When I joined the Herald in 1985, the news desk consisted of two unvarnished desks and three very uncomfortable chairs. The chief-sub's chair was distinguishable from the others because it had wheels. It also had a back-rest and seat fashioned from woven plastic which had given way due to continuous use by Anthony Fernandes alias Anton, Frederick Noronha alias Rico and sometimes Francis Rebeiro alias Choppy. I was one of those who did not have an alias.

Those were the days when the PTI and UNI machines were hardly two metres away from the news-desk and Rico had invented an ingenious way of preventing the clatter from getting to him. He used to stuff paper in his ears, because it was cheaper than cotton.

I also remember Anton completing his work before dinner on the night shift and reading a novel while waiting for galley-proofs. How nice it was to be chief-sub back then. I thought, one day when I reach that post I too would read novels. When I finally made it, the system had changed and there was no time to read novels. So I do have some regrets.

Rico, by the way, was very possessive of the TV which projected black-and-white images of the news. He never let us watch anything more that the news and, if I remember well, used to take out the `on-off' knob and stash it in his pocket till the end of the shift. He was, and still is, a work-is-worship chap. Rico was also the only man on the news-desk who could type with the speed of a steno.

We also had a thin wiry fellow named Madhu who made tea and did some odd jobs like taking edited to the composing room on the mezzanine floor and oiling the A4 paper print-outs to make them transparent. Every time he bunked work he would return the next day with a mournful look and announce that some relative had died. Five days later he would conveniently kill another member and disappear for another two days. This never stopped because he had and extended family of relatives comprising several aunts, uncles, aunts-in-law, uncles-in-law, cousins and god knows what. He never followed any pattern and killed them at random. Some of his relatives died several times. By the time he left, I am told, he had bumped off almost all the members of his family.

I can't remember if Madhu made good tea or not. To me, a cup of tea at work was a welcome luxury, especially because it was free. I say this because Herald was then paying trainee-subs Rs 400 per month. Not enough to keep body and soul together. So, when I was confirmed and my salary jumped to Rs 750, I moved into a new economic bracket of professionals who could afford to buy Maggie two-minute noodles. The Rs 750 put an extra bounce in my walk and the chin vent a notch higher, even though I still had to depend on my Dad for clothes.

The only reporter we had was Rajesh Singh who was very good at chess and devoted a great deal of his time playing Rajan Narayan, the editor. Apart from his writing skills, he was adept in getting other subs to buy him cups of tea.

It was at the Herald that I first met Elston Soares alias Paku (some years later, we met again at Newslink, the Belgaum-published English-language sister publication of Tarun Bharat). He had a huge grin, wrote with his left hand, ate with his left hand and edited copy with his left hand. In short, he was a `leftie'. He had an interesting sense of humour. I am told he coined the term `Romi-Marathi' for the language written by some correspondents.

Apart from the tea, another luxury enjoyed by sub-editors living in and around Panjim was a home drop at night in the office jeep. On one or two occasions I remember being dropped in the Patrao's black Mercedes to the Don Bosco Hostel. This luxury was withdrawn after we formed an employees union several years later.

This was also the time when I met Alexyz, the cartoonist. He came across as a very friendly person with a benign face covered with a lot of hair, mostly black; a very hearty laugh and a penchant for practical jokes. I remember him standing on St Tome street and directing all passersby to the Herald. The poor souls would enter the office with blank looks not knowing what had hit them.