Gandipet ka paani: Hyderabadis' source of wit & wisdom

Ask any Hyderabadi the secret of his sharp wit. Pat comes the reply, "Gandipet ka paani" (Osman Sagar's water). The Osman Sagar lake, also known as 'Gandipet Ka Talaab', is one of Hyderabad's major drinking water sources.

Very much a Hyderabadi, this writer still does not know how the water works on the wit of Hyderabadi denizens or how far the belief is true. Yet, I am inclined to believe that; because of the following story.

It was the late 70s. this writer had just completed the post-graduate degree and was keen to take up a 'professional' course. The rush was for Library Science and Journalism in Osmania University. He fancied the latter hoping to make a career in Public Relations not having the faintest idea as to what goes to make one a PR man.

Admission to the Bachelor of Communications and Journalism (BCJ) course in Osmania University which purported to prepare one for a PR job was via a written test and a viva voce. He took the test and found himself short-listed for the viva voce.

The late Professor Syed Bashiruddin had just returned to the Journalism Department of Osmania University after his stints as Principal of the Film & Television Institute, Pune, Vice Chancellor of B R Ambedkar University and as India's Ambassador to Qatar.

Returning to the Department of Journalism to continue his real calling as a teacher, Prof Bashiruddin found that one of his juniors was heading the department. Yet, he was a sport to work under that junior respecting hierarchy.

That was the reason why, notwithstanding his position in the hierarchy, he commanded respect and admiration of colleagues and students alike. Those who knew him well were in awe of the man.

Incidentally, his illutrous son Syed Akbaruddin IFS of the 1985 batch was a student of Captain Pandu Ranga Reddy who had 'carved-out' many civil servants. Akbaruddin, an alumni of the Hyderabad Public School, is India's representative in the United Nations. One has watched how remarkably he defends our country's stand on the Kashmir issue; and how.

Prof Bashiruddin's teaching methods were unconventional. More than completing the syllabus, he 'educated' students. He would smoke in the classroom and did not mind if the students gave him company.

His classrooms enjoyed 'open door policy' - students could walk in or out of the class at their own will. He tamed rebellious students with amusing counter-questions resulting in voluntary surrender to a charming authority. This writer recalls one such incident.

A student rose to complain in the profesor's class that Arts College students were eligible to borrow five books at a time from the University Library while journalism students could borrow only three.

The professor responded with two questions: (a) whether he (the student) indeed read three books at a time; and (b) whether seven books would suffice instead of five. That stumped the protestor good and proper. The professor closed the matter with a lesson on "logical justifications".

Now, back to this writer's viva voce. It was the day of high anxiety for him. Aware of the halo surrounding the great man, he entered the interview room wearing a put-on veneer of confidence to face Prof Bashiruddin.

The great man was seated in the middle in a row of the university professors from the Journalism Department. They all seemed to be predators hungrily looking for prey.

The first question came from the man himself.

"Why do you want to study journalism?".

Topping his facade with a seemingly genuine smile, this writer replied that he fancied a career in Public Relations.

But that was not good for him. He had that uncanny knack of getting the conversation going and started digging questions from this writer's answers. It was, perhaps this inherent gift that he became a master to several journalists: teaching them how to dig deep into a persona or an issue being reported.

Came the next question: "What do you think is required to become a PRO?"

Glibly this writer responded, "Command over English language, good-personality and pleasing-manners." This writer I thought he had answered the question rather comprehensively.

Boom! Came the next salvo cornering this writer from where he was looking for cover and a way out. "But that is required for any job," he said and fired the salvo in quick succession, "What is required to become a PRO.?"

This writer realised he was directly in the line of firing. He was momentarily puzzled and sat still in the chair hoping for a breakthrough - the kind Archimedes was blessed with. His eyes went roving and stopped at the tumbler of water on the table that separated him and the man-eaters who were apparently enjoying the spectacle of my discomfiture.

Grabbing the tumbler without permission and taking a quick sip of water from it, this writer replied rapidly, "That you will teach me, sir".

Reaction? A roar of spontaneous laughter from all gathered (save me and the professor) resonated the room.

Interview over, this writer rose to leave thanking the interview board with his gaze fixed at the professor.

This writer noticed, or so he thought, that the man, known for his devastating sense of reasoning, logic and ability to silence the most argumentative of the students in his classes or the most diplomatic of politicians, was trying his best to suppress a half-smile at my reply.

A week later, results were announced and this writer found his name primely on the list of those selected for admission to the course of Bachelor of Communications and Journalism that year.

On hindsight, this writer suspects that he succeeded in disarming the man of his arsenal and won him over with wit. He attributes his success primarily and predominantly to the innocuous act of sipping Gandipet ka paani - the elixir that gave me my wit for the day.

Any arguments on my hypothesis?