Over my long career, I have had many bosses with queer personal traits. Some were stern outwardly, yet kind at heart, some friendly, yet others moody and throwing tantrums, childlike and sulking, but luckily, none were cunning or downright vindictive.
To start with, we had V.S. Ganapati Sarma deputed by the Indian Express, Madras, to ‘rule’ the Hyderabad bureau in early 1973. He had no understanding of the culture, history, and geography of the region, let alone of the State politics or major issues.
He was a man of many parts. He would chant hymns from the Vedas or Sri Vishnu sahasranamam when in a good mood, occasioned by a good job by a reporter. When in a bad mood, often the result of his PA’s sins of omission and commission, he would bang his head against the wall or the nearest steel almirah. If this did not satisfy, he would implement Plan B. Chase him round the reporters’ table with a paper weight in hand. The missile would often miss the target and smash the nearest water can or earthen pot. I was witness to his ‘Ugra Narasimha roopam’ when he lifted a Remington to bang it down. Fortunately, wiser counsel or perhaps loyalty to the pay master prevailed, and the poor typewriter survived the attempt on its life.
This typewriter met a similar fate again, this time at the hands of V. Hanumantha Rao, then an aspiring youth Congress leader. Annoyed by a report in our sister publication Andhra Prabha weekly, he and his boys barged into the office, mouthing obscenities. The boys tore up papers and damaged the furniture while VHR lifted the typewriter, ignoring the pleas of my confused chief. I pacified him in a Telangana accent with liberal use of ‘anna’. Luckily, the Remington lived on.
I have a feeling that director Jandhyala might have heard of these eccentricities through word of mouth when he fashioned those rib-tickling scenes in Srivariki Premalekha in which Sutti Veerabhadra Rao vents his frustration by repeatedly banging his head against the wall.
In fairness, it should be said that the chief had never harmed anyone, swallowing his anger like Lord Siva or venting it on the nearest lifeless object.
At the Deccan Chronicle, our boss, GVK Murthy, was a confirmed cat-lover. He was often found diving under his desk to see how his feline friends were doing. An occasional visitor to his cabin would be perplexed to hear his voice but not see his form, because he would be busy caressing the pets under the desk.
In my early twenties, I worked at the UNI under the legendary Dharmavarapu Sitaram (he would have preferred to be tagged as ‘notorious’ than ‘legendary’) for some time. Sitaram was known for his explosive temper. No young man or woman had ever escaped tasting his proverbial temper. Many of them went on to become successful journalists. I was perhaps the only one to escape unscathed.
Sitaram was equally boisterous. When pretty high, he would let himself go. I saw him dance precariously on the parapet wall of the office building, holding a glass brimming with the obvious. Reason: The UNI copy swept the columns of most major newspapers that day, leaving the rival PTI far behind. The man revelled in controversy. Politicians felt nervous facing him at press conferences. Sitaram would say a journalist should be judged not by how many press conferences he covered, but by how many he broke up!
B. Nageswar Rao, my editor at The Daily News, was a kind man of few words. He gave me my first job as a full-fledged journalist in 1969. I had never seen him get annoyed. At the drinking sessions, he would never lose his balance, physical or mental.
R. J. Rajendra Prasad, my chief for over a quarter century at The Hindu, never raised his voice or was rude to colleagues. Yet his strong presence and professional eminence helped him to maintain iron discipline in the office. With apologies to PG Wodehouse, Prasad kept a ‘stiff upper lip’ and believed in ‘strong central government.’ In short, he was a great man whom I had the good fortune to succeed as chief.
I was a sub-editor at The Indian Express, Vijayawada (1971-73) when P.S. Rangaswamy was the news editor. He had an uncanny eye for spotting proof/subbing errors in the copy. Clad unfailingly in a white half-sleeve shirt and lungi, PSR was a simple man. He never stepped out of his office; yet he was a popular figure in town, respected by all. Not many know that he was the son-in-law of the legendary Khasa Subba Rau.
R. Srinivasan took over as the chief of the Hyderabad bureau of the Indian Express in 1975. A man with vast experience, he gave youngsters like me, Mahesh Vijapurkar, and Amarnath K. Menon a free hand to do good stories even during the Emergency. He rewarded us with a lucrative UNICEF assignment. It took many months to get a gas connection in those days. RS got me out of turn allotment in two days flat. This happy honeymoon ended abruptly when he learnt that I, Mahesh, and I appeared for an interview with The Hindu. We became untouchable in our own office. We joined The Hindu to eventually become chief, me in Hyderabad and Mahesh in Mumbai. Amarnath Menon left soon after to join India Today. However, Srinivasan and I continue to be good friends.
Disclaimer: I post this story with malice towards NONE. The idea was to paint a true picture of the times, but not to glorify or belittle my bosses.’
