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.