under-age. As the grim facts unfold, including
naive support by the Catholic church, the society looks
on in repugnance, wanting to distance itself from such
heinous activities. Once again, Goa's flirtation with
other cultures in a bid to make the most of its
picturesque rural ideal is put into question.
One of the major benefits of such a small team bringing
out fortnightly publication is that we had the
opportunity to experience each of the many ingredients
that make up a well-rounded news magazine.
Towards Christmas, to lighten the load of the heavy
political wrangling, I took to the fields. The paddy
fields that is. As a Goan urban dweller, I am familiar
with the white side of rice -- as it appears in all its
culinary simplicity and elegance on the plate. I am
however completely ignorant of the involved process of
getting to that stage. An 'expose' on the inner
workings of the paddy harvest -- the cutting,
thrashing, pounding and milling -- gives me the chance
to wade through the paddy, chase frogs, and be
generally mocked by good-tempered field workers. Not
quite sure if this is in the general job descriptions
of most journalism openings.
As the season starts to draw to a close, like a hungry
tiger the news machine goes in search of whatever
morsels are on offer. Once again the rains come and
Panjim is filled with the sight of sodden journalists
speeding around in reversed raincoats.
For personal reasons, it's time for me to head home.
On return, an enthusiasm for media leads into trendy
multimedia and somehow I end up dumped in full-blown
information technology, where I am today. As such, I'm
not in the perfect position to be able to compare the
practice of journalism in Goa with that of elsewhere,
although the peculiarities of the working environment
do stand out.
From the original office on the dusty top floor, we are
eventually reshuffled into the air conditioned first
floor vault. The cool air brings a much needed respite
from the heat and dust, and the environment is
definitely less makeshift. The room does have another
feature -- low hanging beams at the end and
(particularly hazardously) in the middle of the room
level out the worst excesses of pomposity with a short
sharp shock. I'm not sure if they are part of a larger
shrewd plan of management, but over the years they have
cracked the head of a number of prominent Goan
journalists and contributors. Exactly quite how this
has affected the quality of output, I'm unsure.
And then there was the technology. Aside from the
hardcore printing machines, large metal plates and
dangerous chemicals lying around, the computers that
sponged up our picture and prose were actually more
contemporary than the ones I had left behind as a
Liverpudlian accountant. As the adoption of the
computer had come in here at a much later stage, the
Herald machines tended to be newer, faster and bigger.
There were just fewer of them. Working under such
limited resources would at time inevitably lead to
fractures. Although we worked on the computers
feverishly in the morning to make way for the daily
staff (whose strict deadline gave them precedence), as
deadline approached tempers could occasionally erupt.
This thing called the Internet had been kicking around
for a few years but towards the end of my tenure was
finally picked up by a journalist fraternity that had
viewed the Internet with scepticism and suspicion (as
did many other people at the time). For us it was just
a dial-up modem taking about two minutes for a standard
sized email, as long as nothing happened to the fragile
connection. As our publication was aimed squarely at
the Goan living abroad, this was an excellent resource
for finding out what the Goan diaspora was up to and
how Goa was perceived on the world stage (especially
important in the area of covering tourism). As an
aside, it also meant that I no longer had to write all
the letters to the editor. Other resources such as the
Goacom website appeared, with intentions sturdy enough
to keep it valid to this day (I can heartily recommend
the recipes!). I think it is safe to say that the
Internet has irrevocably changed the face of
researching, collecting and distributing news. The
availability of this service in The Herald and other
Goan papers marks Goa out as one of the more fortunate
areas of the developing world.
I often wondered how powerful the pen we were wielding
actually was. Beyond the massage of ego of seeing a
by-line in print, it was hard to work out if our
columns of verbiage could actually make a positive
meaningful difference. Covering the depletion of fish
stocks after the rains did, to my surprise, seem to
create a few ripples.
Liquor (hard and soft), was often present in the world
of Goan journalism. Anecdotal evidence from the UK and
US suggests that this is common throughout many other
parts of the world. As with many stereotypes, the one
of the hack at the bar does contain some truth. There
is a quite widely held belief that alcohol gets the
mind churning and the pen moving. A pint at lunchtime
can help be a bit more assertive and searching when the
proud owner of the new enterprise slips into pompous conceit.
