Chapter 22:The Lion and Me

 

The lion laughed!

How could it not, when a mouse comes hopping about?

When someone tries to impress by parading the skills they do not truly possess—and when such a spectacle has been witnessed time and again—wouldn’t a lion laugh?

The lion sat upon a throne-like chair!

The mouse, knowing neither fear nor reverence, pushed the door open and slipped inside. Its tiny eyes darted about, scanning the room.

Then it saw a majestic figure. It was said that even the mightiest and the most powerful people trembled at the sight of that form, moreover, in that awesome ambience! But the mouse had no idea that such fear was meant to be felt… after all.

As if singing to itself, “What a great chance I’ve got!” it rushed boldly inside.

It wanted to impress by showing off its intelligence and greatness.

Seeing this innocence, the lion then smiled. But that smile was neither pompous nor sarcastic.

It was a smile of a peculiar kind. In fact, no one could tell what kind of smile it was.

Nor could anyone know what strategies lay behind that smile, or what counter-strategies were hidden within it. It was a smile that was deeply mysterious. The mouse, unaware that there could be so many kinds of smiles, sat down on the chair opposite the majestic lion.

That lion was the owner of The Eenadu newspaper, Sri Ramoji Rao.

And that mouse was none other than me.

An article I had written earlier for The Eenadu “Gangaputrula Vyadha,” (Sad Tales of Fishermen) got published. Overnight, I became a kind of local hero in my village, Nandigama. Right around that time, an advertisement came out asking for applications for trainee sub-editor posts.

In those days, the Eenadu Sunday edition used to come in a big newspaper format and not like a book, as it is now. Colour printing hadn’t yet arrived in Telugu newspapers. A few days after my article was published, I got a letter from the Eenadu office along with a money order for one hundred rupees. I didn’t even know how to spend that amount. So I just spent it on tiffin and coffee with friends.

Then this job advertisement appeared. With a lot of encouragement from my friends, I applied. My friends from Visakhapatnam played a big role in pushing me. By then, they too had started seeing me as some kind of intellectual. Those were also the days when I was preparing for the Civil Services exam.

Until then, except for science subjects, I had never really been interested in other subjects. But once I started studying for Civil Services, doors of knowledge slowly began to open for me. That’s when Telugu literature started attracting me deeply. Vemana, Sri Sri, classics of Medieval period — I wanted to read everything! I may not have mastered literature, but I became familiar with it. At least I reached a stage where I could talk and write something about it.

During that time, I sent articles not only to The Eenadu but also to Andhra Patrika, Vishalandhra, and Prajasakti. Some of them got published. I remember writing articles like “Hindu Sculptural Style in Islamic Monuments” and “The Uniqueness of Village Deities.”

My friend Vishnu, now a popular homeopathy doctor  in Vijayawada, had a Click III camera. We used to go to temples of village deities, take photos, and he would get them printed for me.

I used to send my articles to newspapers along with photographs. This activity became a kind of obsession for me. It made me feel like I had already become a “great writer.”

Around that time, the Eenadu announced openings for Trainee Sub-Editors. I applied, they called me for a written test, and then for an interview. I knew that it was run by Sri Ramoji Rao. I also knew that the Priya Pickles company belonged to him. But I had never seen him in person. Now I finally got that chance.

As I looked at him, a mix of fear, courage, and a bit of boldness came over me, and I lifted my head and met his eyes. My God, his eyes were so sharp and alert! There was no one else in the room. That really surprised me. Usually, an interview means at least two or three people, right? But here, it was just him—alone.

For some reason, he reminded me of a lion.

This was an interview. I shouldn’t be scared. I must show my intelligence and get the job—that’s what I told myself.

A few hours earlier, during the written test, I had quoted Vemana’s poems, Sri Sri’s poetry, and even mentioned poets like Nannayya and Thikkana in my answers. He had clearly noticed that.

“Do you like Telugu?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said firmly (after all, I wanted the job).

“Then… why did you quote Vemana and Sri Sri in almost every answer?”

“Because I like them,” I said, putting on the air of a big admirer.

And then… right at that moment… the lion smiled… the mouse panicked!

“Alright, you may go,” said the lion.

“Phew…” thought the mouse, and walked out.

Later, a list was pasted on the office wall. Some people had been selected as Trainee Sub-Editors. And this “mouse” was also on that list.

In that organization, Trainee Sub-Editor was a very small post. Still, the fact that the newspaper owner himself spent ten minutes interviewing candidates for such a small job really surprised me. Later I understood—he paid attention to every single detail. More than that, his focus was always on the foundation. That, I believe, was the secret of his success.

I didn’t work in the Eenadu for very long, so I don’t know much about its internal workings or about Sri Ramoji Rao’s style of functioning. After that day, I never saw him again.

When I read the news that he was no more, that old lion-and-mouse incident came back to my mind.

This is my small tribute, in words, to that great business titan!

