“I never had the kind of background that naturally leads to journalism, no family legacy in the press, no formal degree in media studies. But I had books. Growing up in the late 80s, I haunted the Mehdipatnam library, devouring everything from Sydney Sheldon to Dan Brown and beyond. My father was the quiet architect of that world. Our home was never short of books, filling our home with Chandamama, Balamitra, Russian tales, and the forbidden James Hadley Chase novels. I couldn’t resist graduating to Roots and Fountainhead. Looking back, books shaped me far more than journalism ever did. Journalism was a detour; books were my roots. My grandfather, Pillalamarri Venkateswarlu, was a Communist leader and MLA, respected and feared. But to me, he was just Thatha. Not a leader, not a politician, just my grandfather. My mother is religious, rooted, and ever-present. My father was an atheist, a dreamer. Together, they gave me two gifts: resilience and a quiet disinterest in chasing material things. That kind of upbringing doesn’t make you rich but it makes you unbreakable. My father, though, shaped my worldview the most. He saw people not as their caste, religion, or status, but as individuals, each with a story worth hearing. That shaped me long before I ever held a pen.
I call myself an accidental journalist. I studied Electronics and Communication at Kamala Nehru Polytechnic, skipped engineering in Warangal, and stayed in Hyderabad. My early career was in advertising and marketing, writing copy for some of the first websites. After marriage, I paused, then returned to work with Explocity, a Bangalore-based publication ahead of its time. At Explocity, I started as a writer but soon became the Features Editor, covering lifestyle, culture, and people. It was my first real taste of journalism; telling stories, capturing the pulse of a place. I had no formal training, but I learned by doing. By 2007, I was fully immersed, interviewing authors like William Dalrymple, Jeffrey Archer and Amitav Ghosh.
Years later, at the Jaipur Literature Festival, I reintroduced myself to Archer, expecting him to have forgotten. Instead, he looked at me and said, “I remember you.” I held on to that moment like a medal. At Explocity, my mentor was Allen Mendonca, sharp and endlessly patient, an ex-Times pro who didn’t mind teaching an eager outsider. I never studied journalism, and no one ever asked me if I had. By 2007, I was fully immersed in it, learning on the job, building instincts in real time. Later, while working on Trailblazers, a coffee table book featuring business legends, I fell in love with long-form writing. I wanted to capture people beyond their titles—their struggles, triumphs, and what made them tick.
At The Hans India, I had the rare gift of editorial freedom. Under K. Ramachandra Murthy and P.N.V. Nair, I learned leadership isn’t micromanagement. It’s trust. My resume doesn’t have the usual big names, but the freedom I had shaped me more than any masthead could. I never chased headlines; I chased stories that lingered.
Hyderabad back then was kinder to journalists. Doors opened, phones were answered. Once, after weeks of trying to interview Dr. Anji Reddy of Dr. Reddy’s Laboratories, I spotted him at an art show. I walked up and said, “Sir, I’ve been trying to reach you.” He smiled, handed me his number, and told his assistant, “If she calls, give her time.” That kind of access feels unimaginable now. In the newsroom, I set high standards but gave my team freedom to find their voices. I often told juniors, “Don’t fear mistakes. Fear doing nothing.” If you never mess up, you’re not pushing hard enough. Real journalism doesn’t come from textbooks, it comes from the street, and learning to balance truth with empathy.
Journalism has changed. Speed trumps accuracy, and unchecked facts destroy reputations in minutes. But one rule remains: credibility isn’t just part of the job, it is the job. One thing hasn’t changed, women in leadership remain rare. Newsrooms still push women into ‘safe’ beats like wellness and culture while men dominate crime and politics. Even in Hyderabad, almost all bureau chiefs and editors are men. We once had a woman editor at Deccan Chronicle, but now? I’m not sure there’s a single one left. Yet, if you trace major breaking stories, you’ll find women behind them, women who fought editors, society, and legal threats to get the truth out. And still, we’re told women aren’t suited for ‘serious’ journalism? That’s the real tragedy. The problem isn’t just men keeping women out. It’s systemic. Transport policies? Too expensive. Political reporting? Too risky. Investigative journalism? Better suited for men. Instead of fixing the system, women are simply excluded from it.
In 2020, when the pandemic hit, I left The Hans India. Feature pages were cut, and journalism became a race for clicks over substance. That’s when I started FridayWall as not just another film website, but a platform for long-form stories on art, culture, leadership, and literature. We’re still small—four writers, a tech team—but to grow, we need funding. Journalism today is at a crossroads, shaped by algorithms, discovery biases, and shrinking attention spans. But the need for meaningful stories hasn’t changed.
This year’s Women’s Day theme is Accelerate Action, and it’s time. We’ve talked enough about empowerment—it’s time for systemic shifts. Misogyny isn’t just a men’s issue; women internalize it too, holding themselves back. Unless we unlearn those biases, real change won’t happen. For me, FridayWall is that step. A space where the right stories find their voice. The road ahead is long, but I’m ready to walk it.”
- Rajeshwari Kalyanam, Senior Journalist