There’s a funny thing about newspapers. Despite the intense pressure under which they are produced, they also spawn rapier-like wit. This month, a landmark anniversary reminded me of an off-the-cuff remark that made me splutter with mirth. The Telegraph, produced by the Ananda Bazar Patrika group in Calcutta, was launched 25 years ago, on 7 July 1982.
Apart from being much better designed than other competing papers at the time, the new paper had the memorable ad slogan `Unputdownable’. It was advertising genius Stanley Pinto (who also created the famous Luxol Silk campaign) who came up with that slogan and when I recently exchanged emails with him, he confirmed that it had survived the test of time and was still the paper’s tagline.
Back then, when the paper was launched, I was in my early twenties and was employed as the chief sub-editor of its sister publication, the weekly magazine `Sportsworld’. Like other young journalists in that very creative building, I volunteered to help launch the new paper in addition to my normal duties.
The paper’s founding editor, M.J. Akbar, was the man who hired me as a journalist and it was my way of repaying his faith in me. I should point out here that Akbar (right) never made any attempt to conceal his frequent ire, but he also had a wicked sense of humour. In my early days as a trainee sub-editor a colleague and I were struggling to write a headline for a feature story about the rise of sexually transmitted diseases. We took him a sheet of paper, with several of our headlines written on it. He tore up the paper and echoed Julius Caesar as he wrote his own headline: ``Veni, VD, vici’’.The night `The Telegraph’ was launched, however, there was more chance of a seizure than a Caesar. Things were a little bit tense as the deadline approached. Akbar wore a constant frown and that was not a good sign for skittish rookies.
Two very experienced colleagues of mine – Tirthankar Ghosh and Saumitra Banerjee, then on the staff of `Sunday’ magazine – were also helping that night. Akbar used the three of us as trouble-shooters for his maiden edition, which was understandable, as we knew the intricacies of the system and the nitty-gritty of the overall production process.
At one stage, with that trademark look of exasperation on his face, Akbar turned to me and asked me to take over the front page. As I did so, he called one of the others over, to speed up a photograph of then Karnataka Chief Minister Bangarappa. ``Just hurry up and get the picture of Banga-bloody-rappa,’’ he yelled.
Okay, so it wasn’t ``bloody’’. It began with ``F’’, ended with ``G’’ and rhymed with ``trucking’’.
