'The Last Word' - with Mr.Nagesha Rao- Sachidananda Murthy
Resident Editor, ‘The Week’
As a young reporter of the Indian Express in Bangalore, I would try to catch the last bus from Shivajinagar to Jayanagar 9th Block. The route no. 20 bus left at 10.30 PM and I would hop in, with a cloth bag full of books on my shoulder. I had a habit of reading five or six books at a time, since there was a deadline to return them to the libraries. If I missed the bus, then I had to rely on the ancient office van, which would drop me beyond midnight at Jayangar 4th block, from where I would walk two kms. home, dodging stray policemen and dogs. Hence the last bus was a luxury, compared to the van. In the bus I would also read a book for two stops. I would notice a small built gentleman in khadi getting in and sit in a disciplined upright position. If he did not get a seat – the bus would get crowded on some days- he would be very embarrassed when one of the younger passengers offered him a seat. But he would always have a quick glance at what I was reading.
A few weeks later, S.Devanath, the effervescent sports chief of Samyukta Karnataka had got in at the same stop and we were discussing assignments, sporting events, trade unionism and his latest brush with editorial authorities. Suddenly he asked whether I knew his News Editor Mr.Nagesha Rao. He acknowledged me with a slight smile and said he had noticed my byline in the Express. Then Devanath took over. But there were subsequent journeys when the spirited Devanath would be missing. Then Mr. Nagesha Rao would speak to me about the day’s developments, the important news items in the morning’s papers and also on the books I was reading. He would not speak much about his work, and I had to virtually drag the information out of him. He was an astute journalist who had a command over facts. Yet he would never brag that he knew better than others. If he liked a report, he would ask “how many sweets you ate” (esshtu sihi tindiri ivattu). But if there was a mistake, in a hesitant manner, he would ask whether I had contributed a particular fact or was it the desk. Puffing up in importance, if I claimed authorship, he would say I must have been in a hurry as the actual fact was different from what I had written. He would also spot out the slang or inappropriate words. He was a skeptic when it came to the sensational claims of the media. “So today you have changed the world”, Mr. Nagesha Rao would ask on a day the Indian Express would have broken a big story all over the front page, which happened almost every day once the Emergency was lifted in 1977.
I would be full of enthusiasm saying so and so minister or official would have to go. Then he would say you would need six such reports if the well-entrenched vested interests had to be shaken and uprooted. But if there was a breach of privacy, he would gently chide saying jorunalists should not cross the threshold of the living room. Yet he an ear for spicy news and sharp insight into troubled life of politicians and other newsmakers.
The talk would continue till we got off the bus and parted at the corner. But it would not be the time for Mr. Nagesha Rao, who absorbed vast quantities of information and stored it in his neatly arranged brain. He would ask me about the films I had seen. Those days, when I got a day’s off, I would try to see at least two films, meet a dozen friends and keep bustling. I thought he was making gentle fun of me by asking details of the English movies like who wrote the story, how the plot could have been different, what are the other major movies of the star. But after a few weeks, I realised Mr. Nagesha Rao was a movie buff, who would invariably on his off day see one new release in the Cantonment area. Then our discussions on films were based on mutual likes and dislikes. Though his favourites were classics, based on great novels, the journalist in him enjoyed every film, which told a story grippingly. His knowledge of classical and western music was considerable, though I have never heard him hum a tune. Such was his sense of propriety. Similarly he was never garrulous. When several people joined a discussion, he would maintain a discreet silence and spoke only when there was a demand on Mr. Nagesha Rao to give his opinion.
He had a fine sense of balance between report and headline, photograph and caption. He was good at word play, but did not like excessive games with rhyming words. “If your story is good, why should you unnecessarily garnish with excessive style,” he would ask.
Our discussions continued for a decade off and on, as my journeys on Route no.20 came down after I left the Indian Express and joined The Week. But instead I would go to his office and have a chat. After some months of our acquaintance, I used to ask him why he was not trying for a better newspaper, than stick on to Samyukta Karnataka, which was going through many vicissitudes. He would smile and ask “is the news different in those papers? Only later I came to know that he had turned down offers with increased salary from two other Kannada newspapers.
