Hiding behind brands

Work for major brands and you are branded. I wonder whether we lose our individual identity when we hide behind brands or multinational companies. Of course, I agree we cannot avoid it and it is part of the package. When I left a wellknown newspaper brand after 17 plus years, many who were pestering me with requests, stopped even the courtesy calls.
The provocation for this post is an observation made by my ex-colleague. He is now the editor of a top brand newspaper in Mumbai.
“How you doing?” I asked him.
“Good, but I get pissed off when people say this is Mr S from “…” newspaper. I am S and that’s it. The name of the newspaper is not my surname.”
Well, do we call it professional hazard? I am confused.

‘Shy’ Dubai journalists

I find this weird. Journalists are expected to mirror the pulse of the society. The Fourth Estate has a hugely valuable role. Just a few years ago, most journalists did their role to perfection. I have interacted with millionaires and celebrities as well as beggars on the streets and cleaners. With newspapers becoming “brand products,” a trend set in motion by The Times of India, journalists also have changed. It took one full month for me to get a byline (Name) in The Times of India when I started my career in the 80s. Now, journos sitting in AC rooms and sporting three-piece suits talk on their cellphones and have their bylines flashed in bold letters. I hardly see journalists moving into the field and interacting with the masses. Of course, this should not be generalized as a few colleagues do sweat it hard out there, but their number has become negligible. Also, at a dinner meeting last night in Dubai where several prominent people from the Indian community were present, I saw many journalists shying away from interaction with others. How do shy-types make it to the print industry where the code word is interaction?

Rr/Oct 19, 2008

Pranks at TOI

I had promised to write about the pranks we journalists played on each other during the 90s at The Times of India, Mumbai, where I was a chief sub-editor during the entire decade. I can call that a golden period for us as reporters and the desk worked as a family.
PD was a wonderful guy at the sports department (“was” because the great friend is unfortunately no more). When the mood became dull at the general news desk, I was usually prompted by two young Parsi beauties (at that time, dunno now) to play some prank and I invariably fell for the bait. And so it was decided to corner PD.
I picked up the phone, covered the receiver with a paper and called out: “Mr P.”
“Yep.”
“I am calling from the security. There’s a visitor for you. Please come to the reception.”
“Send him up.”
“No sir. There is a new regulation. You have to come down.”
I could clearly hear a murmer and a four-letter word. This was followed by the banging of the phone.
When P reached the third floor lift, I called out: “P, are you going to the security room?”
No.., I cannot pen the words he showered on me.
This was merely a beginning. The pranks reached unbelievable heights.
More on that…We can wait for the next post.

RR/Oct.11, 2008