Every other journalist, they say, has an unfinished book in his drawer. I started work on my unfinished book well over two decades back. I was then a sub-editor with The Times of India in New Delhi and envious of reporters who appeared to have everything going for them - byline, high visibility, influence and cocktail invitations on most evenings. I became wiser later when they posted me the Punjab correspondent, at a time when militant groups held sway in many parts of the state.
Admittedly, a Chandigarh dateline gave one visibility in high places. Not evident, however, was that behind those bylined stories was usually a much-harassed reporter who spent long and, at times, futile hours working the phone and tapping reticent news sources to put together a story. And, at the end of the day, you might not have accessed all facts or got them all right. But this reality hits you too late to make amends, that is, when you see the other newspapers the morning after or get a memo from the editor, saying, "We have been beaten by the competition." These are times you feel you could have done without a byline on your story. Editors have a way of unsettling you with such unceremonious memos and late night phone calls wanting to know why you didn't file anything on a killing in Kapurthala or gas-cylinder blast at Batinda.
The correspondent of an outstation newspaper, based in a state capital, is held accountable for whatever happens elsewhere in the state. He can't beat the news agencies such as PTI and UNI which have their men everywhere. But you don't tell this to an agitated news editor who doesn't let you have a word in edgeways when he is on the blower. No, you don't argue with an avalanche.
PTI and UNI could have been a major menace for me and Chandigarh-based correspondents of other outstation papers, if we had not cultivated the agency reporters so that we could be alerted on news breaks. I knew of a colleague based in Patna who dreaded late-night phone calls from his office in New Delhi. He was dedicated and hard-working, which wasn't enough. He failed to develop a rapport with the news agency guys.
The worst thing that can happen to a reporter is finding that the news report he filed has been overtaken by subsequent developments, that too close to his deadline (the time by which he is required to submit his report for publication). Soon after my posting at Chandigarh I attended a press conference addressed jointly by three Sikh leaders - H S Longowal, P S Badal and G S Tohra. Longowal had signed an agreement with Rajiv Gandhi. The other two Sikh leaders entertained misgivings about the Centre's intentions. However, it was mainly due to Longowal's initiative the three Sikh leaders had come to share a common platform for the first time. Their joint press conference had the making of a sure-fire front-page story.
By the time I telexed the story (we didn't have computers then) it was 5 p m. I decided to call it a day and go home early. After having delivered a major front-page story I did not expect the New Delhi office of The Times of India to bother me with any phone call about a stray blast at Batala or a gunning incident at Gurdaspur.
But then minutes after I reached home that evening there was a call from New Delhi, asking for a story on a shooting incident at a gurudwara in Sangrur. The victim was Longowal. The Akali leader, on way to his village after addressing the Chandigarh press conference, was shot dead by militants when he stopped by at a gurudwara to address a congregation. This was not just a front-pager. It was the lead story, on which I got to work under mounting deadline pressure. Such was a reporter's life in Punjab those days. So much for dateline Chandigarh.
As for my book in the making, it still remains unfinished, with nearly 200 pages of typed manuscript done. As I said earlier, I started work on the book when I was a sub-editor. I used to work six-hour shifts, which left me with enough time for a book-writing project. I gave up creative writing when I became a reporter.