At the Eenadu, we received really good training. Even today, I clearly remember some of those experiences.

Kondaveeti Venkata Kavi garu, who wrote the dialogues for the movie Dana Veera Soora Karna, used to come and take our classes. Senior journalists like Varadachari garu and Patanjali garu taught us the finer aspects of journalism.

Both of them were very gentle and had a special ability to notice each person’s strengths. Based on that, they would ask us to translate news from English into Telugu.

Once, when Patanjali garu found out that I had done my post-graduation in science, he asked me to translate a science-related item (about planets or rocket launches). Since I had read Nanduri’s Vishwadarsanam, I felt it would be easy. I finished it in about fifteen minutes and gave it to him.

Later, he called me and circled one word I had written with red ink.

“What is this?” he asked.

“Kaksha (revenge),” I said.

He laughed and said, “It sounds like the planets are holding grudges!”

I still didn’t understand. Then he smiled and explained:

“Planets move in an orbit (kakshya), not around hatred or bitterness.”

Only then did I realize my mistake. And I also understood something else — how kindly and simply he pointed out an error. Not everyone has that quality. Especially people in authority are often egoistic.

I also learnt one more lesson: it is impossible to work as a journalist without making mistakes. But seniors should have the magnanimity to correct them.

At the Andhra Prabha, Vasudeva Dikshitulu garu used to point out errors in the same generous way. Later, I often repeated his words to my juniors:

“You can make a hundred mistakes — that’s okay. But never repeat the same mistake.”

If you follow this rule, mistakes won’t recur, and after some time, you can work almost without making any errors. That was the principle he taught us.

While I was learning journalism at the Eenadu, Varadachari garu once told me,

“Your writing style is good. You’ll become a good journalist.”

Whenever someone praises me, my right hand automatically goes up and taps my left shoulder — that’s my habit. I’ve mentioned it earlier too. Even then, my right hand almost went up, but I stopped myself because it wouldn’t look proper.

Before joining the Eenadu, I thought the post of sub-editor was something very big — next only to the editor. My logic was simple and childish: if you are a sub-editor today, tomorrow the “sub” will disappear and you’ll become the editor!

Later, I learnt the reality. There are many posts in between, many gaps, and many obstacles — and a lot of “magic” that my logic couldn’t understand.

As I had entered journalism with such naivety , I faced many bitter experiences rather than happy ones in the beginning. Some people even said I wasn’t fit for this profession. Many times, I felt like quitting. But instead, my determination and stubbornness grew stronger.

The resolve to succeed in the very place where I was told I wouldn’t succeed — that determination alone kept my journalism journey going nonstop for 40 years. And it is still going on.

During my time at the Eenadu, I made two or three close friends. Among them were Jandhyala Sarath Babu and Telidevara Bhanumurthy. (I feel bad I haven’t mentioned the others — they might feel bad too!)

I’m still very close to Jandhyala. Bhanumurthy has a serious demeanour, but inside he has a very soft heart. He arranged a room for me next to his family portion in Begumpet.

“For a bachelor, one room is enough,” he used to say.

His words and behaviour always impressed me. He spoke in the Telangana dialect, and since I was from the Krishna river region, I couldn’t understand many of his words at first. Even today, our friendship is the same.

As soon as I joined the Eenadu, a complimentary newspaper used to be delivered to me every morning. I felt very proud of that.

Around the same time, the Eenadu management started an English newspaper and appointed Vakati Panduranga Rao garu as editor. Later, they also introduced “Soma” fruit drinks into the market. On both occasions, the Eenadu employees were given one month’s salary as a bonus.

My room in Begumpet was close to the Eenadu office which was in Khairatabad. Then I used to visit my elder uncle, Kanuri Ramalingeswara Rao, who lived in Chikkadapalli. Once, when I told him that I had received an extra month’s salary, he felt very happy and advised me to buy a table fan. Not only that, he took me to the shop himself and bought one for me. That fan worked well for many years. Around 2010, when I was working at TV5 and living in Manikonda, our apartment watchman asked for it, so we gave it to him.

Later, the Andhra Prabha newspaper published an advertisement saying that Sub-Editor posts were available and that postgraduates would be given priority. They clearly mentioned that the posts were for the Vijayawada edition. I applied. Just like the Civil Services exams with prelims and mains, Andhra Prabha also conducted two written tests. For the first test, they allowed us to write from home. They asked us to write essays on four topics: science, spirituality, politics, and an accident. While writing the political essay, as usual, my friend Kasthala Vijaya Babu gave me suggestions. I completed all four essays and sent them by post.

A week later, I was informed that there would be a main exam and an interview and that I should come to Vijayawada. I went. At that time (around 1984), the Andhra Prabha office was in Poornanandam Peta, very close to the railway station and not too far from the bus station. In those days, the two famous restaurants were Hotel Mamatha and Durga Bhavan and due to their proximity to the bus station they were always crowded. Later, when the bus station was shifted, their importance declined.

