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When Shantanu Datta, then resident editor of Indian Express asked me in his staccato, point blank way what I saw in Deccan Herald  that I wanted to quit Indian Express (he meant THE Indian Express, THE upholder of truth, THE national daily), I had no answer. (I was 21 and I didn't have answers for many things. That's well, another story.)

I haven't yet figured out what I really saw in Deccan Herald that September (when I got the offer letter after a typical Deccanesque two-month wait) and what I kept on 'seeing' for the past nearly nine years. I only had vague notions to go by. DH was then actually 'Karnataka's leading daily' and this I knew. I had always been an Indian Express fan more so  because it used to carry full page movie advertisements on Fridays and I used to sneak to the sound studio on the third floor of our house to grab a copy and scan them feverishly for Aamir Khan's pictures. But my father always insisted on making me read DH. DH was even then boring :P but it was reliable. If anybody wanted to confirm whether day after was a government holiday, nah they didn't reach out for Express. DH it was. Exam timings have changed? DH again. Though in a house of more than 45 people, it was hard to find the paper by the end of the day.

But I digress. I had had a fun 24 odd days of internship in DH and that had kinda familiarised me with the place. But that did not prepare me for my first day, which happened to be ahem Karnataka Rajyotsava. I, with a 21-year-old's naivete, expected gaiety.What I got instead was the strangest welcome where the big boss (let's just not take names ok..those who know will know :)) warned me in conspiratorial tones that DH is full of schemers and people who indulge in politics and I should guard my back. And then I was put on the 'State Desk' where there were on that day only two people, one of whom took one look at me, deciphered that  I could understand Kannada, fumbled with some 'computer sheets' and thrust a barely visible printout of a Honnali datelined story on an Ambedkar statue installation at me.  

My last day happened to be bang in the middle of the week, a Wednesday. I, with my 30-year-old's naivete, expected sobriety. What I got instead was well, gaiety, first at a lunch with chairs fit for kings :), and then a half-mad photo session when I was desperately trying to talk on the phone to a royal-sounding 'Chandralekha', figuring out tax exemption and smiling at the camera. I still haven't seen the photos. And then of course, a proper escort right to the edge of M G Road by two dear friends. (Now you two, stop thinking I am being mawkish.I am not. And I do think chocolates are overrated.)  

In between these two days, there have been several bright, lighted, dimmed and dulled ones. What I did see, rather felt in these many days was a butterbeer kind of comfort -- DH was boring, solid, not-so-reliable; it was also like a comforting duvet, an escapist, indulgent cave, an un-guilty addiction. Yeah, I know,  it does not sound like an office. But that was how it was for me. All good things come to an end and am so glad they actually do and that's not just a proverb. I am no Snape to squeeze out memory as a white film and fill it in a vial. I can only list out what's floating on top of the muck that is my head.  

* DH before the so-called 'modern front office' had a playgroundish feel. With a lever kind of thing that you had to push to enter. Will never forget this one.

* The 'first' editor was the biggest enigma in the office. He was, if you will, DH's very own Aditya Chopra.

* What a draw the canteen was for us poor starved souls from Express...I had even smuggled in two friends once. And you had to buy coupons for 10 p 15 p etc from the 'front office'.

* The 5 'o' clock break was one of DH's best traditions, which is sadly sadly not really so exciting anymore thanks to change in shift timings. The factory siren, and then the 'collecting' of state desk people to troop out in unity, the old canteen's school benches and that mad evening when everybody tried to squeeze into a single bench and in a particularly boisterous moment, a particularly sensitive girl was pushed and pushed to the edge and then went thud!

* The solving of the mystery of our then Bhadravathi correspondent's great insistence in excruciating tones of servility to take a poor quality photo of a blood donation camp -- it was his photo! He was lying on the bed donating blood! * The many excellent imitations of Gundu Rao, practiced to perfection by several. * The story of Pothan Joseph's ghost

* The great trio of Seetharam Kesari, Narayan Swamy and Gayathri Nivas (sorry guys, without taking names, this was no fun) shouting at each other and the rest of the world every evening, unfailingly, all three in three different pitches (gayathri's exasperated high pitch, narain's booming low pitch, and seetharam's quivering nowhere pitch). All tense, harassed and overworked but enjoying it nevertheless. That was very obvious.

* The big fascination for the internet desk (this was before all desks had their own internet..) I routinely used up all the charm I had to send one mail a day to Siddharth.

* The 3 to 10 van driver who saw ghosts near Konankunte and enjoyed regaling us poor souls with tales of women in white stopping his gaadi.

* The  night when the same driver drove with such energy that the aforementioned particularly sensitive girl was thrown from the seat facing the road to the one opposite...a full arch.

* The midnight feasts -- once from Pizza Hut, several times trips to the seedy Savera, the chaiwala...

* The mystery of the spiralling staircase. Why is it there? Who has climbed the entire length till now?

* The shoe and sweater allowances. Loved them.    

Actually there are several more but one should stop somewhere, shouldn't one? As always, would love to hear what memories of DH float in your heads.