It’s been a long while since I blogged on something that’s been on my mind.
To be very frank, my mind is overloaded with a whole lot of matter (excluding the biological grey and white ones), from the worries of getting a secure job to the anxieties of learning how to boil milk—every problem, to my mind, is like a major Chemistry experiment. You can never underestimate the potential of its inference. Might end up burning the whole lab or might simply produce yet another pungent-smelling gas.
I have been occupied with a lot these days, related to journalism and writing in some way or the other, of course.
But what is worth remembering and typing about is my recent endeavor in an area I’m just beginning to get a grasp of—the job market in the media industry.
Well, my Masters’ course ends in a matter of days, after which, we are all hoping to get secure jobs. I hope to get one that will pay me well, give me immense job satisfaction, provide me with an opportunity to cover stories I would want to work on and keep me happily involved and busy (not necessarily in that order). Let’s not dwell on how reasonable or unreasonable my demands are for the time being and let me begin narrating my first experience of a job interview. How I survived it. How I cleared it. And more importantly, how I rejected it.
Our college Placement Cell works pretty smoothly and transparently. However, they expect the students to make their own decisions as to which ones they’d like to sit for. On one level, it’s a huge amount of freedom given to beginners and freshers like us, while on the other, for indecisive souls like us, it’s madness to choose and narrow down on the ones we’d really like to sit for. I hadn’t had a clue that there are so many media organizations existing in our country until I saw the job openings and vacancies in each one of them.
Until I stumbled upon one in a leading daily newspaper in South—The Deccan Chronicle. DC is on the lookout for feature reporters in Chennai, Madurai and Trichy. Or so the ad announced proudly. This seemed something for me to invest enough thought in. The newspaper seemed pretty OK, the job profile looked like something I wanted to do and the place to work seemed averagely decent to me. And hence I decided to apply. And got a call for an interview too.
That’s when my mind began to do the Jazz. An interview call. An interview that will decide whether you’re eligible to work under a brand called The Deccan Chronicle. An interview in a city that you have hardly visited. An interview that decides your future. An interview that can cause some serious mental damage if you screw.
It’s amazing how easily I can get pessimistic in my way of thinking and looking at things. Situations like these work very well in rekindling the nihilist in me. I went to Chennai, like my other colleagues, with the hope of impressing the staff there with my “honesty, dedication and commitment to work” (exact words from my CV that are mentioned under the sub-head “Objective”). So, they were on the lookout for feature writers, huh? I bet I have it in me. Or so I convinced my staggering soul.
They held a two hour written test before the Big I, which went surprisingly decent. I wasn’t expecting the same as I hadn’t been reading the papers for almost a week now due to various factors. But they asked layman questions like naming the chief ministers of particular states. Most of the questions were subjective (my area of specialty) and I almost smiled to myself when I submitted my finished answer script. To my relief and dismay, the interview was taken in the presence of each one of us—relief because I did not have to face the interviewer in a claustrophobic space shooting random questions at me (most common being “tell me something about yourself”. I don’t think I’ll be able to answer that even when I’m 80) and dismay because now we were all about to be stripped in front of each other.
Fortunately or unfortunately, my turn came in last. So, that gave me the chance to absorb the kind of questions he was shooting at everyone. On the flipside, the butterflies in my stomach kept on growing in size and number. While I was dealing with my moody stomach, I tried making sense of the questions that were being asked. Here are just a few. The answers were the ones that were going on in my head while my colleagues were being grilled patiently by the interviewer:
Q. If you were to write a bitchy article about Salman Khan and Aishwarya Rai, what headline would you give?
A: Huh? Excuse me? Bitchy article? Bitchy article? Bitchy article?
Q. What article would you write for a page entitled: “Bootylicious”?
A: I’m sorry, what? How the hell do you spell that and what do you write in it anyways? Spa? Hell! I need one myself right now.
Q. We were the first ones to cover Lara Dutta and Mahesh Bhupathi’s wedding. We’re known for getting the news first.
A. Wow. Really? That’s pace. No wonder, people don’t know a thing about the budget!
Q. We’re looking for lifestyle reporters. Which means we’d be more interested in knowing the fabric that was used on the bed of the hotel in which they stayed for the night.
A. OK. That’s it. I don’t care about that. And I don’t want my readers to care about it either. Why did I come to Chennai? What am I even doing here?
And then the sword hanged over me. He asked me what lifestyle is. Instead of saying: “Believe me, that’s exactly what I’ve been thinking the moment you said you wanted lifestyle reporters”, I ended up mumbling something about way of living life and food and clothes and accessories and such like. This crap seemed to impress him.
I came back thinking if I had known they’re looking for people to cover Page 3 parties, I wouldn’t have applied in the first place. Honestly, I have nothing against this kind of reporting and journalism. But I don’t see myself doing it. Maybe I might eventually do it after 10 years or so. But, I wouldn’t want to begin my career with lifestyle reporting. Now, if this is so easy to say to you—an unknown, never-met and virtual reader—I don’t know why I couldn’t say the same when I got a call again this afternoon inviting me to come to Chennai again, after having been selected. I ended up mumbling some random jargon about myself and my job requirements.
People in and around me are congratulating for having nailed my first ever job interview. What’s the point of celebrating something I know I do not wish to do? But I guess, if nothing else, I gained some experience about facing interviews. Although, the next time I’m called for another, the butterflies so committed to my poor, little stomach, will still not leave me and my tormented soul.
