AS I WRITE this essay, I have one foot in 2025 and the other in 1959. That’s the year British-Canadian novelist Arthur Hailey published his novel The Final Diagnosis, a staggering saga about medical decisions and hospital drama in Burlington, Pennsylvania. In the climax of the book, an experienced pathologist cautions his younger colleague about the perils of seniority, specifically, the way the managerial mantle slowly chips away at one’s core skill.
“You’ll sit in that chair and the phone will ring, and it’ll be the administrator — talking about budgets. Next minute one of the lab staff will want to quit; and you’ll have to smooth that out. Then someone wanting some piece of information. And when you’re through seeing him there’ll be another and another and another. Until at the end of a day, you’ll wonder what happened to it and what you’ve accomplished, what you’ve achieved.”
With all the emotion and wisdom of someone who has been there, done that, and learned things the hard way, this fictive gentleman implores his young counterpart not to let the trappings of corporate success take away from the actual job, the real work.
“That’s the way the next day can go, and the next, and the one after that. Until you find a year has slipped by, and another, and another. And while you’re doing all this you’ll send other people on courses to hear about the new things in medicine — because you can’t take time out to go yourself. And you’ll quit investigation and research; and because you work so hard, you’ll be tired at night, and you won’t feel like reading textbooks. And then suddenly, one day, you’ll find everything you knew is out of date. That’s when it’s too late to change.”
His advice to the young pathologist is to strive to stay relevant by never losing touch with the real, juicy work, despite the time-consuming, often dry, duties that leadership brings with it.
“Don’t let it happen to you! Lock yourself in a closet if you have to! Get away from the phone and the files and paper, and read and learn and listen and keep up to date! Then they can never touch you…”
Return of the byline
I’m not a pathologist. I’m a journalist. But I was reminded of the pan-profession wisdom in Hailey’s fiction when I sat down to write this year-end article, which has turned out to be a meditation on my recent relationship with the juice of journalism. It has been two years since I moved from Mumbai to Sunnyvale and of all the milestones I’ve touched thus far, the one I’m reveling in is the return of my byline. It’s significant because in my pre-migration avatar as managing editor of afaqs.com, India’s most trusted chronicler of advertising-related news, I had drifted too far away from writing. If I picture the Gaussian curve as a mountain of responsibility, then somewhere along the climb from reporter to editor in Mumbai, my byline faded away — only to reappear on the climb down from editor to humble freelance journalist in The United States.
Writing my way back into relevance
This came up in a recent post on LinkedIn, in which I admit, “The more I climbed the editorial ladder, the less I wrote. It’s hardly an original problem; many an editor has encountered this irony. Slowly, I went from being a prolific reporter to a manager of people… these people wrote and I who led them, didn’t. I did edit their work but ours wasn’t among publications that gave editing credit at the bottom of each story. With seniority, my byline disappeared. The thing that put me in the editor’s seat was no longer there.”
To which, my former boss and mentor Sreekant Khandekar, co-founder and CEO of afaqs, responded, “Becoming an editor often throttles the writer within. I could see that happening to you. In spite of my urging you somehow couldn’t get down to writing.”
He went on to surmise why that was the case: “I think it wasn’t for lack of time. Writing requires some clear space in your head — while the minutiae of being an editor creates constant clutter. You are free of that now. As with every other skill, the more you write the better you get. I can see that with you, too. Reading your pieces is a delight. Don’t you ever dare stop!”
I didn’t set out to become a freelance journalist. For an immigrant on a visa, in a hostile job market, it just became the best way to hustle.
We spoke just last week while I roamed the streets of San Jose, surveying the beautiful Christmas lights, and he said he’s thrilled that I’m writing my way into relevance again. But as I continue my time-consuming hunt for full-time work here, I hope I can remain as prolific in the coming year. I also hope writing doesn’t remain at odds with wealth; truth is, lovely as it is to be a busy writer again, it is typically less rewarding than editorial work.
I didn’t set out to become a freelance journalist. For an immigrant on a visa, in a hostile job market, it just became the best way to hustle. But it has been a great way to get acquainted with my new surroundings, for the best way to get to know a new place is to report on it. Every story has been a crash course in a different aspect of local culture and community. Where others see people, I see stories. And my discovery of the painfully honest personal essay has been a real clincher.
Over 24 months, I’ve written over 100 articles across local publications like India Currents, The Palo Alto Weekly, The Almanac, Mountain View Voice, Redwood City Pulse, KQED and The Nob Hill Gazette, among others.
But hey, who’s counting?
About the author
Ashwini Gangal is a fiction writer based in San Francisco, who has published stories and poems in literary magazines in the U.K. and Croatia.
Source: 100 bylines by the Bay: Former editor in India reclaims reporter's stripes as U.S.