There was one ritual we adhered to quite regularly --
once a fortnight, after we had put the paper to bed, we
took to the city to celebrate. A restaurant would
inevitably mean a few pegs of rum. Then onto one of the
few late night drinking establishments: a seedy
corrugated bunker alive with the chatter of civil
servants, cops and journalists. Indian rum formed the
cohesive force -- the basis for a number of nefarious
deals in shady corners. Being not so familiar with the
more subtle political machinations I felt largely sidelined.
I did get a glimpse of the more unsavoury effect if
taken to excess -- seeing the image of older
journalists whose idealism had turned to advanced
alcoholism. Exactly what were the causes remained
unclear, but it wasn't pleasant to see.
But how politically unbiased were we allowed to be? The
advertising versus editorial debate in the press is a
perennial one. Over the year I was with The Herald,
there were a few lapses where there would be direct
influence from commercial interests to have articles in
their favour. Being asked to give the owner of a
prominent luxury hotel a mouthpiece through an
extensive interview did give me the sense of being in
the pockets of big business. However, I had the
authority to go to press with quotes throwing into
question the viability of luxury tourism in a land
where the season lasts little over four months --
slightly dampening the gushing tone of the article.
Rather than being downright manipulative, in hindsight
I would describe the management style as slightly
neurotic, characteristically protecting its own
interests. This led to occasional grumbles, back-talk
and skirmishes among the editorial team; however they
say the best relationships flourish under tension.
Perhaps this was the cohesion needed to keep together
the tribe of English-language hacks who refer to
themselves as 'ex-Herald'.
Being a Goan born and raised in the West, interested in
keeping contact and learning about my more distant
roots, the attempts of The Herald to reach out to the
Goan across the globe was admirable, and I was honoured
to be a part of it. The edition has since folded and it
is a shame that the paper doesn't do more at the
international level now, perhaps utilising new
technologies available to streamline the whole process.
All in all, I feel my tenure at The Herald was a
fruitful one. That is not to deny that the paper has
its troubles, but to an extent newspapers (like
politicians) are merely mirrors of the society they
serve. The fact that it has been a part of the Goan
social and political landscape for the last twenty
years is, if nothing more, testament to its success
within the community.
Chapter 10:
Growing up with the Herald...
Visvas Paul D KarraVPDK was an outspoken sub-editor at the Herald, where
he also covered sports for the daily's special
supplement. Subsequently, he has shifted to working at
the prominent Bangalore-based daily, Deccan Herald.
After the Herald, journalism seemed to me like a dress
rehearsal. Always a bridesmaid, never quite the bride.
Surviving months of introductory sessions with Francis Ribeiro,
I was firmly convinced that I had a role in nation
building. I started behaving my age and silently
promised to skip rum the next Saturday night. And on
moon-less nights, I stayed awake thinking about the
burden of the Fourth Estate, lying face down on my
leased estate. At the office there were daily hunting
trips, as I went on poaching for angles and words from
the alphabet forest.
In short, Herald was the 'journalism school' where I
learnt all the elementary tricks of the trade. But what
set apart this journalism school was its sense of
applied practical nightmares. None wanted you to come
up with a neat circle. If it got a reader's attention,
rhombus would do, this I learned from the Herald.
The continuous slogging on the desk, day in and day
out, soon scratched away the sheen off a 'oh-you-are a
journalist' comment and introduced me to a world of
words. This wordy world consisted of stories and
stories, each of them carrying a life of their own,
each one clamouring for attention. The more attention a
story deserved, the higher in the page it appeared. The
less attention the story received, down in the scale
you go.
My 'studies' did not end with desk itself. I did my
internship on the field as 'unofficial special stories
reporter'. The love for writing prompted me to scan the
paper for interesting news and do follow-up on these.
This in the long run gave me the rich experience of a
deskie as well as reporting, something which no
journalism school would probably offer.
But I was not prepared for all this when I applied for
the job of a sub-editor. Neither was I prepared for a
question like 'Do you know English?', when I came for
the interview. Asking a question like this to someone
who has applied for a job in an English-language daily
does seem to be a strange question. But the interviewer
was Rajan Narayan, the editor of Goa's oldest daily. I
was almost in a stupor after meeting the man whom I had
admired for over a decade. But this was an interview
and I stumbled out an answer. Thankfully, the interview
was very short and soon Rajan introduced me to the then
Deputy News Editor of Herald, Francis Ribeiro, who
after initial hiccups became my friend and mentor.
