I was occupied in a small kitchen in a shared apartment in Katwaria Sarai, South Delhi. Four flatmates had already left for the day, and I, recently unemployed, with money running thin, was washing utensils at the sink. Not exactly the setting for a career-defining moment.
Nearly two weeks earlier, I had quit my first job without another one waiting.
Five thousand rupees a month, which was a decent sum for a journalism fresher in those years. Ten months in, I had seen how corporate filming worked, and how documentaries were constructed from the ground up, and I had done more than most entry-level people get to do. Partly because I was the only person on my boss’s team.
What I didn’t have was any idea what the next thing would be.
To keep myself afloat while making the rounds of production houses — CV in hand, hope intact — two colleagues from the same Jangpura basement office had stepped in. Losita and Shekhar worked in the print division of India Feature Service, a syndicated content outfit that supplied articles, columns, and editorial features to newspapers and magazines across the country. They suggested I write stories for them if I was interested.
The pay was mostly per word, so if you wrote 1,000 words, you could expect to make 1,000 rupees.
Shekhar even offered to collect the finished pieces from my apartment on his way to work, saving me the travel cost I could no longer justify. That small generosity would turn out to be among the most consequential things anyone has ever done for me.
The Morning Everything Changed
That particular morning, Shekhar arrived at my door to collect an article I had written — a cover story for a supplement of a national newspaper.
I noticed immediately that he was dressed differently. More formally than usual. The kind of careful dressing that signals something important is at stake.
I asked him what was going on.
He was interviewing at New Delhi Television that afternoon. NDTV, as it was known. He had heard that they were looking for a fresher to join the production team for their flagship show — The World This Week — and had applied. I stood there for a moment, speechless.
The World This Week: A show I had grown up watching — a weekly roundup of the most significant events and trends from around the world, produced with a rigour and visual sophistication that felt unlike anything else on Indian television at the time.
It was appointment viewing in a way that’s hard to explain now, when content is everywhere. Back then, that show was a window. And here was a door leading directly to it.
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” I said to Shekhar. “I would have applied too.”
“You are a correspondent,” he said, genuinely puzzled. “I didn’t know production would interest you.” He had meant no harm. He simply hadn’t known.
Even I hadn’t known, till that moment.
Taking A Chance
There was no time for regret.
Shekhar suggested we find a pay phone and try to reach NDTV directly. We found one nearby. Several calls later, I had the number.
I called the front desk and asked for the Chief Producer.
“She’s in the production control room. Call back later.” I called back. “She’s on the editing floor.”
I called again. And again.
On the fourth attempt, I got through to Shivani Jajodia, the Chief Producer.
I introduced myself, apologised for the cold call, explained that I had only just learned about the opening that morning, and asked whether I might be considered for the selection process that afternoon.
She said yes.
Shekhar offered to take me on his scooter. Money was running out faster than I wanted to admit, and the scooter ride saved me a fare I couldn’t easily spare. We arrived together, on time.
What Happened Next
I got the job. Shekhar didn’t.
That moment — sitting with that news — was one of the more complicated feelings I had experienced to that point. Gratitude and guilt arrived simultaneously, in proportions I couldn't quite sort. The person who had brought me there, who had unknowingly handed me a shot I had no business having that morning, had walked away with nothing.
I don’t think I ever fully found the words for that.
NDTV had not advertised the position. The opening had travelled by word of mouth through networks I wasn’t part of. I would never have known.
Without Shekhar arriving at my door that morning in his interview clothes, that chapter of my life simply wouldn’t have happened.
What The World Was Like
Walking into NDTV in the summer of 1996 was, to put it plainly, intimidating.
Doordarshan was still the only broadcaster in India at the time, and NDTV was among the few private firms producing content for it. Which meant that what we made was watched by effectively the entire news-viewing population of the country. The stakes were real, the standards were high, and the team reflected that.
Many of my colleagues had graduated from the country’s finest institutions.
They carried themselves with the quiet confidence of people who had always expected to be in rooms like this. I understood quickly that to hold my place there, I would need to give everything I had. Every single day.
It was also, I came to understand, an extraordinary moment to enter the industry. Private television news in India was in its earliest years. You could grow as fast as the industry itself was growing if you showed up and did the work.
And I did.
The Opportunity Lesson
What I learned is something I've turned over in my mind many times since: Opportunity rarely announces itself. More often, it arrives wearing someone else's clothes, on its way to something else entirely. Shekhar wasn't trying to open a door for me that morning. He was picking up an article and heading to his own interview. The moment that changed my life was, for him, an errand.
And that is the nature of the most consequential moments that don’t come labelled.
The other thing I’ve thought about often: I nearly missed it. If Shekhar had collected the article the night before, or if he’d been wearing his usual clothes and I hadn’t thought to ask, the conversation never would have happened. The timing was everything, and it was pure chance.
Thirty Years On
That day was exactly thirty years ago as I write this.
Thereafter, one thing led to another as careers sometimes do, not in a straight line, but through the accumulation of effort, presence, and fortunate timing. Opportunities presented themselves. I tried to make the most of each one.
But I was only in that place because of Shekhar.
He probably doesn’t know the full weight of what that morning set in motion. Maybe he’s reading this now and finding out. Either way, I have never forgotten it — the scooter ride, the pay phone, the cold call, the wait near the reception, and the complicated feeling of getting what he didn’t.
Some debts can’t be repaid. They can only be acknowledged, honestly and publicly, and carried with gratitude. This is me doing that.
This post is part of an ongoing series sharing life lessons from lived experience — the turning points that didn’t look like turning points until much later.
About Me
I am a thinker at all times. I see, I think. I hear, I think. I read, I think. Every weekend I write. I would love to know what you think.
Wonderfully captured as always!
Absolutely loved this, Rajen. What stands out even more than the story is that you haven’t forgotten the people who helped you get there—that says a lot about who you are. Every post of yours carries such thoughtful insight, and this one was no exception. Truly a pleasure to read.