16 September 2013, 10:10 AM IST
It was 1983 and Black Monday at The Paper, The Statesman, Calcutta, which is where I then worked. Mondays at The Paper were always Black. But this Monday seemed Blacker than most. The editor wanted me to do a second edit.
Second edits were the bane of the assistant editors. While first edits had the buzz of topicality about them – the results of the latest by-elections, a cabinet reshuffle, the declaration of President's rule again, somewhere or the other – and third edits were fun, second edits belonged to a twilight zone in that they were like Burma (it wasn't called Myanmar then) and in fact were sometimes referred to as 'Burma edits': like that sealed-off country, second edits occupied a certain physical space, but had nothing much to do with anything else.
Typically, second edits dealt with what were then considered 'soft' subjects such as tourism, wildlife conservation and the environment (man made, or anthropogenic, climate change hadn't been invented yet as an international headline-grabber). As I was disinclined, or incapable, or both, of writing about party politics and economics – typically the stuff of first edits – second edits, along with the occasional third edits became part of my beat, by default.
So it was Black Monday, blacker than most. I had to do a second edit. What should it be about? Conservation? The reference section in the Paper's musty library wasn't very clued up on conservation. The last time I'd looked through the clippings file on wildlife I'd come across a news report headlined: Three Tamil Tigers shot dead in Lanka.
No. Better skip conservation. Environment? Wasn't anyone polluting some goddam thing in some goddam place or the other?
Then Montu from the telex room opened the door and walked in.
"You have to feed me sweets," said Montu. He was beaming like a celebratory rossogolla.
"What sweets? What're you talking about?" I said.
With a sondesh smile, Montu handed me the telex message he was holding.
It was from Derek Davies, editor-in-chief of Emphasis Inc, Hong Kong whose office I'd gone to when visiting that city. On my return to Calcutta, I'd sent him an article on train travel in India for publication in his magazine. He'd published it, and I'd got a payment of HK$300, my first-ever foreign exchange earning. Now the telex from Derek said: "Congratulations, your train travel article has won PATA Gold Prize. Can you come to Acapulco, Mexico for award ceremony?"
PATA stood for Pacific Area Travel Association, a global organisation which promoted tourism, specifically in the Pacific region.
I read the telex again. I looked at Montu who'd become a genie out of a magic lamp. Suddenly, it wasn't Black Monday anymore. It was Candy-striped Monday, Carnival Monday, a Monday of a Thousand Splendid Suns.
But first things first. I sent back a telex via a sweetmeat-promised Montu: Does Prize mean money?
Back came the reply from Derek: Prize means fame but, alas, no fortune. Can you come to Acapulco if air ticket and hotel is organised?
I called Bunny at O&M. "Want to go to Acapulco, Mexico?" I said.
"Sure," said Bunny.
"I'm serious," I said.
"So am I," said Bunny. "Tell me all about it."
So I told her.
"It wouldn't have happened if you hadn't taken me with you to Hong Kong," I added.
"It wouldn't have happened if Kan hadn't nagged you to go around to all those newspaper and magazine offices," said Bunny.
"I'll phone and thank him when I get home," I said. "Right now I'd better go see about our travel arrangements."
Air India was giving me a business class ticket to Acapulco. They agreed to convert that into two economy fares for Bunny and me.
Bunny and I looked at the tickets. They were the thickest airline tickets we'd ever seen. Calcutta to Bombay on Air India. Change to another Air-India flight, at Bombay to Dubai. One-and-a-half hour transit stop at Dubai, then Dubai-Frankfurt. One hour transit stop at Frankfurt, then Frankfurt-London. Two-hour transit at London, Heathrow, then Heathrow-JFK in New York City. At JFK switch flights from Air India to Aero Mexico to Mexico City. At Mexico City switch to a smaller Aero Mexico aircraft to Acapulco.
We'd be traveling more than halfway round the world. Would we meet ourselves coming the way round?
In the end we spent, I later calculated, some 46 hours in planes and airport lounges. By the time we reached Acapulco, let know what time of day – or rather night – it was, we didn't know what day of the week we were in. The tiny airport was deserted. An insomniac cabbie agreed to take us to our hotel. The sleepy receptionist told us our room was on the 16thfloor.
We stumbled into our room too exhausted even to feel tired. There was a rumbling noise from outside. "Bloody hell," I said. "After all this, they've given us a room overlooking a fucking highway."
I yanked aside the floor-to-ceiling curtains, behind which was a plate-glass window. It wasn't a highway making the noise. It was the Pacific Ocean, the first time we'd ever seen it. Jet lag and exhaustion forgotten, we slid open the window and pulled out chairs onto the balcony. I cracked open a bottle of the duty-free scotch we'd bought at Dubai airport. We raised a toast to the sun as it rose over the ocean and the first surfers rode the waves as they thundered in onto the beach sixteen floors below us.
Which idiot said it was better to travel hopefully than to arrive?
(Concluded)
Anda sedang membaca artikel tentang
Acapulco dreaming and the Tennis Elbow Club International
Dengan url
http://osteoporosista.blogspot.com/2013/09/acapulco-dreaming-and-tennis-elbow-club.html
Anda boleh menyebar luaskannya atau mengcopy paste-nya
Acapulco dreaming and the Tennis Elbow Club International
namun jangan lupa untuk meletakkan link
Acapulco dreaming and the Tennis Elbow Club International
sebagai sumbernya
0 komentar:
Posting Komentar