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| Balarama Building, Bandra Kurla Complex. This is where the CHIP office used to be in the late-1990s | |
In an earlier post, I’d written about how I applied for work at CHIP magazine,
was interviewed by its Editor, Gourav Jaswal and was offered a job as a writer
@Rs 9,000 per month. (For those who may be wondering, this was back in 1998, and
Rs 9K per month wasn’t really as bad as it sounds today, in 2024.) So, here’s
the follow-up piece to that: Here’s the story of my moving from Lucknow to
Bombay, and my first few years in the city as a newbie tech journalist.
I had to join CHIP on 1st June 1998. In those days, the CHIP
office used to be in Balarama Building in Bandra Kurla Complex. Before I left
Lucknow, my parents had spoken to my aunt (my mother’s youngest sister), who
used to live in the Dadiseth Agiyari Lane, near Chira Bazar, in Kalbadevi.
Despite the fact that her place was quite compact, she still very kindly agreed
to let me stay with her family for a few days until the time I could find a
place for myself. Finally, at the end of May, I got on a train to Bombay,
landed up at the Bombay Central station and took a cab to my aunt’s place. My
aunt and her family made me feel welcome and my uncle explained to me how I
should take the local train the next morning, get off at the Bandra West
station and then take an auto to reach the CHIP office. For someone who’s never
done this before – especially for a Lucknow wallah used to getting
around everywhere on his motorcycle – getting on to a local train in Bombay in
the morning, during peak rush hours, can be a scary experience. The crowd is
just unbelievable – passengers are smashed inside and out of train
compartments, a thousand human bodies are compressed against each other till
they’re about to burst, feet get trampled upon and sometimes it can be hard to
even breathe normally. That, along with the intense heat and humidity of Bombay
makes travelling in local trains an exercise in building character. You what
they say – what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
In any case, I reached the CHIP office before 9 a.m. on 1st June, met Gourav and was assigned a place to sit. Was also provided with a desktop computer with an Internet connection. Soon, it was time to meet the team. Features editor, Gulnar and copy editor, Radhika. Kiran, who was the head of the multimedia team, and Kabir and Vanita, his team members. Writers Arjun, Brian and Abhijeet. Photographer, Ira and designer, Jaya. Sandhya, the translator (she’d translate articles from the German edition of CHIP). Marco, Deepak and Hakim from the hardware and software test-centre. Kaustubh, Ai Chin, Jasmine and a few others whose names I can’t recall now. There was also, of course, Dhirender, whom I had spoken to earlier on the phone and who had set up my first meeting with Gourav. He was head of special projects at CHIP, in charge of topic-specific specials – standalone publications that were not a part of the main magazine. It was a young, energetic team with a lot of passion for their work. For many, this was their first job. Everyone wanted to do their best. Also, I would later understand that Gourav was an exceptional man – a charming, enigmatic leader who had the ability, the rare talent, to really inspire others and encourage the team to outdo themselves and deliver their very best.
Soon, it was time for me to attend my first monthly editorial team meeting, which was held in a small-ish meeting room with everyone sitting on the floor. CHIP, a monthly magazine for computer users, carried tech news and features, hardware reviews, software reviews and interviews with people who were doing interesting work in tech. The entire editorial team met once a month where stories for the next upcoming issue were decided upon and work was allocated to writers and the test centre. Before joining CHIP, I had spent around two years running my own institute in Lucknow – Pixels Multimedia – where I used to teach imaging, illustration, 3D animation and audio/video editing software. Occasionally, I also used to write for the technology supplement of the Times of India – this was an opportunity given to me by another friend, Ashish Bhatnagar, who used to work for the TOI’s response department in those days.
So, while I did not have a degree in computer engineering and had no formal training in journalism, I did have a knack for writing and a deep interest in computers/technology. I used to read at least half a dozen Indian and foreign technology/computer magazines every month (my absolute favourite being Wired) and kept abreast of what was happening in the world of computers. In the first editorial meeting at CHIP, I was at least reasonably comfortable with the story ideas that were discussed and offered to write many of the articles that were finalized. I liked the process of reading up and doing my research for the stories I’d be writing, and quite enjoyed writing my articles. While I had, of course, seen my byline in print earlier, in the Lucknow edition of TOI, seeing my name on the CHIP masthead and my byline in whatever articles I wrote, made me very happy indeed.
