elcome luxury, especially
because it was free. I say this because Herald was then
paying trainee-subs Rs 400 per month. Not enough to
keep body and soul together. So, when I was confirmed
and my salary jumped to Rs 750, I moved into a new
economic bracket of professionals who could afford to
buy Maggie two-minute noodles. The Rs 750 put an extra
bounce in my walk and the chin vent a notch higher,
even though I still had to depend on my Dad for clothes.

The only reporter we had was Rajesh Singh who was very
good at chess and devoted a great deal of his time
playing Rajan Narayan, the editor. Apart from his
writing skills, he was adept in getting other subs to
buy him cups of tea.

It was at the Herald that I first met Elston Soares
alias Paku (some years later, we met again at Newslink,
the Belgaum-published English-language sister
publication of Tarun Bharat). He had a huge grin, wrote
with his left hand, ate with his left hand and edited
copy with his left hand. In short, he was a `leftie'.
He had an interesting sense of humour. I am told he
coined the term `Romi-Marathi' for the language written
by some correspondents.

Apart from the tea, another luxury enjoyed by
sub-editors living in and around Panjim was a home drop
at night in the office jeep. On one or two occasions I
remember being dropped in the Patrao's black Mercedes
to the Don Bosco Hostel. This luxury was withdrawn
after we formed an employees union several years later.

This was also the time when I met Alexyz, the
cartoonist. He came across as a very friendly person
with a benign face covered with a lot of hair, mostly
black; a very hearty laugh and a penchant for practical
jokes. I remember him standing on St Tome street and
directing all passersby to the Herald. The poor souls
would enter the office with blank looks not knowing
what had hit them.

Those were the days when the post office was a bigger
landmark and Herald was referred to as `behind the post
office'. So Alexyz once sent us a cartoon enclosed in
an envelope. It said: 'To Rajan Narayan, behind the
post office; From Alexyz, behind the bars.' That was Alexyz.

A few weeks after I was formally accepted at
trainee-sub-editor a local farmer, this was before the
advent of progressive farmers, or whatever they call
them these days, horticulturists and what not... So, a
local farmer came to the office with a very long
snake-gourd. Since volunteers were hard to come by, I
was order