The ex-reporter’s story.

Hello to all reading this, and months have passed since I cracked my knuckles and decided to pen down the various thoughts that have been floating inside my head. And so, I wanted to get down to writing about one important chapter of my life from May to October this year- when I was a journalist for a period of 5 months. I studied journalism for three years only to quit my job after a short period of employment, after I found out that my heart wasn’t there. Fellow reporters may sheepishly smile, thinking I was not cut out to be one among them- the guardians of truth and justice, the individuals who wield their pens and paint reality in its garish entirety. I had bowed down to pressure in just a few months, and was weak. I was disillusioned with not the industry, but myself. I loved reading and writing since a young age, when books made for better companions, and a notebook would be the only object I could express my feelings of angst or general wonder through. It was only natural that I opted for journalism in college while most of my school mates went on to study engineering, but I had never seen it coming. The three years in college were not a breeze, and for the first time in my life, I harbored an inkling of irritation for writing. Put through countless assignments that required me to not be languid but crisp with words, it was agony as I like to be flowery and descriptive with my language. 


Post college- from May to October 2014, was the period where my college education consisting of years of pouring over notes and wasted tears from the stress were disregarded. On the job, it was like learning from scratch and I entered the world of being one among the employed classes. Being a reporter was not easy, as it required me to do the one thing I dreaded- constant communication with strangers. More days were spent travelling on my scooter, a thin layer of dust coating my face after hectic travelling under Chennai’s unrelenting sun. A pen and a small notepad would be ready at hand, with cramped fingers taking down frantic notes and quotes at all times. There were so many moments spent waiting along with my phone, making calls to my sources at all times and numerous top-ups to keep my phone’s talk-time balance from not falling into bankruptcy.  


But there have been good moments too- I met a really good individual who went on to become one of the closest people in my life and who accepted me with all my bluntness in tow. Memories ping in my head, where endless cups of sugary tea and melt-in-the-mouth butter biscuits helped in forming a solid bond with my friend. I learnt that people were not intimidating as I thought they would be if I introduced myself as a journalist and asked for help, and talking to strangers was not as difficult as I thought it would be. I got to interview artists, who were not very well-known but possessed a powerhouse of talent, and attend events that opened up my senses. I learnt to get out of my comfort zone, to accomplish tasks well within deadlines and that I was decent at editing as well as writing.   

But the one greatest lesson I learnt from the job was that it was okay to question choices, like my employment as a journalist. I let go of Pressure and Deadlines, the two devils that hovered and hummed around my shoulders and weighed me down, and improved my language and people skills. I learnt that though the pay was meagre, there were people who took what I wrote seriously- who made me feel like I had brought about a change, however minor it may have been. I gave up the job for a reason- I realised that there are two types of writers- the journalists whose allies are precision and accuracy, to keep information objective and free from any personal touches, and the dreamers with so many ideas, thoughts and emotions floating inside their heads, like balloons waving gently in the air and finding solace in words, expressions full of flourishes. I belong to the latter category, and my short stint as a reporter made me realise that.

I was an insider who stepped out, with no definite plans in the future being foreseen. But I am enjoying the lack of urgency and the leisure at which I can now find out my true calling- I like the view better from here.