I had one of those side, upper berths in a second-class railway compartment, travelling from Lucknow to Bombay on the Pushpak Express. Had boarded the train earlier in the evening and, after an early dinner, had clambered up to my berth to read. Probably an automotive magazine or maybe a computer magazine, since those were the things I found most interesting back then. I read whatever I could get my hands on, buying as many Indian and foreign magazines as I could every month.
In about an hour, I finished reading whatever magazines I’d bought (as always, from the Wheeler’s book stall at the Lucknow railway station) for the long, 24-hour train journey from Lucknow to Bombay, and settled down to try and get some sleep. Gradually, as the occupants of the compartment finished eating dinner, lights started getting switched off, loud conversations declined to muted murmurs and eventually tapered off altogether, and things became quiet. Lying there on my small, not very comfortable berth, I drifted in and out of languorous stupor, quietly cursing the cloying heat and humidity in that tightly-packed, non-AC railway compartment.
As sleep remained elusive, I started thinking about Bombay and how I was going to make a new life for myself in that city. Up until then, I had been to Bombay two or three times; once with my parents, when I was a teenager, as a tourist and then again a few years later, for my father’s medical treatment at the Tata Memorial hospital. This was the first time I was going there alone and wondered how my first few days in Bombay might turn out to be.
Thinking about Bombay and all the things people had warned me about (mostly regarding Bombay being expensive, and how difficult it would be for me to survive there on my meagre salary), I suddenly had a panic attack. It came on suddenly, oppressive and impossible to reason with. The panic sank my heart and fogged my brain with an inexplicable fear. I was going to Bombay. I knew nothing of the city and barely knew anyone in it. All I had was one suitcase full of some clothes, a pair of shoes, a few books, some money given to me by father, and an aunt’s address written down somewhere, where I was supposed to stay for a few days until I could find a place of my own.
I was going to Bombay to join CHIP, a newly-launched computer magazine as a writer, at a princely salary of Rs 9,000 per month. When I had told my friends and cousins about this, before leaving for Bombay, most just kept silent. One or two, who were probably more concerned about my well-being, gently asked me how I thought I was going to manage things with Rs 9,000 per month, and I remember telling them, cheerily, I would manage. My parents weren’t entirely convinced either. Early in the morning, on the day when I was scheduled to leave for Bombay, they sat me down for one last discussion about whether I was doing the right thing, was I really sure I wanted to go and would staying put in Lucknow perhaps be the better option. Somehow, I managed to convince them to allow me to take a chance with moving to Bombay. The way I looked at it, this was my big chance, an opportunity to do something worthwhile, to make a good life for myself despite my rather underwhelming academic qualifications. And in the end, if things did not work out, I could always come back, right?
Coming back to the aforementioned panic attack, which had come on so suddenly, it was probably a bit too late to be suffering such a crisis of confidence. But there it was anyway, and what was I going to do about it? What the hell was I thinking when I signed up for this? What was I going to do in Bombay? How was I going to manage things all on my own? I had no formal background in computers and knew practically nothing about writing, journalism or working in the media. I was scared. Had I made the wrong decision in deciding to leave my familiar, comfortable life, my friends and everything and everyone I knew, in Lucknow, and moving to Bombay? Thankfully, the fear only lasted a few minutes. Just as suddenly as it had come, the panic seemed to ebb away quickly, vanishing without a trace. Of course I was going to be okay. This was going to be an adventure and I couldn’t wait to get started.
The Back Story
Barely a month before packing my bags and getting on that train to Bombay, I’d happened to pick up a copy of CHIP, a new computer magazine that had recently been launched in India by the Jasubhai Group. I was quite blown away when I read that first issue of CHIP (which was owned by Vogel Media of Germany), since in terms of design, layout, presentation and production quality, it made other Indian computer magazines look like dinosaurs. Before CHIP, the other Indian computer magazines I used to read were PC Quest and Living Computers. And compared to those, CHIP was clearly in a different league.
