Monthly Archives: August 2010

A friend of mine from back home sent me a story from the St. Louis Dispatch about a recent graduate who had moved to India. Sounds familiar. I guess I’m not the only one.

But my frustration with the writer, and the story itself, began after reading the headline: “How bad is it? Job market lands St. Louis grad in India.” Apparently this kid views moving to India as some sort of unemployment exile. While I might not be in India had I received some great job offer after graduation, I think of my move in terms of reasons to move to India as opposed to reasons not to stay in the U.S.

But it gets better. The writer is simply amazed that this kid can download “Mad Men” from his seemingly backwater apartment. And he can barely comprehend that fact that some people prefer to read the newspaper in print. (Mr. Giegerich, lots of people in the U.S. still prefer newsprint, too.)

But the best part comes when the article talks about how the kid doesn’t plan to stay in India for very long:

For one thing, the tourist visa issued Hudson under India’s quirky immigration laws require him to take a two-month break every six months.

Ah, yes, those quirky immigration laws that require tourists to eventually leave the country. But wait a second. Shouldn’t he have an employment visa if he’s working? Yes.

“Technically, I’m an illegal worker,” he said, adding that “luckily, everything in India happens informally.”

Wait. Everything in India happens informally. Silly me. Why then did I wait weeks for appropriate paperwork from my employer, pay $143 for an employment visa and wait in line in an office downtown Chicago?

So I don’t have to tell my future employers that I worked as an illegal immigrant in India.

I’ve had enough journalism jobs to know that it’s tough work getting past the PR people and talking to anyone who actually knows anything. If the person possesses a title that sounds important in any way, it’ll be near impossible. In India, that rule doesn’t seem to apply as much.

I was working on a story about a report studying the causes of the microfinance loan defaults in Karnataka (if you’re interested, here’s the link) this week. My editor gave me the cell phone number of the company’s CEO. This wasn’t a small-time microfinance institution, rather a very well-known one that just made millions (of US dollars) from a public stock offer.

I looked at the penciled-in cell phone number on his business card and set it next to my laptop on my desk. “Because that’s going to work,” I thought.

So, I went the traditional route of calling the communications department, who promptly told me they were not aware of the report. “Of course you aren’t,” I thought. I was instructed to email the report along with information about what I was doing to the head of communications, and they would see if anyone had read it. “Because that’s going to work,” I thought. I sent off the email knowing I had just wasted two minutes of my life typing it up.

My unofficial deadline was the end of the day. (In online journalism, your deadline is always ASAP.) I hadn’t heard from anyone at the company by 6pm. I fingered the card still sitting next to me. At a few minutes after 6pm, I dialed the cell phone number. “If nothing else, I can say I tried,” I thought. The CEO picks up on the second ring. He doesn’t hang up when I explain who I am. He talks to me. He answers every single question I ask. With good answers, too. We have a real conversation.

Try doing that in America.