Live dont just exist!

A Byline? Ohh Yes a Byline.

My lack of anything to say, iam surprised about how much i have to say on that. This is one nostalgic post, so take out that pink hankerchief, if u dont have a pink one u dont need one. It is about my first ever Byline, for those who dont know what a byline is, aww!!! get yourself a life, read This .

Its been two years since i started studying journalism, ok one and a half year to be exact, which means i went to college for the first time in 2006, but i got my first byline on November 18, 2000. Now dont stare at the date, the byline wasnt exactly in the wall street journal or anything but in a neighbourhood newspaper called Adyar Times . How i got to do that story, or rather interview would be a big story by itself, in short i tormented a reporter there, showed him stuff i wrote, made him give me a topic to write on, tortured my mom to drive me around and voila, the journalist was born. The reporter told me that i was to interview an olympic hockey player, he lived in the Adyar area, i was awestuck, armed with his landline telephone number i went home a happy girl that day. One thing about the whole thing was that i couldnt bring myself to remember the guys name, well he was sure a bigshot hockey player and everything but i had 2 keep looking down into a peice of paper to remember his name, it was 'Thirumalvalavan' he played for india at the Sydney olympics India had won two matches against Argentina and Spain. Now i dint know a thing about hockey, (i still dont) and dint know whom to ask either, i made up questions and showed them to my mom who gave me a perplexed look and said yea yea nice, then i called up the number i had, no one picked up, called again no the phone rang with all its musical notes in place, hmmmm sad story, use your hankeys now, no one picked up the phone for the next three days. On the fourth day a girl picked up, i say girl because she sounded like one, but i later realised that i shouldve probabily thought woman or 'lady'.

Me: Helo, can i speak 2 thirumalvaalaavan sir?

Girl: No, he is not home, veliapoikaru.

Me: when can i call back?

Girl: after half an hour

Me: Ok thank you :-) Bye

Girl: hmm

I called up after an hour, same dialougues, the hockey player wasnt home at all, this happened for the next two days, i gave up. My hopes of becoming a journalist were lost, i wasnt able to get another person talk to me what kinda journalist was i going to become. but then fate had it otherwise, this time my telephone rang, the olympic player had finally decided to go back home ;-) he found my number among loads of other mesages and calls and decided to call back. yipee my interview was set,

Well, Usually people go on and on how they thought a certain person would be full of attitude and wouldnt talk 2 them but wasnt that way and everything, my story however was the opposite, he wasnt rude to me or anything but simply refused to smile, so much for my 'smile through anything' technique. he answered most of my first questions in monosylablles and even my nonstop chatter dint get him to talk much. well, i ve done quite a few after that but that is one interview i will never forget. But my article came out that sunday and i actauly got to see stuff i wrote on black and white, quite an experience that was.

Well that was my nostalgic story of the day, will scan the article and put it up soon.

Pic- Google images.

The smell of a new book.

The smell of mud. Or rather the smell of the earth when it rains.

The aroma of most fruits.

Now this one had loadsa memories involved, there was this one biscuit factory on the way 2 my school and we always stopped by it in the evenings 2 catch the aura wafting through the air.

The smell of a cake (any cake) when its baking.

The aroma of fresh Coffee powder, Coffee.

Ps- Anyone who likes smells can take up this tag.