When I was ten years old I had brought out a handmade newspaper. It had the most unimaginative name - Santa News Times and was shaped like the head of the Santa Claus cut out from a Santa Claus mask which I had. The newspaper had just three copies - carbon copies rather! It had four to five articles generally dealing with who(among friends) was not talking to whom and when and why. Once in a while it also had a happy story of warring factions making up. But rarely! The paper also provided comparative analysis of sweet shops and profound deliberations on why one shop sold the better ones and how the other could improve. However, doing all of that, it never struck me that this was what I ever wanted to do in life.
My first brush with the word journalist happened in class seven. At that time I wanted to become a school teacher. A new girl came to our class and she said she wanted to grow up and become a journalist. I liked the word not really understanding the nitty gritties of the trade. I remember on a few occasions when asked, saying, " I want to be a journalist," just to create effect.
I grew up wanting to be many other things rather than a journalist. I never thought I was a great writer. I still feel my sister who is a professor of commerce is a better writer than me. But I was inquisitive and I used my nose for news. I knew what exactly was cooking in my neighbours home( literally, no puns). I stayed away when they cooked spinach and timed myself exactly when they were to serve the chicken( yet another journalistic trait). But I guess, I was destined to be one. Now, having spent twelve years being paid for what I am writing, writing is the only thing I can imagine doing. Thus, I still write copies of who is talking what and about whom and provide comparative analysis of things which could never be as dear to my heart as sweets!
(That girl in school who wanted to become a journalist went on to become a fine english teacher. While I became what she wanted to be.
Maktub?)