The Andhra Prabha office stood in a spacious compound. Unlike the Eenadu, it was not a four-storey building, and unlike Khairatabad, it was not in a crowded area. Compared to Hyderabad, life in Vijayawada felt calm and easy to me. That is why, even today, though my wife Sridevi and I live in Hyderabad (Kokapet), for certain reasons, we like Vijayawada much more. Some time ago, when we visited Vijayawada, seeing Poornanandam Peta road where the Andhra Prabha office once stood and also Satyanarayanapuram, we felt as if we could breathe more freely. I will write separately about our connection with Satyanarayanapuram.

In front of the Andhra Prabha compound there were big trees. Inside, there was a small temple, and behind it were tin sheds. Somehow, I felt that this atmosphere suited me. It felt as though God had heard my wish.

In the main exam next there were four or five questions. This time, legal items and film-related topics were also included. Since I already had some experience by then, I wrote confidently. Many postgraduates like me had come for the test. When the list of those who passed the main exam was put up, my name was on it.

There was a canteen on one side of the compound, and they asked us to sit there. At that time, I did not know that this canteen would later become the place of many experiences in my life.

Then they called me in for the interview. I was asked to enter a large room. I wondered who would be inside — one person or many? When I went in, I remember seeing four people. One elderly man, wearing a traditional dhoti, sat calmly, lost in thought. I did not know his name then. Later I came to know that he was Potturi Venkateswara Rao garu, who had earlier worked at the Eenadu. Seated beside him were Vasudeva Dikshitulu garu, Ajanta garu, and one more person.

They asked me to sit. I thought to myself, “These men seem to be courteous and dignified people.” They asked me several questions, and I answered them.

Then Potturi garu asked me,

“Why do you want to leave Eenadu and join Andhra Prabha?”

I did not have an immediate answer. I could not avoid the question either. There was no time to think.

I said hesitantly,

“I like Vijayawada, Sir. I am from Nandigama. My mother is unwell. The Eenadu is not granting me leaves… hence…”

I was giving disjointed and awkward answers.

He said,

“You know we won’t give many holidays here either, right?”

I replied,

“That’s okay, sir. At least on my weekly off, I can go and see my mother. It’s nearby.”

Maybe the emotional appeal about my mother worked — I don’t know. But I did get the job.

It must have been an auspicious moment. From that moment onwards, my work at the Andhra Prabha, Vijayawada office continued for nearly two decades, gathering countless experiences along the way.

When I came to know that I had been selected in the interview, I felt very happy. I went to the bus station and boarded a bus to Nandigama. For some reason, a line from Vemana came to my mind:

“Even a spoonful of milk from a sacred cow is enough.” (Gangi govu paalu …)

That was the moment my new phase of life truly began.

No Interviews…

After facing an interview at the Andhra Prabha, I never again went through a formal, systematic interview anywhere else in my career. Whether it was Telugu One, TV 5, or Taranga, I was selected not through interviews but through friendly, informal conversations—more like chatting with friends rather than being evaluated.

Once, when I was working as an FM News Editor at the All India Radio, Hyderabad, I took the news bulletin and went into the studio. At that time, a live programme by astrologer Vakkantham Chandramouli garu was being broadcast from the FM station. I slowly opened the door and went in. The RJ gestured to me to wait for a while. I quietly sat on a chair without making any noise.

After some time, the programme ended. Then it was news time. The RJ pushed the microphone in front of me, and I read the news. Vakkantham garu stayed there until I finished. After that, we both came out. He asked me about myself, and I told him I worked at Andhra Prabha and that this was a part-time job. He was very happy and asked, “Can I see your office?” I invited him to come.

Just as he said, he came one day. At that time, I was working in the Andhra Prabha Sunday Magazine section. Vakkantham garu sat beside me and observed my work for a while. Then he asked, “I want a satirical write-up on Chandrababu garu. Can you help?”

“Of course, why not?” I said, and within half an hour I typed it out on the computer, took a printout, and gave it to him. He read it with great interest and said, “It’s good.” He asked if he could take the printout with him, and that’s how our acquaintance turned into friendship.

About four or five days later, early one morning, I got a phone call from the US. Arikatla Venkat garu, the owner of the Great Andhra website, was on the line. He spoke to me very warmly, as if he had known me for a long time, and after talking for quite a while, he immediately made me come to an agreement that I should write daily articles for his website. I recall this incident to show that this opportunity also came in a friendly and informal atmosphere.

Working with the well-known cartoonist Mallik garu at Telugu One, and my associations with Kandula Ramesh, Kommineni, and Brahmananda Reddy at TV5, all proved useful in my career. I will talk about those experiences later.

The mouse that once jumped and danced in front of the lion later learned how to behave with others. Gradually, in journalism, it created its own “mark” and “brand.” Behind this were decades of hard work. “To work until the last breath”—that was all this “mouse” knew. That is the blessing God has given to this tiny creature.