I got hooked on seeing my name in print when I was asked to contribute to the school magazine that was being launched. I wrote a poem that was published with my name and class in bold. Thereafter there was no stopping me. From school through college, my passion for writing continued unabated.
Unlike school, in college, I had all the time for extracurricular activities. Once, way back in 1977, when our college went on sympathy strike to support another city college that had gone on strike, I became restless. One day I walked into the office of Cho S Ramaswamy, editor of the Tamil magazine Thuglak, who had just launched an English magazine Pickwick. I had met him on a couple of occasions and his forthright approach impressed me.
Without beating about the bush, I expressed my desire to write for his English periodical. He just looked at me. I showed him the school and college magazines and the poems I had written. He glanced through them and said, “Sorry, this is a political magazine, we don’t accept poems.” He then wanted to know what I was doing there instead of attending college. On being told about the strike, he asked me to meet the principals of three city colleges, elicit their views, write and submit it.
I promptly left the place excited about the assignment. I identified three prominent colleges — including mine — that were near my house and on the suburban train route. My joy was short-lived. The bursar of the first college asked me for my identity card or the letter from the editor, to establish my credentials. I did not have any.
The principal of the next college, who recognised me, having interacted with me during the admission process and offering me a seat under the sports quota, politely excused himself from answering my questions, the credibility issue again coming into play. The principal of my college agreed to answer my questions more on compassionate grounds. At the end of the day, crestfallen, I aborted my effort to submit the given assignment and met Cho again to express my inability to complete the given task.
He listened to me patiently and then asked for my stand on the whole issue. I opened up without any inhibitions. When I paused, he smiled and asked me to put down in writing what I had just said. I did so and he carried my article under the headline ‘Student Unrest’ in the ensuing issue of Pickwick, gave a cheque for the effort and my dream break as a freelancer.