Outside of work, there was the immediate challenge of finding inexpensive accommodation in some place that was hopefully not too far from the CHIP office. My uncle suggested I try the Kanara Catholic Association (KCA) hostel, which was (still is, of course) situated on Veronica Road, off Hill Road, in Bandra West – only 5km from the CHIP office. It would be hard to get a room there, my uncle said, but he suggested that I should still at least try. And sure enough, I landed up at the KCA hostel one rainy afternoon and was asked to wait, since the manager was not in office. I ended up waiting for 2-3 hours and met the manager once he came back. Initially, he was a bit brusque and was curt in the way he spoke, but seemed to soften slightly when I told him I was from out of town, had just taken up my first job in Bombay and was desperately looking for a place to stay. Upon being told that rooms needed to be booked weeks (sometimes, months) in advance and that providing a room to someone who had just walked in unannounced wouldn’t be possible, I pleaded with the manager to allow me to stay for at least a month or two, after which I’d look for another place. He finally relented and agreed to give me a room for a month. With breakfast, which was provided inside the KCA hostel canteen, the total monthly charge was, I think, around Rs 6,000. And taking an autorickshaw from the hostel to the CHIP office was Rs 15-20 each way. But this was the best option I had at the time and I decided to take it, and moved in. The room given to me was tiny but at least I had it all to myself and did not have to share that room with anyone else. There was a single bed on one side of the room, one small cupboard and barely enough space for me to walk into and out of the room without bumping into anything. Bathrooms were shared but clean, and waiting times weren’t usually very long. I wouldn’t exactly be living in the lap of luxury but that was okay – I had come to Bombay with the mindset that I would learn to manage, no matter what. And, really, KCA hostel wasn’t too bad at all.
Going to office was an absolute joy – every morning, I used to look forward to getting to work. A genial set of co-workers, a charismatic and friendly boss, the opportunity to read tech-related stuff and learning the process of putting together a story for the magazine – I couldn’t have asked for more. I threw myself into work with gusto and tried to take on as many stories as I could, preferably stories that may be a challenge for me to write. And write I did; day after day, week after week, month after month, I wrote my heart out. The copy desk was happy with my work and they said as much to Gourav, who made me the Head of the writers’ team a few months after I joined CHIP. I later came to know that some of the other, more senior and more experienced writers on the team weren’t too happy with my ‘promotion,’ and one or two even left the magazine in a huff, but new writers were soon hired to replace them and all was well. I also got a 33% pay hike within a month or two of joining CHIP and now, with Rs 12,000 per month, I was able to take care of my monthly expenses a bit more comfortably.
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| With CHIP, I got my first chance to travel outside India; Gourav sent me to Japan, on a trip that was sponsored by Epson. In this pic, the PR lady from Epson and I are travelling on the Bullet Train, going from Tokyo to Kyoto |
I was usually in office six days a week, from around 8:45 in the morning to around 6-6:30 in the evening. In the evenings, I’d sometimes go back straight to KCA hostel and just chill out there, and at other times I’d roam around the streets of Bandra, taking in its unique sights and sounds. I was particularly fascinated with the many old Portuguese-style bungalows, many of which were still standing in Bandra in the late-1990s. Some of these still had families living in them, some were in a state of gentle decay, and some were derelict, with nobody living in them anymore. These bungalows, some of which still exist (while some others have been demolished by builders, who are making high-rise apartment complexes there), have a quiet, understated dignity, a sublime beauty that’s reminiscent of a bygone era. It always made me think how beautiful (and quiet!) the suburb of Bandra might have been in the 1950s-1960s.
When not rambling around, looking at grand old bungalows, I sometimes used to go to the Bandra Bandstand in the evenings and either walk along the seaside or just sit on one of the benches there and look at the sea. I liked being there. Looking at the sea, and the small, frothy waves crashing over the rocks, gave me a strange sense of calm. I’d also look at some of the houses near Bandstand and think about how incredibly lucky the residents of those houses were, to have such incredible views of the sea at all times.
Later in the evening, once I was done looking at the sea, I’d walk back to the KCA hostel, which only around 1-1.5km away. On the way, I’d sometimes stop at one of the many small restaurants that dotted the area around KCA hostel – depending on how much money I had in my pocket on any given day, I could take my pick from basic dal-chawal, roti-sabzi, Indo-Chinese chowmein or fried rice, biryani, burgers or pizza. If money was tight, there was always vada pav. Sometimes, I’d hang out with Dhirender, who had also taken up a room in Bandra West, not too far from KCA. We’d sometimes have dinner together. On a few occasions, Dhirender and I would join Gourav and Gulnar (who had an apartment on Bandstand) and we’d all have a quick dinner somewhere in Bandra. At other times, I wouldn’t even bother going anywhere – I’d maybe just eat some bread and butter inside my room in the hostel and go to sleep. The one thing I’d like to point out here is that I’m definitely not trying to paint a picture of hardship here – yes, money was always limited but I wasn’t exactly living in penury. My father used to check with me frequently and he would always offer to send money, and sometimes I did accept his offer. That said, I always did make an effort to get by on whatever I was earning, as I did not like taking money from anyone.
Today, when I look back upon that time – my first few months in Bombay – I realise how little it took for me to be happy. I had a tiny room with just a fan – no AC – and yet the heat and humidity of Bombay never bothered me. I used to look forward to going to work every morning, though finding an autorickshaw when it was raining heavily could sometimes be a challenge. At work, I was happy doing my research and writing my articles for the magazine – never felt the need to do anything else. I was just happy being in Bombay, doing my own thing. Working for CHIP also, I suppose, gave me a sense of identity. This is who I was – a writer, a journalist. And that was enough for me.
Continued in part 2
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