Filmi nostalgia

If i'd continued being a film journalist, i'd have been very close to completing half a decade in journalism. Well, that ship has sailed but there are days when i miss being part of the media. Although the pay sucked, the narcissism that followed a byline or the esteem of a press card were unmatchable. You can't go around telling people that you wrote a line/slogan for a corporate company because it doesn't carry your name. That ain't the case when you write a 500 worder for the city tabloid. Also, when you are a film journalist, you get to watch a lot of movies. Most of them are indeed shitty and you watch them just for the sake of writing reviews. But there are times when you feel privileged. Like when you could boast that you were one of the first people in the country to watch Christopher Nolan's Inception. Oh, the press shows! I wasn't a fan of the samosa-chai/samosa-cola addendum as long as the show took place on time. I just loved watching films on the big screen. The way a movie is supposed to be watched. So, yeah, i miss that bit. However, the part i miss the most is how there were no kids wailing during a press show and nobody's phone rang. Ever. 

Reading between bylines

There are many things i’ve observed—if not learnt—in my short tenure as a film journalist. One of them is the fact that nobody gives a shit about byline. Until and unless you are someone like Aakar Patel or Nandini Ramnath with your smiling picture going with the slug. Legendary cartoonists like RK Laxman don’t need a byline yet they insisted on signing their work. Things are a bit discouraging for lesser mortals though. The way readers automatically skip the name of the person who has written an article is an interesting phenomenon. They read the headline, the strap and jump directly to the main body completely overlooking something in fine print practically dying for attention! Anyway, i’ve grown enough in my field to care less about my byline anymore but it’s a completely different story—no pun intended—when you come across a commuter reading your piece. What a narcissistic feeling that is! And it does make a dramatic scene too. He busy reading what you wrote yesterday neither acknowledging your byline nor you standing right in front of him. So you end up secretly taking a picture of him in action. Fair enough.

Unusual distractions

Yesterday, Deepika Padukone and Ranveer Singh visited our office for the promotion of their upcoming film. In the conference hall, all the team members gathered for the usual group Q&A, around the long oval table. I've personally met the gorgeous Mangalorean (so what if she grew up in Bangalore?) beauty before but this time around, she appeared like a dream-come-true. I didn't ask a single question during the hour-long audience. Later, my colleague pointed out that i seemed way too much in awe of her. Truth be told, i wasn't. I was just enamored by her ears. Yes, that organ through which we hear. Hers have a personality of their own. They literally stick out but not like Dev Patel's bunny pair does. Deepika's ears are pointed and pulled back, a bit like those Na'vi characters. Maybe there's a reason why almost all her photoshoots hide her ears à la Hrithik Roshan did with his double-thumbs. Or maybe i should concentrate on better things in life. Like her deep eyes, for instance. Or her heartbreaking smile. Or maybe i should have done my job and asked: "Don't you think Bollywood stars—not all actors—in our country are ridiculously overpaid?"

A year in a tabloid

I completed a year in MiD DAY today. Having entered the IIT of Bollywood Journalism exactly one year ago, it's hard to believe that they haven't kicked me out yet! Time went by and all i could do was take printouts of my broken dreams. I don't know what i just said. Anyway, that's not important. What's worth noting, however, is the fact that i didn't do something I'm really good at: giving up easily. I stuck to this job even though I'm well aware that i lack the qualities of a typical journo. Pitched against the pace at which my colleagues churn out stories, I'm a snail but i console myself by convincing myself that I'm a better writer. Not that it matters. Also I'm damn honest and my integrity is an endangered species. Yes, it matters. And to top it all, i don't scream (out of agony) when i see my salary slip. On the brighter end, my editor—like my former editor who hired me in the first place—is one of the coolest people i know. The colleagues are wonderful too as they are kind enough to laugh at my silly jokes. But it would be a lie if i said that i knew where i was heading to when i joined this rag. It would be a bigger lie if i said that i know where I'm heading to as of now. Currently positioned as the entertainment reporter who covers movies along with music and books, i get in touch with people y'all usually read about. In all honesty, that's the only incentive of this otherwise unimaginative job. When you meet famous people in flesh, you realize how similar they are to us. Only the wall of fame separates us. I hope i keep hurdling this wall in the days/nights to come and more importantly, i get the raise i so deserve. Thank you, HR, for reading this exclusive piece of trite.