Manas Chakravarty: Those were the days

WATCHWORD

in a few days, my thoughts go back to the time when I first started writing for this page.

For people like me, who came to newspapers after spending many years in the corporate world, the edit page of a newspaper was sacred territory, populated by pundits who, in sonorous tones, dissected issues masterfully in a measured, thoughtful manner, and whose every word was worth its weight in gold. I soon learnt that, like so many other heroes, editorial writers too had feet of clay.

I had joined the newspaper as an analyst and so was rather taken aback, when, on my second day at work, I was asked by the deputy editor to write an edit on some changes in the fertiliser policy. My objections about not knowing a thing about fertilisers were brushed aside, with him telling me that I would get everything I needed if I spent some time with the cuttings in the library.

After four hours of study, I produced my first edit. Edits on foreign policy, banks, politics, corporate strategy, followed in quick succession. I advised finance ministers on how to balance their budgets, waxed eloquent on global warming and held forth on reforming the global financial system. I soon grew addicted to the stuff, because where else would one get the chance to give free advice on subjects about which I knew precisely zilch.

Edits were not the only things that I loved in my new profession. I soon realised that much of the work in a business newspaper consists in attending lunches at five-star hotels, with a press conference thrown in. You listened to what they said and merely reproduced it. Or you interviewed some corporate types and wrote down what they told you.

I was also elated at the ease with which a set of prosaic facts miraculously transformed themselves into a story, thanks to a reporter's vivid imagination. A guy like me, with a monthly sales target in my previous job, had a tough time believing this was work.

The other astounding thing about the profession was its complete disregard for revenue. On my third day in office, the news editor congratulated me on the reaction to my analysis of a company's balance sheet. "They've withdrawn all their ads," he said. Seeing my jaw drop in consternation, he hastened to reassure me.

"That's the marketing department's problem, not yours," he said. I also watched with awe when the guy from the marketing department tiptoed in with the ad dummies for the day. Almost every day, several of the ads were struck down, and he invariably got a firing. "You think readers buy the paper for the ads?" was the news editor's usual line. I used to wonder how on earth the paper made money, before I realised it didn't.

Sadly, those exciting days are long gone and the pressure of competition has ensured that marketing is now king. Edits these days are written by people who know their subjects well. For example, an edit on stocks will be written by a person who tracks the market or an edit on the economy will surely be written by an economist.

Only edits on politics are allowed to be written by people who know nothing about anything. Financial journalists have also been injected with large doses of domain knowledge and have no difficulty whatsoever spouting jargon like EPS and ARPU and CAGR. Thankfully, ever so often, the carefully cultivated facade cracks, the mask slips, the stiff upper lip quivers and the imagination is allowed to run riot, just like in the old days.

I guess it's time to say good-bye. Watch out for my next edit on Alan Greenspan: his handling of US monetary policy has been such a disaster. I could have done so much better.