He was clear that it wasn’t for the column, just yet at least, nor could it be dismissed in brief. He was looking at a 600-word story, a nice connect between daily reporting and ‘Crime 3.0’ that would appear on the feature pages.
At no point was I told to write the story. I hadn’t forgotten; I relegated the obsequious coin pouch from my mind.
I had agreed with Andrew’s argument; it was a line of reportage that wasn’t followed to the full. Not justMorning Herald, but most media platforms were guilty of that. Readers are interested in people stories more than infrastructure or boardroom politics. They want to know what happened; often, it is curiosity, sometimes concern. In the case of Venkamma, was there no one she could turn to for help in this city of some eight million people?
No other daily had the full story, it was our exclusive – Dinesh or his team’s exclusive. I thought they were ascertaining facts before filing the story, that’s why it was taking time.
‘You are writing the Venkamma Achar piece, right?’ Dinesh asked a little uncertainly.
‘No.’ Dinesh’s shoulders fell like a penny stock.
‘Why not?’ Andrew asked. The tone was frosty.
I shrugged. ‘I’m not the crime reporter.’
Andrew’s eyes were playing darts on me. Not in admiration. I wanted to giggle. I liked where this was going.
‘Yeah, but Dinesh gave you the contacts last week and asked you to follow it up for your column.’
‘Column? The column isn’t scheduled for this week. Next month’s piece is ready,’ I said, meeting Andrew’s gaze.
Dinesh was nodding. He had done the math; he understood what was happening.
Andrew’s discomfort was uproarious.
‘What’s the confusion? You were supposed to write the piece.’
Andrew and I could always talk. We spent hours in verbal combat – an idea, a political stand, a cappuccino – only to agree to disagree. We emptied ourselves. I’m a good listener. He’s not bad most times, but he tends to cut in every now and then, questioning, asking for clarification and throwing you off your thought process. Those chats mostly ended with a dry ‘yeah’. An Andrew special. His occasional bullshit. Today, he just couldn’t find the right words.
I had boxed him into a corner without meaning to, and he was beginning to see it. Andrew was still a newbie in newsroom delivery. Normally, I would’ve explained this to a new recruit, perhaps during that exchange two days ago when he joined Dinesh and me, but I had stuff on my mind. AndMorning Heraldhad never hired someone who was just cutting their teeth in this business right at the very top.
‘I wasn’t aware of having to write the piece for the daily. It was supposed to be for my column–’
‘Yeah,’ Andrew cut in.
Meet the bullshit listener of the new millennium; he won’t let you finish a sentence. I was going to say, ‘Down the line, as you pointed out.’ This business of butting in might work brilliantly on another turf, when he’s interviewing hard-nosed politicians, going at them from all directions, but with a colleague, it’s off-putting. He knows (or at least he thinks he knows) what you’re about to sayand is bursting forth with a counter because he has long gone past what you have to say.
‘I told you it would be a better follow-up piece.’
‘Yeah, you said that.’
Even God in a beige tee better mind his manners if he wants more from me.
‘Then what’s the problem?’
‘You should be asking the crime department that because they are the ones who write follow-ups.’
I had turned and was facing my computer.
Dinesh had exited the cabin. Like a good reporter, he understood there was no point hanging around haranguing when there was a story to be written.
‘Myraah,’ Andrew said. His fingers were gripping my table; they were white from the exertion. ‘Dinesh had given you the details.’
‘Yes,’ I said sweetly, even smiling for effect. I could see his chest.
‘I know initially he had asked you to write it for the crime column,’ he said.
I wanted to butt in here to say, ‘Because that was all Dinesh was allowed to do – make suggestions.’ What appeared in the feature pages was outside that nice man’s jurisdiction, but I let it slide.
