Chapter 12: The proof of it all…
Tony MartinTony Martin, the better-known pen-name of Anthony Barretto, worked his way through Goa's English-language newspapers, before shifting to education. He has gone into self-publishing, and, in his own modest and low-profile manner, has managed to put out books with a print-run of 5000 copies (amazing by Goa's standards). Currently, he is working on a website on Canacona.
Just an out-of-school teenager that I was, life then posed a 'Catch 22' situation when one first landed in Panjim. Without any experience, it was difficult to get work. Yet, at the same time, it was difficult to get experience because I couldn't get any work.
So one fine day armed with a recommendation from the late music maestro-priest Fr Lourdinho Barreto, who hailed from my village of Galgibaga in the southern extreme of Goa, to Fr Freddy for the post of proof reader I arrived at the Gulab office. This got an I'll-let-you-know from the editor.
Well at least I knew what job I was looking for.
Then, with a fantastic helping of luck I got a job with the Herald — oops actually it was with Norlic India, the firm shown as the employer of those doing the proof-reading of the Herald, in those days.
The job was as a proof reader, and the date was August 12, 1985.
To us, whether it was Norlic India or Herald did not then matter, I was getting my bread, so there was no point complaining about missing the cake.
But along with my bread, I also got a taste and a first-hand glimpse of what I had only heard of earlier — exploitation. Obviously the Norlic India tag was meant to deny us the applicable scales for proof-readers. We were almost like daily wage factory workers. Accept it or leave it. With pressing financial constraints, and at that time there wasn't even a functional union in the Herald (it came sometime later, and have worked in fits and starts) the option was clear: shut up and do your work or speak up and get kicked out.
All said just-enough-to-survive Rs 400 a month was still a luxury.
So I got myself testing the waters in the novitiate of journalism. For a tender 'naal' (coconut) like myself the sub-editors of the time — Anthony, Rico, Godwin Figueira and sports editor Nelson, to name a few — were exceptionally good. If I had peanuts for salary, I had gems for seniors.
For most people proofreading is basically checking spellings and omissions by the typesetter. It was not much different here. On the few occasions we, the humble proof-readers, particularly Jack, ventured to show our mastery in punctuation and grammar, the concerned sub-editor would get furious, of course in a playful way. Often we would end up exposing our ignorance to the world.
Ignorant or well-informed, those two years in the
Herald were years of youthful exuberance and bliss.
And there was this noble soul Caetano. Well I call him a noble soul because even as the foreman of the composing section, he never gave me an opportunity to see him angry although we proof readers (which, of course, includes me) used to give him a chance to be angry almost every day.
One day when 'penis' became 'mightier than the sword', he laughed at it together with the subs, and then, after they had left, politely warned us to be careful. He had no special training in people-management; he had surely not attended any hi-fi seminars now conducted by self-proclaimed management gurus. Yet, if there was one thing he knew other than typing at an incredible speed, it was to keep his juniors motivated. We owed our productivity and effectiveness to him. He would challenge the Subs to a rupee for a mistake in a report or an article. On that count we didn't let him down, at least not often, even considering that overlooking errors in a straight read-through — without the luxury of checking print-outs, but doing the proofreading on the flickering screen itself — was a distinct possibility.
Ironically, on the few occasions, the editor, Rajan Narayan — he was not yet the super-man of the Herald then; he acquired almost that status during and after the language agitation — entered the composing room, we were just logs of dead wood for him. Not a side glance even to acknowledge our greeting. My view: perhaps all these years Mr Narayan was soaring too high on the pedestal the management had seated him on, after granting him a free hand. And as is the rule of nature, every thing that goes up comes down. And he came down with quite a bang.
But that was just a stray cloud in the silver lining the Herald offered. That indifference apart, our Herald innings is something to look back and laugh about. I can still sense the taste of the first sip of urak at an after-work session. Not long later, Remy and I crashing into a cow with my rickety cycle on our way to the Don Bosco Hostel. Time: around 3 a.m.
Another party we had in the office was a chicken party. Nice dry fried chicken. Courtesy Jack. Everybody had and there was still more to go around, much like in the Biblical parable of loaves-and-fishes. But nobody except Jack knew, until the next day, from where the chicken came. The next day a notorious looking man walked into the Herald office. To make bad matters worse he happened to meet the 'patrao', the publisher and then patriarch A. C. Fernandes. They talked a while and he left. The next moment the old man came charging and thundered, "Kal kombeo konnem adleo re?" (Who brought in the chicken yesterday?) "Aayem Patrao, mhaka rostear podlo mevloleo," (I, boss. I found it fallen on the road) Jack confessed not unlike a frightened rabbit. "Faleamson kamank enaka," (You're fired). And Patrao left. Of course all those who had enjoyed the chicken the previous day came to Jack's rescue.
In the good old days, the pace was leisurely, stresses fewer and everything was rosy. But the pay packet was not growing significantly heavier even after two years. I was stuck at Rs 500. We were free to ask the then Manager Gustavo Fernandes for anything except a raise. Asking for a raise was invariably met with a simply question, 'Do you want to continue?'
There was no choice. Choice came knocking with the arrival of Gomantak Times. And some of the more enterprising journos left their training ground and joined GT. But, to this day, Herald remains an enriching and fond experience.