Not a lot of people know this: once upon a time, I wanted to be a journalist.
Well, not a journalist exactly, more of a columnist. See, at the time, my understanding was that journalists have to be unbiased and fair, they shouldn’t let their opinions colour their writing (this was before the bane of civilization that is India TV, naturally).
And me, as you know, I am all opinion. Which is fun, when the only people reading your two bits are blog-readers. But to have your words taken in and digested by people along with their morning cup of chai – that is no scenario for mere opinion. Unless of course you’re Amitabh Bachchan, in which case even the friggin’ Prime Minister will secretly be interested in what YOU feel about the Kashmir issue.
Long story short, like every other twenty-something’s pipe-dream, becoming a columnist was carefully filed under the label ‘Someday’.
Turns out, someday was Thursday. The second Thursday of every month, to be precise. You can’t read it on the crisp sheets of your morning newspaper, it’s mostly going to be about the inglorious world of advertising, but by god, it’ll have my name on it.
And if I’m careful enough, this may actually NOT be professional suicide.