Waiting… while a fellow journalist seriously considers castration
You are seated in a small square waiting room. So square, you think the guy who designed this room, didn’t want to take a chance.
You are not surprised.
This here is the head quarters of a news agency. The biggest in the country. Nobody ever takes a chance here. Merit in this place, you have heard is in being solemnly rounded. No stories with jagged edges. The perfect story here is like non-sweetened pudding.
You continue waiting for a friend, who’s stepped inside the editorial section for an interview. He wants to be the agency’s bureau chief in Goa.
You imagine him roaming the streets of Goa like one of those bloated, huge castrated dogs -- the way agency journalists normally strut around. Big, but with no balls left to charge.
In a nutshell, you think he is willing to undergo a journalistic castration.
You have seen this over the years. Journalists working for news agencies are often prone to this perennial swelling in their heads, caused by chronic inflation of their ego. Even retirement is not said to cure this.
You have seen only one exception yet. That quick-witted Joseph John with those red-rimmed eyes from UNI (United News of India), who must be cracking some wise ones somewhere in Chhattisgarh, where he has been transferred.
There’s nothing much to do here. There are two benches. There is a flowerpot. There is a stale tabloid. You have finished the crossword. No, you haven’t finished it. You are finished with it.
Suddenly, there is relief. Relief, that comes in form of a pair. A pair of men. No they aren’t a couple. They wear staid trousers, staid shirts. And you haven’t even seen their faces yet. Their faces are hidden behind a pile of gifts. Just strikes you, that its nearabouts Diwali.
As they talk amongst themselves, you figure that these guys are public relations executives.
You curse softly.
You have heard before, that robots are going to take over the earth soon. These guys you think, are a manifestation of a similar phenomenon. They represent a profession – PR, that you feel will take over journalism sooner or later. The dividing lines have already begun to blur, you muse.
They sit next to you. They converse. You overhear. One of them fishes out a cell-phone from his pocket and whispers into it.
Voice I: “Come out. Come out. We are outside.”
You assume they are speaking to somebody inside the news agency’s business news section. There are two reasons why you draw the inference. One, because you have seen that several business stories that appear in newspapers are written by PR executives themselves. Two, because that’s what their conversation indicates.
Soon, the person on the other end of the call, steps into the room. He looks important. Must must be a journalist, you think.
Journalist: “Hey what’s this? Since when have you started giving this?”
You think the room is rather cramped now. Four men, three grins and half a dozen gifts takes up a lot of room.
You are pretty sure now, that this guy is a journalist. You notice, he is curious. You have been taught before, that being curious is being halfway there as a journalist. The other half is being able to look important.
Voice I: He he he
Journalist: “Bahut bhari hai (It’s very heavy),” you hear him say, as he feels the cylindrical gift, wrapped in glitzy pink wrap. “Daru hai (Is it liquor)?”
Voice I: He he he
Voice II: Take this for him also
Journalist: I know. He does not drink. Which one is this?
Voice I: Blender’s pride.
Journalist: Yeh kabse (Since when did you start distributing these)?
Voice I: Daru hi mast hai. Kya mithai khate ho (Liquor’s best. How can you relish sweetmeats)?
Voice II: The other guy is from Manipur. I have dates for him. He doesn’t drink.
Journalist: Go give it to him.
Voice I: Ek lafda hai (There is a problem.).
Journalist: Koi hai kya (Is someone around)?
You see them peeping out of the room in unison. Voice I points the guard out to the journalist. The journalist understands. He assures them, that he will send the other journalist across to them.
They settle down to wait. They still have one bottle of liquor and couple of other gifts left. They are patient, you notice. This is the race set to take over journalism. With such qualities they might just, you rue.
My friend steps into the room. They have agreed to castrate him. He is thrilled.
You are not surprised.
This here is the head quarters of a news agency. The biggest in the country. Nobody ever takes a chance here. Merit in this place, you have heard is in being solemnly rounded. No stories with jagged edges. The perfect story here is like non-sweetened pudding.
You continue waiting for a friend, who’s stepped inside the editorial section for an interview. He wants to be the agency’s bureau chief in Goa.
You imagine him roaming the streets of Goa like one of those bloated, huge castrated dogs -- the way agency journalists normally strut around. Big, but with no balls left to charge.
In a nutshell, you think he is willing to undergo a journalistic castration.
You have seen this over the years. Journalists working for news agencies are often prone to this perennial swelling in their heads, caused by chronic inflation of their ego. Even retirement is not said to cure this.
You have seen only one exception yet. That quick-witted Joseph John with those red-rimmed eyes from UNI (United News of India), who must be cracking some wise ones somewhere in Chhattisgarh, where he has been transferred.
There’s nothing much to do here. There are two benches. There is a flowerpot. There is a stale tabloid. You have finished the crossword. No, you haven’t finished it. You are finished with it.
Suddenly, there is relief. Relief, that comes in form of a pair. A pair of men. No they aren’t a couple. They wear staid trousers, staid shirts. And you haven’t even seen their faces yet. Their faces are hidden behind a pile of gifts. Just strikes you, that its nearabouts Diwali.
As they talk amongst themselves, you figure that these guys are public relations executives.
You curse softly.
You have heard before, that robots are going to take over the earth soon. These guys you think, are a manifestation of a similar phenomenon. They represent a profession – PR, that you feel will take over journalism sooner or later. The dividing lines have already begun to blur, you muse.
They sit next to you. They converse. You overhear. One of them fishes out a cell-phone from his pocket and whispers into it.
Voice I: “Come out. Come out. We are outside.”
You assume they are speaking to somebody inside the news agency’s business news section. There are two reasons why you draw the inference. One, because you have seen that several business stories that appear in newspapers are written by PR executives themselves. Two, because that’s what their conversation indicates.
Soon, the person on the other end of the call, steps into the room. He looks important. Must must be a journalist, you think.
Journalist: “Hey what’s this? Since when have you started giving this?”
You think the room is rather cramped now. Four men, three grins and half a dozen gifts takes up a lot of room.
You are pretty sure now, that this guy is a journalist. You notice, he is curious. You have been taught before, that being curious is being halfway there as a journalist. The other half is being able to look important.
Voice I: He he he
Journalist: “Bahut bhari hai (It’s very heavy),” you hear him say, as he feels the cylindrical gift, wrapped in glitzy pink wrap. “Daru hai (Is it liquor)?”
Voice I: He he he
Voice II: Take this for him also
Journalist: I know. He does not drink. Which one is this?
Voice I: Blender’s pride.
Journalist: Yeh kabse (Since when did you start distributing these)?
Voice I: Daru hi mast hai. Kya mithai khate ho (Liquor’s best. How can you relish sweetmeats)?
Voice II: The other guy is from Manipur. I have dates for him. He doesn’t drink.
Journalist: Go give it to him.
Voice I: Ek lafda hai (There is a problem.).
Journalist: Koi hai kya (Is someone around)?
You see them peeping out of the room in unison. Voice I points the guard out to the journalist. The journalist understands. He assures them, that he will send the other journalist across to them.
They settle down to wait. They still have one bottle of liquor and couple of other gifts left. They are patient, you notice. This is the race set to take over journalism. With such qualities they might just, you rue.
My friend steps into the room. They have agreed to castrate him. He is thrilled.
posted by Mayabhushan at 9:35:00 pm
3 Comments:
Mayabhushan ji,
Ye kala background hata dijiyega. Padne mein bahut mushkil hoti hai.
great style, can't wait to read more.
it's really sad how indian journalism is going down the tubes...
so true. not just indian journalism. but in other places as well... the proliferation and aggression of PR is such that it's difficult for the weak ones to resist.
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