Francis Ribeiro's hand was in a crepe bandage when I
first shook hands with him: Later on I came to know
that he broke his hand in an unsuccessful attempt to
jump over a bull while riding his scooter on the road
to Saligao at night.
Not even in my nightmares had I ever seen myself
sitting in the office of the Herald happily churning
out copies or giving headlines to stories which
thousands of readers would read the next day. But this
happened on December 31, 1996. Since then, my innings
in the Herald was full of excitement. Not even one
single unnecessary off, as Francis would put it.
My tryst with the Herald began as a reader though.
Those were my school days in Don Bosco, Panjim. Coming
to think of it now, it does seem to be a strange
coincidence that I joined Don Bosco school in 1983 as a
fifth standard student, a few months before the Herald
was launched as an English-language daily.
Don Bosco is such a fine school because, as one
realised later in life, this was a school which
awakened the latent talent in every student. Here my
appetite for news (and, or course, lunch) grew day by
day. Every morning, just before classes began, snippets
of important news used to be read out over the school
loudspeakers. One fine morning, it was announced that a
newspaper has been launched in town called the Herald,
and that the front-page and sports-page of this
newspaper would be displayed daily on one of the
ground-floor notice boards. A crowd of boys used to
gather around this newspaper board during the 11 am
interval, snacking on every word. I used to be part of
this crowd. It became a ritual, to read the front-page
and sports-page of the Herald in school.
In my higher classes, one enterprising fellow used to
buy the whole newspaper and bring it to class,
inevitably triggering a mad scramble for the eight
pages. It was in my eighth standard, when one of the
then Salesian fathers, Jude Borges, who taught moral
science, brought copies of the Herald into the class
and asked us to count the number of advertisements and
the number of news items on each page. The verdict:
There was more news than advertisements. The moral that
day for us kids was: read the Herald newspaper, it
enriches your knowledge because it has got more news
than advertisements compared to the other leading
daily. Father Jude left us behind with one moral. I
felt like crying.
Meanwhile, Rajan Narayan's editorials and Stray
Thoughts rose to dizzying heights, and so did my
reading interest in the Herald. So finally when I met
the man himself, I was in a kind of daze.
Of course, the man never ceased to amaze me.
Much water has flowed under the Mandovi bridge carrying
with it the angst, dismay, despair, frustration of many
people who worked with me in the Herald into the
Arabian sea over my style of functioning. Call it what
you want, my stars, fate, karma, foolishness, anything,
but I have this knack of raising the hackles of people.
This inherent nature was actually a boon for me as it
was a kind of weeding out process through which I
landed in the company of those who mattered most.
Because, for a rookie like me, who had no formal
training in journalism, getting trained or learning the
nuances of journalism was of utmost importance. If I
need to tweak my brothers for that, a little 'mea
culpa'.
My innings in the Herald was a kaleidoscope of events
both inside and outside the news-room. But, Goa being
what it is, with sports and politics dominating the
news-pages, I kept myself out of the politics and
devoted myself to sports. Among other things, some
months after I joined, the Herald launched the
Sportswatch, the only sports supplement in Goa at that
time. Francis Ribeiro, affectionately called Choppy,
given charge to bring out the supplement every Friday,
was running short of hands. So I got an opportunity to
help in layout and editing of stories. This was really
an exiting break for me because, being a sportsman
myself, having played competitive judo, and with keen
interest in football, I naturally took to Sportswatch
like a fish to water.
My first big story was an interview with cricketer
Arjuna Ranatunga, the then captain of the Sri Lanka
team, which came to play in Goa. The highlight was not
my interview with Ranatunga but the startling
discoveries we made of some of the murky path in which
the cricketing world travels. Aravinda de Silva asked
us to speak his manager for permission to do a write up
on him. To our chagrin, we realised that his manager
was in Sri Lanka and this was an excuse by Aravinda de
Silva. This came amidst reports of some cricketeers
expecting to be paid a fee -- or extract money,
depending on how you see it -- for an interview. The
standard rate then it seems was Rs 10,000! Sunil
Gavaskar too behaved oddly with us when we asked him to
talk to us. This was much before the match-fixing
scandal broke out.
