I was in Kolkata for a couple of weeks. Things at the home office were graver than Swarnali had let-on on the phone. The meeting with the BOD members on the very next day of my arrival was clear enough to reflect the underlying tension that the publishing house had been experiencing for some time. Business was still growing, and my decisions of branching out and even shifting the primary offices to Delhi was the ultimate straw threatening to break the camel's back. I realised I was so engrossed in my personal affairs that I might have neglected my duties towards SIKSHA.
Hell bent on making ammends, I found myself in office one late weekday evening, surrounded by a bunch of other staff members, headed by Swarnali, discussing our problems and brainstorming some ideas that could bring us out of them.
Swarnali was standing at the head of the conference table, a black marker in hand, pointing to the list she had just jotted down on the whiteboard. "So these are the basic problems we need to tackle guys," she began. "Our annual revenue has been better than the previous year, but the growth percentage is still lacking by 11% since the last five years and have been declining gradually. The primary reason behind this is the stagnancy in the writers pool."
"Swaru di, we have included three different regional languages since last year," one of the guys spoke up,"There are a varied collection of works from them as well."
She just shook her head. "Those numbers are miniscule Ayush. You are forgetting, including languages and translations alone wouldn't do much good if the reader base is insufficient. We would be bleeding more than gaining on those grounds."
And so the discussion went on. I was sitting in the corner listening to these young kids. I knew I needed to be worried. Aabir Uncle had left me his legacy, and I could not let it down at any cost. But sitting there amidst those young minds, I couldn't help but feel awed and proud at what we had accomplished there. They were the coming generation, they were our future, the ones to carry our legacy forward, and by the looks of it, it was in great hands.
"Dhruv da, what do you have to say?" Swarnali called out to me, breaking my chain of thoughts.
"I might have something," I said, standing up. I approached the front of the room and felt all eyes on me. Dead silence followed into the room. I looked at each and every individual face, from one end of the room to the other and finally came to rest on Swarnali's. She was looking up to me with expectations in her eyes. "The way I see it, the solution is quite simple. We are at a loss of writers, then let's bring some new ones in."
There arose a murmur amonst the group. "But Dhruv da, we don't have new writers. I have been heading the Youth Division for some years now and I can tell you, there aren't many publishable writers. Amongst the hordes of written materials we are sent, only 20% or so make the cut. Our reprints aren't that popular anymore. People are moving on with the new social media outrage and hardly care about genuine written material," Swarnali spoke up.
"Then perhaps we have been looking in the wrong place," I said.
"What do you mean?"
"I am talking about the young population."
"I am already looking into it Dhruv da. That is what I was talking about earlier."
"No, Swarnali. Not just the youth. I mean to say the youngsters. High school and college students. And others as such."
The murmuring went up a notch. "But sir, how can we do that? Students these days are unmotivated. They are so busy with their phones and social media, hardly anyone reads books anymore, let alone write. They are a small portion of the population. How could we expect them to come forward with their writeups, even if there are any?" It was the guy who had spoken up before, Ayush.
"If they can't reach us, we can reach out to them."
"I guess I see where you are going with this Dhruv da," Swarnali said, and I could catch a hint of shine in her eyes.
"The small portion of the population we are talking about, is the most crucial one. The youngsters are the future. Their minds are vivid, their thoughts are wild and free. Their potential is left unexplored. But if channeled well, I believe, could be very productive."
"We can approach the institutions, schools, colleges and universities," Swarnali said.
"We can start something like a writing campaign," Ayush followed up on her.
"The marketing team could formulate a way for maximum reach out," someone else continued. The idea had caught on like wild fire.
As the evening aged, the idea had turned into an actionable plan. Calls were made. More ideas were shared about the execution of the plan. There was an air of excitement throughout the conference room. And by the time each of us exited our office building that evening, there was a new thrill in all our hearts. We were about to do something big. And the feeling was rejuvinating.
By the end of the next week, the marketing team was full flegedly on the job of covering as much ground as was possible. We even had our representative teams visiting various educational institutions. Their chief objective would be to inspire students and discover the ones with some writing talent. Our initiative would be their spur. We wanted to reach as many young minds as we could and collect their works, and reveal them to the world. It would fulfill their dreams and we would have replenished our writerspool.
The hard work throughout the month paid off tremendously well. We were suddenly flooded with write ups, quantities that we couldn't possibly have imagined ourselves. The editorial desks were piled up with mountins of stories filled pages. We had expected success from our venture but never anticipated the scale of it. With the month end, we had enough new publishing material for the entire calendar year, and more were coming in each day.
The BOD members were terribly satisfied by the turn of events, and I was lightheartened with their renewed faith in me. In the end, I was just happy that I could have kept SHIKSHA's legacy alive.
Everything was going well until one Saturday morning.
I was in bed, waking up from a deep sleep after a late night, the phone rining on the bedside table of the hotel I was currently residing for the past month. I received the call without opening my eyes and heard Kavya's trembling voice from the other end. "Dhruv-"
I was wide awake in an instant. "Kavya? What's the matter? What's happened?"
"Dhruv, it's Siddhart. He is-he is- in the hospital."
My heart was already racing and I was suddenly feeling nauseous. She went on. "Last night after dinner, he fainted in the washroom. I brought him to the hospital immediately. The doctor says its time-" she couldn't complete and broke down in sobs.
"I'm on my way Kavya," I said disconnecting the call and rushing out of bed. Just hold on, old friend, I cried out in desperation, I am coming.