Back then, in the mid- to late-1990s, I used to run my own training institute – for 3D animation and image/video editing – in Lucknow, and sometimes did small bits of work for local documentary makers, who themselves worked for Doordarshan. In addition to this, I used to write about computers and technology for the Lucknow edition of The Times of India. My institute – Pixels Multimedia – which was a one-man operation for the most part, wasn’t doing very well. I had some of the best image editing and animation software, along with two high-end (for those days) computers, but that wasn’t enough for me to be able to take on biggies like NIIT and Aptech. While I was deeply passionate about computers and working on the latest imaging and animation software, money was always tight. Sometimes I used to think about winding up my small business and doing something else.
While I did write for TOI once in a while, I never really considered writing as a full-time profession. Not until CHIP came along. After reading my first copy of the magazine, I loved it so much, I started thinking about whether it might be possible for me to work for CHIP. I didn’t have a clear idea of exactly what I’d do at CHIP but I did want to write about computers and technology. Also, since CHIP came bundled with a multimedia CD-ROM, I thought that might also allow me to make use of my 3D animation, image editing and video editing skills. So, I fired up my 28.8 kbps dial-up Internet connection and sent off an email to Gourav Jaswal, CHIP’s Editor, asking him if there was any chance I could join his editorial team in Bombay.
I had written to Gourav on a whim and wasn’t really sure if he would even respond. And yet, after just 2-3 days of sending that email, I got a phone call from CHIP; Dhirender Nirwani (who later became a close friend, who has helped me a lot over the years and continues to do so even today…), who was Head of Special Projects at CHIP, spoke to me briefly and asked me to come and meet Gourav in Bombay. Later, when my father came back from work in the evening, I discussed this with him. The call from CHIP was a sudden, unexpected development that none of us could have anticipated. We had never discussed a career in journalism for me. Would I really be able to write extensively on computers and technology, given my complete lack of formal training in either computers or journalism? Was I really prepared to shut down my institute and move to Bombay? Would that really be the right thing to do? Somehow, I was quite gung-ho about it all and did my best to convince my parents to at least let me go to Bombay for the interview; we could always decide later whether I finally wanted to join CHIP or not.
My parents agreed and I went to a nearby railway ticket booking centre (no online booking in those days) to get my tickets to go to Bombay. Boarding arrangements were made – I would stay with an aunt for two days. I couldn’t have been happier.
The CHIP office used to be in the Balarama Building on Bandra Kurla Complex Road, in Bandra East. My aunt’s house was in Chira Bazar, Dadiseth Agiary Lane – a 15-minute walk from VT Station and about 17km from the CHIP office. I was advised to take a local train from VT to get to Bandra, since that would be the cheapest way to travel. However, having heard some horror stories about how crowded local trains in Mumbai were, I quietly chickened out and took a cab instead. I reached the given address on time, at 9.30 a.m., and Dhirender met me in the small reception area, asked if I had any trouble finding the place (no, I did not, despite not having Google Maps in those days) and marched me to Gourav’s office right away.
Tall, fair, good looking, casually dressed and eminently genial, Gourav immediately put me at ease. We actually sat down on the floor in his cabin and had what seemed to me an informal discussion about what I’d done up until that point in life (which wasn’t all that much really!), why I wanted to join CHIP and about life in Bombay in general. After a brief chat, Gourav told me he was willing to hire me at Rs 9,000 per month. He warned me this wouldn’t be a cushy job, that I’d have to face some financial constraints and that life wouldn’t be easy, but also that with a bit of careful spending I should be able to get by. I accepted the offer without thinking twice. I was so swept away with excitement, it never even occurred to me to ask for more money. I was coming to Bombay to write for a magazine I loved and that was all that mattered.
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Made a bunch of friends at CHIP, some of whom I'm still in touch with today |
The story of what happened after I moved to Bombay: CHIP Thrills - Part 1
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