Thanks to Choppy, even though I started by helping him
out on the desk, I also got to do many stories for
Sportswatch. This taught me many lessons in writing,
meeting deadlines, and building up a nose for news. One
incident I remember is the disbanding of the Sesa Goa
football team. Somehow, Choppy got wind of this. So we
went to the Sesa management, which denied plans for any
such move. We ran a story to this effect in Sportswatch
. By the next week, things took a dramatic turn and the
news became official. The Sesa Goa football team was
indeed disbanded.
On the day when the decision was announced, both Choppy
and me did not even have time for lunch. We grabbed
some samosas and straightaway landed at the team
manager Joe Vaz's office in Miramar. Here we collided
with a collage of emotions from the coach to the
manager and the players all in a stupor. This was a
unique experience. One which provoked us to criticise
the management strongly; but journalistic ethics reined
us in. It taught me not to be emotional when dealing
with a profession.
It seems that Alvito D'Cunha, one of the dashing
forwards for East Bengal today, was one among a group
of Sesa Goa players who ditched the club midway in the
Second Division league and came back to Goa from
Bangalore during the players transfers period. Shorn of
its cream players, the team was left high and dry
without any strength, nullifying it chances of
qualifying for the Big League. Peter Lima Leitao, who
was the corporate manager for the team, is on record
saying that if Sesa Goa had qualified for the National
League, then perhaps the decision to disband the team
would have been put off.
Of course, it was not all hunky dory for me on the
Sportswatch desk. Neither could I boast that I had
become a full-fledged writer with hardly two years of
experience. When Brahmanand Shankhwalkar won the Arjuna
Award, Choppy asked to me to go to Fatorda for a
profile of this great football player. But I almost
chickened out as I did not have the guts to meet such a
famous personality like Brahmanand. Help came in the
form of Ashley do Rosario, into his second innings in
Herald by then, who offered to accompany me. In Fatorda,
I found out that some great people like Brahmanand,
who win laurels for the country and win accolades for
themselves, have no airs about themselves. This Arjuna
awardee was just an ordinary person who performed
extraordinarily. Sheer grit, determination, hard work
and humbleness were his only tools of success.
My passion for all things football sometimes landed me
in trouble too.
Officially, my job at the Herald, by this time, was
being part of the Goa desk. On a few occasions, the
news editor and the editor discovered that I was going
all the way to Fatorda, 40 Kms from Panjim, to watch
the National Football League. Soon enough, I got a
'goonish absurdism' from the editor asking why action
should not be taken against Mr Visvas Paul for
'subsidising' work. There were two or three points with
which I was accused, one among those was that I had
defied the News Editor Sergio Caldeira. I denied
everything in a written reply. What they did not reckon
was that I would sincerely came back from the football
match, and complete my day's work, which was doing the
Goa page. But seniors later did not have any qualms
about accompanying Choppy and me for an important match
during working hours. What's more, after coming back
from the match, he even helped me complete the page!
Doing a Goa page was the dreariest thing on the desk,
because, of the kind of stories that landed in from the
correspondents.
Stringers used to send three or four pages of
hand-written foolscape papers, which, when edited,
turned out to be just single column stories. I wonder
how the scene is now. In those days, there was no
re-writing desk and the sub-editors had to do all the
dirty work of re-writing, editing and making a page. It
was a tough job but it improved one's editing skills
and my patience and perseverance too. So how could one
be blamed for opting to take a few hours for a harmless
passion like watching a football match? I footed hefty
petrol bills for this by the way, but could not claim
the travelling allowance.
One's desk job also threw up some funny situations.
For one, there was the traditional rivalry between
sub-editors and reporters -- an unpalatable and
unacknowledgeable fact to many. In the Herald, we had
another kind of rivalry. This running feud was between
compositors and sub-editors on the Goa desk. The
intensity of this feud became more pronounced during
the night shifts. It used to turn into a bitter fight
complete with the usage of the choicest abuses
available.
Department of Information press notes (trust the
politicos and their wise words of wisdom to have a hand
in any kind of fight) and hard copies sent by stringers
were the cause. The compositors used to concentrate on
composing advertisement, after reporting to work
regularly irregular, while we sub-editors breathed down
on their necks to type our stories which were our
life-line to fill the page. I think that Herald was the
only place which recruited an assortment of a
government servant, wannabe-advocate and a shoe-shop
vendor as compositors.
