The Benison Of Job Rejections

My dear graduates, I am going to hope for you that each of you gets rejected for a job in exactly the same way. Because if you don’t understand what your passion is, it helps to have an interviewer that does. Because, in the profession you have chosen, there will be many reasons to quit, and only one reason to stay—and that is the passion to tell a story.

You must think I am weird—you’ve invited me to address you on your graduation, and here I am wishing you job rejections. If you think that’s bad, let me tell you what else I wish for you:

1. I wish for you a really mean boss—one who makes you cry. Let’s be honest—this is a tough business, one where you have to push and bully your way to a story. You need to develop a thick skin early on. One of my first professional memories was of being pushed off a ladder in a media stampede outside a court, when I got thrown to the floor and the mike dropped from my hand. Instead of giving me any sympathy, my cameraman fired me up. I learned right then, both in the field and in my newsroom, you have to stand still as others try to push you around. So when the boss blows you up for missing the big interview of the day, you learn to go to the washroom, weep a little, and then go get the interview. If you get a boss who says, “Never mind, next time...”, honestly, you will get nowhere in the business.
2. I wish for you many, many days spent in the heat. So much of our job requires you to stand on someone else’s sidewalk, waiting for the person who lives inside to come out or go in. It’s a great thing to get used to. You will make many friends along the way, as sitting around on a sidewalk doing nothing but sweating all day is a great time to start a conversation. Sometimes the scoop of the day goes to the reporter who stays on that sidewalk the longest. Last month, I reached the sidewalk outside Aung San Suu Kyi’s house at dawn. I didn’t get to speak to her that morning, but I did make friends with Tai Chi Toe, her dog.
3. I wish for you many unwell colleagues. That does sound horrid, but honestly, it’s how I got most of my early breaks. You get sent on an assignment only because someone else is indisposed. All I can say is, learn to thank those colleagues, and always say yes to any opportunity to fill in.
4. I wish for you assignments in places where telephones and computers don’t work—because the joy of heading out to a remote area, where you work on one story for three days without having to report back, no hour-on-hour deadline pressure, is something you must do. My own favourite story was covering a computer program that helped fishermen predict storms and tsunamis. To shoot, we had to wake up at 3 am to go out with the fishermen, and then come back to the beach and watch as they returned with their nets full of fish. Three hours, just the sound of the waves, practically alone on southern India’s spectacular Coromandel coast...pure happiness.
5. I wish for you interviews with many eccentric, quirky people—because those are the ones who will give you the story. The polite, politically correct, and very bland ones never will.
6. I could go on, but because I am not completely evil, I wish for you understanding parents. Especially when they realise you will not be able to move out of home very quickly—my first salary paid for my conveyance costs, my second one only took care of meals on every alternate day. You will never get brilliantly paid in this business, and as I said earlier, the only reason to stay is because you love the profession. They will have to be understanding in other ways—Jammu-Kashmir elections in 1996 ended one week before my wedding. I remember my mother actually called me and threatened to call it off if I didn’t come home to choose my sari. Two days before the wedding, my boss offered me an assignment in Afghanistan, where President Najibullah had just been hanged. Okay, that one I didn’t take up. As you grow older, I will wish for you understanding husbands, wives and children. When I walked out of the house on the day after Christmas in 2004 to report on the tsunami, I told my kids I would be back for lunch. Lunch, yes, but two weeks later.
7. Finally, I hope that along the way, you learn to love what you do. That you watch out for the strange things you will learn—from the least expected people. I learned from Gen Musharraf that he only joined the army to make his mother happy. Why did his mother want him to? Because she liked the uniforms! That Narendra Modi’s mother won’t live with him unless he gets married, or she will have to take care of him, rather than being taken care of. That prime minister Manmohan Singh’s wife last remembers going on a family vacation in 1976 (Nainital). And Ted Turner doesn’t use the internet—but always ensures he has a girlfriend who can handle his e-mail.

There’s no real end-goal here. Unlike other professions, there aren’t too many promotions in journalism, no clear-cut career path, a handful of role models, no retirement age. With that in mind, enjoy every bit of the journey, dear graduates. It’s all you’ve got.

(Suhasini Haidar is a senior editor at CNN-IBN and presents the weekly show WorldView. This address was delivered at the World Media Academy, Delhi.)