You must read if you wish to write. If you are a writer, you must find your reader. You must weigh your words to deliver maximum value. Early lessons.

I started reading early with no ulterior motive. That crept in soon after the professor checked my essay on the college canteen. You are a good writer, she said. Be at it, she advised.

She went to on to make me a part of the editorial team of the junior college magazine. I had arrived, I was sure.

Then I found myself standing at the college gate pleading with all who entered to take a cyclostyled (yes, that used to be a thing) copy of The Junior Rag. The idea is to find your readers, and for that you must go to them, my teacher had said. All I could find was juniors and seniors alike treating the Rag as just that. For the next few days, I stayed clear of the waste bins and random flying bits of paper.

During my year in journalism college, I respectfully approached the instructor. I was carrying a sheaf of painfully typewritten pages. On the pages were words sure to pull readers to the resort I was helping sell. It was my first step into the exotic world of copywriting.

He flipped through the pages as if he were looking at some animation. Then he casually transferred the bunch from one hand to the other as if weighing the pages. “you can expect to get …” he mentioned a price, gave me a patronizing pat, handed the pages back dropping some in the process and moved on.

More recently I cleared out a huge stack of yellowing newspapers from the attic. Each carried a story with what was once rarely obtained, my byline. Explosive exposures, tearful tales, faithful facts. All by a writer who had, as my boss once put it, “strayed” into journalism. The scrap dealer dumped all the bundles on a large weighing scale, checked the weight and counted out the compensation. No, I did not linger for another backward glance.
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Today, when yet another potential client asks me to quote my price per word, per page or per hour, I revisit my early lessons. Then I weighed every word because I valued the reader. Now the buyer weighs content that must be optimized to be found. 

​All of us like surprises, at least the pleasant kind. Even when lit up screens have pushed printed pages to the background, you can delight your reader if you add a bit of wit to what you write. More so in the heading.
“Mosquitoes ‘play’ menace at Bal Gandharva, people ‘clap loudly’... to kill them!” screamed a headline just this morning. Bal Gandharva is a popular auditorium in the city where I live. “Instead of artistes, the mosquitoes had taken centre stage,” the report went on to say.
When a famous cricketer passed away recently, wordsmiths gave it a real tweak: “He took us for a spin, left without a Warne-ing.”
Of course, when you have been a famous cricketer, the pitch condition can disturb your stance even when you are alive: “Imran Khan c Constitution b Supreme Court of Pakistan.”
Technical glitches can get unappetizing for food delivery apps, especially when the media add a dash of spice: “Hungry users fume as Swiggy, Zomato take a ‘lunch break’.”

However, witless use of words can backfire. When a decomposed limb was found in a playground, and the police had no clue, a tabloid boldly announced: “LEG STUMPED”. While the play on stump was, perhaps, not lost on the readers, many found it insensitive, even morbid.
Yes, a little twist can get attention. But your readers must immediately grasp the context. They must not only spot but also appreciate the play on words. If there is even a whiff of controversy, it can raise hackles. The ensuing debate may overshadow the substance of your message.
Which makes it a tricky tool to use in the office, definitely not safe for work.
In the head office of the bank, where I used to work a long time ago, it was routine to send reminder letters to branches. It was my job to prepare the template, change the number of the reminder (REMINDER No. 5) and submit it to the officer for signature. Nothing ever changed except the number. Not that it mattered to the recipient who hardly bothered to respond, even if the number reached double digits.
A young new officer took charge and decided to freshen up things. And I was happy to be his partner in crime. This is the reminder he sent, probably the shortest in the bank’s history.

Within days there was some very officious uproar about the breach of “protocol” and violation of the bank’s “style of correspondence.” I do not remember if that reminder managed to get the report it was seeking. But, for a long time, even a little note from that officer got immediate attention from everyone. His boss pleaded with him to use “normal English.” And they transferred me.
Yes, go ahead and give it a twist if it gives you a kick. But make sure all will get it, and none will be upset. Else, you will end up with snubbed toe.

There was this owner of a group of companies, a true monarch of the market. He would look everyone in the eye, greet by name and enquire about the immediate family. Last I ran into him, some four years after our last meeting, cruel circumstances had reduced the monarch to a pauper. But he still greeted me by name, asked about my wife by name, named both my sons and correctly guessed their grade. He remains a communication king in my heart.

​Of course, not everyone is blessed with that kind of memory. However, if you think it is important to communicate small, you will find a way.

The CEO of one of the country’s largest companies used his secretary and his laptop to communicate small, big time. I helped him with a few templates. Just by adding a name and changing a few words, he would convert each into a very personal communication to suit every occasion—from congratulations to condolences. Before he started a telephone conversation or his secretary ushered in a visitor, his database would bring up the gist of their last exchange—personal and professional.
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Goes to show you can’t blame technology for the all-pervading disconnect. Use it right and it can help you connect—if it matters to you.