Mr. Nagesha Rao never turned his face away from the world. But he watched the world with a sense of attachment to what was happening, but also with a neutral detachment necessary for an observer. Till the end of his life, he took keen interest in journalism and what pleased me was that he remained a regular reader of The Week since the first issue. Often he would express his anguish that I was not writing enough in the magazine. He would gently admonish me saying, “You must have a big file of all those reports which are not published by your editor”. He was a perceptive commentator of my column Last Word, but I cannot forget the Last Word of the day from Mr. Nagesha Rao, uttered almost every night in Jayanagar 9th Block bus stop.
After a long time in November 2003, I had gone to Rex cinema in Brigade Road, taking my adolescent sons. As we crossed Cash Pharmacy, I remembered how I would have discussed the plot of the movie with Mr. Nagesha Rao, knowing well that he would have seen the movie most probably.
(This article is originally published in the book ‘Suddijeevi – Nagesharao’, Edited by Jayarama Adiga and Haldodderi Sudhindra Published by the Bangalore Press Club in memory of HRN in March 2006. HRN died on 3rd August 2003 at Bangalore)
The talk would continue till we got off the bus and parted at the corner. But it would not be the time for Mr. Nagesha Rao, who absorbed vast quantities of information and stored it in his neatly arranged brain. He would ask me about the films I had seen. Those days, when I got a day’s off, I would try to see at least two films, meet a dozen friends and keep bustling. I thought he was making gentle fun of me by asking details of the English movies like who wrote the story, how the plot could have been different, what are the other major movies of the star. But after a few weeks, I realised Mr. Nagesha Rao was a movie buff, who would invariably on his off day see one new release in the Cantonment area. Then our discussions on films were based on mutual likes and dislikes. Though his favourites were classics, based on great novels, the journalist in him enjoyed every film, which told a story grippingly. His knowledge of classical and western music was considerable, though I have never heard him hum a tune. Such was his sense of propriety. Similarly he was never garrulous. When several people joined a discussion, he would maintain a discreet silence and spoke only when there was a demand on Mr. Nagesha Rao to give his opinion.
He had a fine sense of balance between report and headline, photograph and caption. He was good at word play, but did not like excessive games with rhyming words. “If your story is good, why should you unnecessarily garnish with excessive style,” he would ask.
Our discussions continued for a decade off and on, as my journeys on Route no.20 came down after I left the Indian Express and joined The Week. But instead I would go to his office and have a chat. After some months of our acquaintance, I used to ask him why he was not trying for a better newspaper, than stick on to Samyukta Karnataka, which was going through many vicissitudes. He would smile and ask “is the news different in those papers? Only later I came to know that he had turned down offers with increased salary from two other Kannada newspapers.
Mr. Nagesha Rao never turned his face away from the world. But he watched the world with a sense of attachment to what was happening, but also with a neutral detachment necessary for an observer. Till the end of his life, he took keen interest in journalism and what pleased me was that he remained a regular reader of The Week since the first issue. Often he would express his anguish that I was not writing enough in the magazine. He would gently admonish me saying, “You must have a big file of all those reports which are not published by your editor”. He was a perceptive commentator of my column Last Word, but I cannot forget the Last Word of the day from Mr. Nagesha Rao, uttered almost every night in Jayanagar 9th Block bus stop.
After a long time in November 2003, I had gone to Rex cinema in Brigade Road, taking my adolescent sons. As we crossed Cash Pharmacy, I remembered how I would have discussed the plot of the movie with Mr. Nagesha Rao, knowing well that he would have seen the movie most probably.
(This article is originally published in the book ‘Suddijeevi – Nagesharao’, Edited by Jayarama Adiga and Haldodderi Sudhindra Published by the Bangalore Press Club in memory of HRN in March 2006. HRN died on 3rd August 2003 at Bangalore)
No comments:
Post a Comment