Night reporting is a rite of passage, a sort of christening that each reporter has to go through at some point in their career. This was an era when the 24-hour news channels were just launched. To stand up to their name they wanted at least one of their reporters to maintain a vigil on the night happenings in the maximum city. The whole night shift was considered as a punishment of sorts, a side posting in the bureaucratic parlance and ‘Chhal ni paali’ or ‘the shift of struggles’ in working class lingo.
In a surreal state, you would enter the empty office with groggy eyes fresh from the day-long sleep. The same newsroom which was buzzing with bustling activity with cameramen, anchors, reporters and editors would suddenly assume the form of a war-ravaged bunker. There would be the watchman and a lone cameraman praying that the night remains uneventful and they are able to catch their 40 winks peacefully.
The daily pressures of deadline and headline were absent however, nights in maximum city were anything but uneventful. One is never alone in a night shift but always accompanied with a barrage of reporters chasing police stations and fire controls to give them their daily dose of news. Occasionally political parleys to resolve bus and rickshaw strikes whose meetings lasted till late nights consumed reporting time of many scribes.
There is a set pattern of night reporting. There are fires and accidents in the city. A single or a double murder in the back of the beyond. Wall collapses are common in monsoon. The most eventful of night shift happenings would be when a newborn would be stolen from a municipal hospital. The night reporting coterie of all news channels would always be alert for any such happenings. The sole objective to keep their prowling editors eager to spot misses at bay.
The coterie was never perfect. There wes a certain Mr Braggadocios who had the rare distinction of doing night shifts and hold your breath only night shifts for 14 years in a row always hungry for a captive audience. The ‘Narcissus’ bragged how every police chowky held this flaming ember of night shifts in high esteem and how all newbie reporters were mediocre or ‘Paani kams’.
The most eventful coverage that I did was of a man who survived the ONGC helicopter crash by jumping in the sea in Uran. He had the most common surname in the entire coastal town. When our channel reached there late in the night we literally banged many a door in midnight with a mike in tow in order to finally reach this great survivor.
Night reporting is also a test in endurance and a crash course into the trappings of a city that never sleeps. For the hungry night worker, the Rajput hotel on L J Road in Mahim stays open from night to night and serves chicken as well as Jain Pavbhaji in the same place. The trusted all night tea store was the one near Dadar station bridge.
On a rare lean day, the night reporters coterie would go to Worli Chowpatty to take in some of the sea breeze. The rest of the night would pass sharing imaginary ghost stories anecdotes about a certain closed ‘ Hormuz’ bungalow belonging to a Parsi gentleman. The bungalow was always closed but the grass in the garden was always well manicured by some ‘unknown hands’.