She was not just a doctor, but a demigod. I was sceptical. She treated the same diseases and prescribed the same drugs as every other doctor. Yet, people loved her and stayed put in her waiting room for hours. Why?
  
I realized the magic was not in her stethoscope when I was with one of her patients. She was 30 minutes late and my friend was in serious pain. Just then, he received a call. It was the doctor. She apologized, explained the delay, and told him when she would reach. That call acted like a placebo. My friend settled down comfortably for a longer wait.
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That doctor’s reputation and her healing touch was as much in her prescription as in the small, thoughtful communications like that one-minute call.

Talking of calls, I can never forget the Monday when I got one from a very senior executive of a client organization. My regular contact was about five levels down the hierarchy, so this was a surprise. He told me that the presentation I had helped his team make was very impressive and did its job well. That one-minute call made my week.

The irony? My contact never bothered with mundane things like feedback. Unless, of course, I had made a Himalayan blunder. Or what was needed yesterday till a minute ago, was now required the previous week.

Months later, when I ran into the big boss, I told him how his call had had such a positive impact on me. He had no clue what I was talking about. But he shared a secret. “Someone told me a long time ago that you should never miss an opportunity to pat someone on the back for a genuine reason. And you must do it without delay. I just try to follow that always.”
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Back the pat to work wonders.

I wish my bank would grow up to be big one day. I had emailed a complaint about a wrong charge. When there was no response even a week after the promised 48 hours, I followed their protocol and took up the issue with “higher authorities.”

Four days later, someone from my branch called. “Did you check your account before you escalated the problem?” he sounded very irritated with me. “The issue was resolved two days before you complained higher up.” But no one told me the problem had been resolved. Else I would not have bothered to escalate the issue. And am I supposed to monitor my account every minute?

“When you escalate any issue, the branch must answer. I have to answer.” Did he want me to apologize? “You should understand customer complaint emails are handled by a different department,” he growled.
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All he had to do was tell me the issue was resolved. Instead, he made it amply clear that me the small customer was being a nuisance to him, the busy boss of a big bank packed with so many departments.

My internet service provider, on the other hand, is beginning to cheer me up. I am used to tiring cut-paste email responses and scripted answers when I post a complaint. This time I had almost given up even before sending an email.

Surprise! A live human being, who knew my name and my problem called up to admit they had not figured out a solution yet. Two days later, he called again to say that the company had sorted out the issue and went on to share his personal number, in case I faced the problem again.

​Admitting a problem, taking the initiative to make a call and conducting a conversation with a small, solitary customer, without a script. Yes, my ISP has suddenly grown big in my eyes.

Maybe it helps to have a degree in language. However, effective communication often requires simple schooling in making a proactive connection. 

​The customer, David Ogilvy warned in 1955, is not a moron, but your wife. Today, the harem is packed with millions and technology has provided a zillion contact points, but do some companies hold on to a moronic mindset?

The bank emailed me that my credit card was eligible for a “premium” upgrade. All I had to do was go to netbanking and “confirm” the upgrade. I started doing that and then aborted when the annual fee field of my “lifetime free” card automatically filled with an amount.
When I got yet another reminder about the “upgrade”, I emailed them for a confirmation that my credit card would remain “free” even after the upgrade. Sifting through the chaff in the reply I received after a couple of days, I found one sentence relevant to me. The upgrade was “subject to” my signing up for a service. And I was asked to call up “phonebanking”.

I wrote back requesting a specific answer—was the upgrade free or not? Received a longer response restating the “subject to” and yet another helpful link to locate my phonebanking number.
I did not ask for the upgrade. You offered it. And are all your bankers too busy or too shy to call me and tell me about the upgrade condition upfront?
Definitely not a wife, I must be a moron to my bank.

Day after day, the range was too poor to make or receive a call. So, I called up customer service. “How many bars can you see?” Huh? Oh, that! I just see a triangle with an exclamation mark. “Where do you face this problem?” At home. “Please give me your address.”
“We are upgrading our towers in your area. Your problem will be resolved by (specific date). Please rate my response.” An email followed that reiterated the same assurance.

When you can anticipate a problem, why wait for the customer to complain? Why not email those who are most likely to be affected? Or at least publish an announcement?
​A few days later, I receive an SMS and an email. “We tried to contact you three times. You were not reachable. The issue is now closed.”
​Doesn’t your inability to reach me validate my persisting problem? Or is it just a good excuse to silence another moron?
The youngster at home advised: “Go to settings and  switch from 4G to 3G.” It worked and still does. The resolution the company promised is yet to materialize.
Huddled in an invisible corner of the harem, I imagine an email: “While we are working to upgrade your 4G service, we request you to switch to 3G so that you can continue to enjoy our uninterrupted service. This is how you can do it ….” That dream helps me hold on to the notion that my husband cares for me.

Sorry, David! They don’t much care for wives now. Could you please advise them to appoint a custodian to mother all customer communications? Even morons respond to sense and sensitivity. All we need is to find a system to fit a mother into the process.