The launch team comprised both established stars and rising ones in the fourth estate firmament. We reigned in Safdarjung Enclave over three floors that housed the editorial and correspondents, senior editors and the design team and the incredibly well-stocked library with the gentle but firm as steel Alka. The energy was one of supreme confidence, the credit for which went to Vinod who never breathed down our necks, bolstered by the cups and cups of tea supplied by the ever faithful Ranjit. Vinod’s interest decidedly perked up when he followed the aromas of our lunches or dinners, snorting disapprovingly at Manisha Saroop eating greasy, machine-oil doused noodles from Bengal Sweets or at the news of Sourav Ganguly getting married to Dona, a dancer. He came up to me and asked, “What kind of dancer? Cabaret?” and then walked away, very, very disappointed.

A story then was a collaborative affair with everyone sharing leads, information and sources. Along with the excitement, there was heartburn, bitter exchanges, desk vs reporter stand-offs, design vs desk stand-offs, yet collective back-patting and pride when the issue came out in all glory. The term ‘‘sting operation’’ was kind of unknown then but we delivered many a sting, uncaring of the consequences. Sunil Mehra’s breaking story on the racket that was cosmetic surgery remains fresh in my mind and something I have never forgiven him for. He came up to me with an expression like a lamb and said, “Pritizi, will you help me with a story?” I said sure and off I went with him without really finding out what my role would entail. I only realised what was in store for me when we reached the chambers of the first cosmetic surgeon. I was to be a decoy customer, desperate for some body sculpture to enhance my booty and slowly draw the doctor out till he fell into our trap. Did I know what it would take? As the consultation progressed, the surgeon started zeroing in on various parts of my body which were completely ‘unacceptable’, till I realised I was standing in full glory with not a stitch on. The choicest gaalis for Mehra were going through my head at this situation, which I couldn’t back out from and yet had to listen very attentively to a man dissecting me in the pure flesh and telling me exactly how ugly I was. The story, no matter what, had to be done at all cost. The story opened with “Do you want a new penis?” And there was Mehra screaming in the middle of the night, “Mini Kapoor (then sub-editor) has cut off my penis!” We went laughing all the way to the stands, defamation threats hanging close on our heads.

Another time, photo-editor Prashant Panjiar and I went on assignment to the hills of Tehri-Garhwal, chasing a story on the Indian family for a special issue, where, in true Pandava-style the family’s eldest son did all the marrying for the other brothers. We were wined and dined and then invited to spend the night in the village. Prashant came up to me and asked if it was okay. Somewhere down the line while interviewing them, I had been told that the community was so very open minded that the hosts at times generously shared beds with the guests! Once bitten, twice shy, I looked at Prashant and ran for my life.

The stories came pouring in—from hardcore breaking political covers to the sex habits of small-town India—inclusive as they come with one cover story on physically challenged achievers judged among the 10 best stories of 10 years of Outlook and made into eight public interest films by Doordarshan. Our page ‘Making a Difference’ on social reformers was the first of its kind in the English language, sending our marketing department and now CEO Indranil Roy into a tizzy as advertisers fought for space on the page and we fought with marketing as the word count on the page continued to shrink. Such was our impact. It was the PR agencies that followed us around and not the other way round as it is today. At Outlook we were arrogant. If PR went straight to the Boss, thinking it was a sure shot way to get a story done, nothing happened if the writer assigned threw the so-called story into the bin. No boss ever put pressure on us to see it through. It was pure, hardcore journalism with no compromises. All was well if we had our research and sources in place. The bosses stood by us like rocks.

The walls of AB-10 Safdarjung Enclave have witnessed history being made. We bonded, we fought, we bitched, yet when the time came we functioned as a whole. We have gone our separate ways through the years, but memories of that summer of 1995 when it all began continue to be as thrilling as if it was just yesterday.

(This appeared in the print as 'Yesterday Once More')

(Pritha Sen is a Former Journalist, Development Consultant and Food Historian)