In short, Herald became their heart break club.
Mehboob was one of the finest composer we had, although
he could not discern the difference between bail and
jail. One night shift, I gave him a faxed copy from
Margao bureau filed by Minoo Fernandes. It was a court
case and Radharao Gracias was the advocate for a
defendant. Our man, Mehboob, usually is deadpan on the
keyboard but that particular day, he finished it on
time. When I opened the copy, suddenly, the story
seemed to be different from what I had read earlier.
Wondering whether I got my story wrong, I rechecked the
hard copy and found that apparently, Mehboob misread
the surname of Radharao wrongly and so it read like
Advocate Radharao Greasiness instead of Gracias. From
that day onwards, I opened a new file called 'MTV
Enjoy' and stored all the bloomers of composed copies,
courtesy Mehboob.
This same guy, during the Lent season, decided to skip
work on Maundy Thursday, because someone told him that
Good Friday fell on Thursday that particular year. All
said and done, Mehboob was a sweet guy because he would
come with delicious beef kebabs for all of us during
Ramzan evenings.
Talking of bloomers, readers of the Herald newspaper
would have had an early morning wire trip one morning
if this one hadn't been detected just in time. The
edition was put to bed, and the customary good-nights
were done with. At that time, there was a process known
as spooling, in which Page 1 was printed on a film
paper to do away with the 'hazards' of cut and paste
process. The Linotype operator was an apology of a man,
most of the time reeking of a combination of the local
urrak or feni and ghutka. The chief sub sent the page
for spooling and left. Before I signed off from the
office, I just happened to go to the plate making
section to see how my page was shaping up and just
glanced at Page 1 which was spooled and ready for
plate-making. Lo and behold, yesterday's front page was
gloriously laid out on the pasting grid and ready for
plate-making. Even the pasters did not realise the
mistake as the advertisement for that particular day
was the same size as the previous days. Our Linotype
operator spooled yesterday's page and sent it for
plate-making. I gave him a big dressing down but did
not report it to anybody as he begged me not to do so.
Talking of the pasters, Umesh, a big bull of a guy was
my 'best friend' as he always liked to trouble me by
going to sleep just as I finished page 3 and brought it
up for cut pasting on the grid. Somehow, our animosity
made us wary of each other and we developed a mutual
respect. Despite numerous complaints by the chief-subs
about his behaviour, he remained non-chalant as he did
not expect the powers that be to take any action on him.
I guess that this attitude for disregard towards people
in power is all prevalent and all pervasive in society.
It is an universal truth that any law is meant to be
broken. As a corollary, frozen laws are enacted by the
government only in order to freeze some people, though
these laws are hardly taken out of the freezer and
defrosted. A case in point is the anti-smoking and
anti-spitting law decreed in Goa with much fanfare and
welcomed by many quarters. One aspect which was raised
by noted anti-tobacco activist Dr Sharad Vaidya, was
how effectively would the anti-smoking law be enforced
in the State. A valid point which I had raised with the
then Chief Minister Francisco Sardinha. He said on
record that it was difficult to implement. He also
admitted that there are always those who want to defy
the law.
Rules are there on which the government seems to suffer
from selective amnesia, because they are unable to
implement in the right spirit as they have no clue as
to how to go about it. When the High Court gave an
order banning loud music after 10 pm based on a
complaint by the environmentalists, Choppy and me wrote
a series of articles for Insight analysing in depth,
the pros and cons.
One point that had us puzzled was from ought the sound
to be measured. At its source, or from the point where
the complaint was made. Obviously, the authorities
could not place their sound-metres at the mouth of a
10,000 watt music speaker and say the decibel level
were high. When pointed out, the Secretary of the Goa
State Pollution Control Board talked greek. For that
matter, we discovered that the pollution control board
was not even equipped with proper sound-metres. Neither
could the government come in defence of the music
industry and allied activities like the night clubs
which depended on music and entertainment to draw
tourists to Goa.
After the much touted and much publicised millennium
rave party by Mumbai tycoon Jay Wadia was banned by the
High Court in December 1999, I was witness to two rave
parties in January 2000, though on a smaller scale, but
where the corruption by the police was displayed in its
full naked glory nonetheless. At one rave party at
Bamboo Forest in Anjuna, instead of stopping the party,
the police arrived, collected their share and left the
place as unobtrusively as they came. They were blind to
the open sale of drugs and were deaf to the raves'
sound pollution which carried on well past midnight
into the wee hours of the morning.