To be very frank, my mind is overloaded with a whole lot of matter (excluding the biological grey and white ones), from the worries of getting a secure job to the anxieties of learning how to boil milk—every problem, to my mind, is like a major Chemistry experiment. You can never underestimate the potential of its inference. Might end up burning the whole lab or might simply produce yet another pungent-smelling gas.
I have been occupied with a lot these days, related to journalism and writing in some way or the other, of course.
But what is worth remembering and typing about is my recent endeavor in an area I’m just beginning to get a grasp of—the job market in the media industry.
Well, my Masters’ course ends in a matter of days, after which, we are all hoping to get secure jobs. I hope to get one that will pay me well, give me immense job satisfaction, provide me with an opportunity to cover stories I would want to work on and keep me happily involved and busy (not necessarily in that order). Let’s not dwell on how reasonable or unreasonable my demands are for the time being and let me begin narrating my first experience of a job interview. How I survived it. How I cleared it. And more importantly, how I rejected it.
Our college Placement Cell works pretty smoothly and transparently. However, they expect the students to make their own decisions as to which ones they’d like to sit for. On one level, it’s a huge amount of freedom given to beginners and freshers like us, while on the other, for indecisive souls like us, it’s madness to choose and narrow down on the ones we’d really like to sit for. I hadn’t had a clue that there are so many media organizations existing in our country until I saw the job openings and vacancies in each one of them.
Until I stumbled upon one in a leading daily newspaper in South—The Deccan Chronicle. DC is on the lookout for feature reporters in Chennai, Madurai and Trichy. Or so the ad announced proudly. This seemed something for me to invest enough thought in. The newspaper seemed pretty OK, the job profile looked like something I wanted to do and the place to work seemed averagely decent to me. And hence I decided to apply. And got a call for an interview too.
That’s when my mind began to do the Jazz. An interview call. An interview that will decide whether you’re eligible to work under a brand called The Deccan Chronicle. An interview in a city that you have hardly visited. An interview that decides your future. An interview that can cause some serious mental damage if you screw.
It’s amazing how easily I can get pessimistic in my way of thinking and looking at things. Situations like these work very well in rekindling the nihilist in me. I went to Chennai, like my other colleagues, with the hope of impressing the staff there with my “honesty, dedication and commitment to work” (exact words from my CV that are mentioned under the sub-head “Objective”). So, they were on the lookout for feature writers, huh? I bet I have it in me. Or so I convinced my staggering soul.
They held a two hour written test before the Big I, which went surprisingly decent. I wasn’t expecting the same as I hadn’t been reading the papers for almost a week now due to various factors. But they asked layman questions like naming the chief ministers of particular states. Most of the questions were subjective (my area of specialty) and I almost smiled to myself when I submitted my finished answer script. To my relief and dismay, the interview was taken in the presence of each one of us—relief because I did not have to face the interviewer in a claustrophobic space shooting random questions at me (most common being “tell me something about yourself”. I don’t think I’ll be able to answer that even when I’m 80) and dismay because now we were all about to be stripped in front of each other.
Fortunately or unfortunately, my turn came in last. So, that gave me the chance to absorb the kind of questions he was shooting at everyone. On the flipside, the butterflies in my stomach kept on growing in size and number. While I was dealing with my moody stomach, I tried making sense of the questions that were being asked. Here are just a few. The answers were the ones that were going on in my head while my colleagues were being grilled patiently by the interviewer:
Q. If you were to write a bitchy article about Salman Khan and Aishwarya Rai, what headline would you give?
A: Huh? Excuse me? Bitchy article? Bitchy article? Bitchy article?
Q. What article would you write for a page entitled: “Bootylicious”?
A: I’m sorry, what? How the hell do you spell that and what do you write in it anyways? Spa? Hell! I need one myself right now.
Q. We were the first ones to cover Lara Dutta and Mahesh Bhupathi’s wedding. We’re known for getting the news first.
A. Wow. Really? That’s pace. No wonder, people don’t know a thing about the budget!
Q. We’re looking for lifestyle reporters. Which means we’d be more interested in knowing the fabric that was used on the bed of the hotel in which they stayed for the night.
A. OK. That’s it. I don’t care about that. And I don’t want my readers to care about it either. Why did I come to Chennai? What am I even doing here?
And then the sword hanged over me. He asked me what lifestyle is. Instead of saying: “Believe me, that’s exactly what I’ve been thinking the moment you said you wanted lifestyle reporters”, I ended up mumbling something about way of living life and food and clothes and accessories and such like. This crap seemed to impress him.
I came back thinking if I had known they’re looking for people to cover Page 3 parties, I wouldn’t have applied in the first place. Honestly, I have nothing against this kind of reporting and journalism. But I don’t see myself doing it. Maybe I might eventually do it after 10 years or so. But, I wouldn’t want to begin my career with lifestyle reporting. Now, if this is so easy to say to you—an unknown, never-met and virtual reader—I don’t know why I couldn’t say the same when I got a call again this afternoon inviting me to come to Chennai again, after having been selected. I ended up mumbling some random jargon about myself and my job requirements.
People in and around me are congratulating for having nailed my first ever job interview. What’s the point of celebrating something I know I do not wish to do? But I guess, if nothing else, I gained some experience about facing interviews. Although, the next time I’m called for another, the butterflies so committed to my poor, little stomach, will still not leave me and my tormented soul.
