Spice of Life | Spreading our wings, claiming half the sky

They were not there even in the days of yore as meek ones thriving in male patronage to the second set.They were there as equals sharing the same media update tables at the Chandigarh Press Club

Nirupama Dutt

The club was given leased space by the administration on what was Old Ropar Road cutting through what has become the city’s Sector 27. (Representative Image/HT)

As part of the veterans’ lunch at the Chandigarh Press Club, now a much-coveted place in the heart of the city as the institution stepped into its 42nd year, one thought with a smile how fledglings like us graduated to the ranks of senior citizens in what seemed too soon.

The club was given leased space by the administration on what was Old Ropar Road cutting through what has become the city’s Sector 27. The club with its lush lawns and old mango trees became a second home to many of us, including the young women journalists who were but a minority.

As Surinder Khullar, one of the well-regarded seniors of our time, recounted how his room beneath the UNI office in Sector 22 used to serve as the evening bar for reporters and the literati, one was transported to the past. He recalled how Punjabi journalist HS Sodhi pioneered the creation of this hub for scribes.

The society was registered in 1979 and one witnessed its memorable first get-together at the Electricity Guest House with none other than the legendary poet of the sub-continent, Faiz Ahmad Faiz, at an informal evening with city journalists. He recited some of his memorable verses like “Mujh se pehli si mohabbat meri mehboob na maang” and “Tum aaye ho na shab-e-intezar guzari hai”. Late Akhil Gautam, also with the UNI, noticing my writings on the arts asked me to arrange for a singer who could sing his ghazals and late Ratnika Tewari, kid sister to theatre singer Kamal Tewari, sang and won the poet’s praise.

As one sat holding red rose buds at the oldies’ do, it was patriarchal speeches by some of the senior males on their “heroic roles” in reporting during the days of militancy in Punjab. Well boys will be boys and they will boast so the few women journalists present took it in that spirit without recounting their own journeys. But it was for the pioneering women scribes of the city that the club provided space to spread their wings. They were not there even in the days of yore as meek ones thriving in male patronage to the second set. They were there as equals sharing the same media update tables and paying for their own drink and claiming half the sky. They earned their respect which was often shattered if they dared to contest for key seats, opposing ganging up of newspaper unions. But that too was a part of learning, growing up and understanding the system.

Girls will be girls so they don’t hold onto grudges too long. They turn to their work and quietly show their prowess. It was with this warm feeling, recalling old friends who were no longer there and reliving cherished professional moments that one walked out of this home away from home humming a Faiz ghazal: “Kab haath mein tera haath nahi, kab yaad mein tera saath nahi.”

nirudutt@gmail.com

The writer is a Chandigarh-based senior HT staffer