Another rave party also organised near Anjuna was
completely insulated against police harassment. Such
was the extent of influence asserted by the organisers
of this rave party that the police just turned a deaf
ear to phone calls made by Choppy and me just to check
how much the police is interested in enforcing the law.
We do not know whether money had changed hands but when
we did not get any response to the repeated phone calls
we made to the nearest police station we personally
went to speak to the police officer on duty -- but to
our horror found the police station was closed, lock
stock and barrel, as deserted as a place hit by a
typhoon. But our labour was not in vain. Next day, this
was in February 2000, Ashley ran an exclusive report on
the front page based on our first hand account. But the
surprising part was the way the DySP North Goa denied
everything, including our calls and visit to the police station.
My days in Herald are truly memorable. Along the way I
did trample on a few toes inadvertently, but my well
wishers and the learning tips they provided me are
invaluable. Any memories I carry of Herald must be
painted with the pictures of Choppy, Rico and Ashley,
who contributed greatly to my development as a
journalist. I can safely include this trio into the
list of the other great people like Devika Sequeira,
Pamela, Derek Almeida about whom I have heard a lot.
I guess, the journalistic calibre of the above
mentioned people and their attitude of being go-getters
rubbed off onto people like me. The excitement of
running after news, rather than waiting for news to
land in the form of press notes or government
hand-outs, is a different ball-game altogether. It was
a question of being there first which I liked most in
Herald. During the police firing incident at Cortalim
on the anti-Meta Strips agitationists, when two or
three people were grievously injured, I know it was we
from Herald who reached the hospital first. I fail to
recollect whether it was Choppy or Ashley with whom I
landed at Goa Medical College where the injured were brought.
Although the photographer had gone missing during this
crucial hour, we were nevertheless armed with our
dictaphones to record the first hand accounts of how
the police firing started in Cortalim. We managed to
elicit the names of injured, right from the horse's
mouth so to speak, got reactions of the people who
accompanied the injured and were back in the office in
front of our computers.
Even as the day's incidents took shape in the form of a
lead story for the edition, our faces were somber and
anger welled up in us as we could not forget the gory
images of the body parts of one injured youth. He was
shot through his genitals. But we were journalists and
were supposed to objective in our reports. That was
Herald, getting it right the first time and all the time.
In a sentence, I stitched my cloak and bought my
dagger, from Herald.
Chapter 11:
In black & white... newsdesk nuggets
Derek Almeida
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Derek Almeida, besides being one of Goa's finest and most
aesthetically-balanced deskmen, steals time to write humour columns whenever
possible. This product of Goan journalism has won the respect of his juniors
by his honesty at work, his ability to stand by his subordinates, as well as
his considerable if under-appreciated talent. Memorable headings like
'Sirsat elected, Tomazinho selected' (after a controversial election to the
Goa Speaker's post) are credited to Derek, as every self-respecting deskman
of that era in this state would recall.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
When I joined the Herald in 1985, the news desk
consisted of two unvarnished desks and three very
uncomfortable chairs. The chief-sub's chair was
distinguishable from the others because it had wheels.
It also had a back-rest and seat fashioned from woven
plastic which had given way due to continuous use by
Anthony Fernandes alias Anton, Frederick Noronha alias
Rico and sometimes Francis Rebeiro alias Choppy. I was
one of those who did not have an alias.
Those were the days when the PTI and UNI machines were
hardly two metres away from the news-desk and Rico had
invented an ingenious way of preventing the clatter
from getting to him. He used to stuff paper in his
ears, because it was cheaper than cotton.
I also remember Anton completing his work before dinner
on the night shift and reading a novel while waiting
for galley-proofs. How nice it was to be chief-sub back
then. I thought, one day when I reach that post I too
would read novels. When I finally made it, the system
had changed and there was no time to read novels. So I
do have some regrets.
Rico, by the way, was very possessive of the TV which
projected black-and-white images of the news. He never
let us watch anything more that the news and, if I
remember well, used to take out the `on-off' knob and
stash it in his pocket till the end of the shift. He
was, and still is, a work-is-worship chap. Rico was
also the only man on the news-desk who could type with
the speed of
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