Covering rocket launches is a tricky affair, especially when deadlines beckon

On a starry night last Friday, the reflection of the moon glimmered on the dark waters of Pulicat Lake. It was close to midnight, but that didn’t stop enthusiasts from lining up near the lake to watch yet another rocket go up from ISRO’s launchpad at Sriharikota.

Inside the spaceport, the speakers blared with the countdown. When the words “lift-off successful” rung through the night air, the black sky turned orange. Large trees always block the view of the base of the launchpad for us at the media centre and this time I was in for a surprise: unlike the GSLVs, which boom so much at lift-off that one waits in anticipation for the spectacle that unfolds over the next few seconds, the PSLV-C44 soared soundlessly into the sky. Only a few seconds after it sped ahead did a booming noise come from the vehicle, a modified rocket with two strap-on boosters.

This was also the first time in nearly 13 years that I saw the separation of the rocket’s first stage and second stage engine firing so clearly. The darkness of the sky ensured a clear view: white fumes emanated from the rocket, the fumes’ tail accentuated by a dark red smoke, the first stage shut off, there were a few milliseconds of darkness, and then a sudden surge of orange light as the second stage fired, powering the rocket ahead on its path.

While all this was taking place in the distance, I was in for a third ‘first’: a flock of birds sailed across the sky. These migratory birds are regular visitors to the lake. This was such a beautiful sight to behold that I urge everyone to gather on the other side of the lake if there is another launch during the migratory season.

While the excitement in the air is palpable during rocket launches, journalists are always filled with some anxiety. Covering rocket launches is a tricky affair, especially when deadlines beckon. More than a decade ago, when I was working at a news agency, the moments following the lift-off used to cause panic, as the news of the lift-off, the announcements that followed, and the mission’s success all had to be transmitted almost immediately to the subscribers. This had to be done despite patchy mobile signals. Sometimes, one had to run from the terrace to the nearest phone to transmit the news. And sometimes it also meant that we missed watching the launch and only heard the voice on the speakers to know if it was a success or not. GSLV launches in those days would give a lot of uncertain moments to reporters as they were prone to failure. On the other hand, PSLVs were fairly easy to cover as ISRO has truly mastered them.

The C44 was also the first time I was covering a near-midnight launch, which is a nightmare as it is close to the time when our edition is put to bed. With the speeches of the ISRO chairman and the launch team eating into the deadline, I had a window of only about 15 minutes to cram in as many details as possible. It was then that my phone rang. Never a good sign. “Rohit, where’s the copy,” the copy editor asked. I was frantic. “Give me 10 minutes, I have two more paragraphs to go!” The voice on the other side was calm: “In two minutes, the edition has to go.” “Damn,” I muttered to myself. I typed as quickly as I could and mailed the copy. Sometimes we cannot write everything we want, but then there are other days. Who said only rockets have countdowns?