Journalism – It’s all about fewer words and more numbers!

I am an apolitical citizen of India and this is an essay addressed to a journalist of repute as described in the title.

After a stressful day, living miles away from my homeland the first thing I do to unwind is by switching on to your channel over dinner. The house is brought alive by your lively debates. I get into a sadistic high as I watch Indian politicians being grilled for accountability, or in my Middle Eastern parlance being made a shawarma. When you have guests from across the border I am even more elated with the sadistic pleasure of watching your guests being high on Masochism. It’s a rare show where sadism and masochism are juxtaposed.

In fact I switch off the lights at home when your show begins, because late at night I love the flashes from the screen reflecting over the dull walls of my house. I love it when the fire in your belly is reflected on the screen, which in turns warms up my evening. In short you bring about a nice night club effect, in an otherwise dull and boring end to another day in my life….a kind of a just another day in paradise feeling!

I keep telling my family at home, in my next incarnation I want to be you. The energetic you, the you, who makes everyone accountable, the you, who is the judge and the jury. The you, who is super fit, never have I heard you hoarse with a sore throat nor with a nasal tone from a blocked nose. You epitomised loudly to the world who or how a Journalist should be.
You were not only a man of words but also of numbers, 4 years on the top, 1 Mio odd burning tweets, thousands of telephone lines jammed as soon as you open them up. You are definitely a man of numbers more than words.

But words and numbers belong to two different hemispheres of the brain. God made it that way, who are we…. oops sorry who am I to change that configuration, pardon me for the brevity as I counted you among us mortals. But remember, when you go in pursuit of one, you need to compromise on the other.

Circa 2016, 27th of June. Like any other day I switched on my television with the hope of checking out the scores…yeah, you are right, yours is the only news channel that I look for scores. Not the espn’s or the Star Sports. Scores are settled or thrust upon at the innocent and the convicted with the same fervour…The only channel where I can back the winner every time and go to bed being relieved that the nation is in safe hands. Viola…What did I see that day! I saw an abnormal you! Thought it was just a bad hair day at office since your hair on that day was unkempt too. You, who I aspired to be, was not the you, you were every night. I thought the world had ended since I saw a timid, dull and boring you. I thought you were just extending the initial pleasantries honouring your guest. The pleasantries did not seem to end. Frankly speaking, I went to bed a sad man that night. It is here that I felt that you had pledged your words for numbers. Ah you mortal man…Numbers maketh a man, not words! No wonder why the Wall Street is more popular than the Stratford-upon-Avon.

The next day being addicted to being a statistic that adds voice to the cacophony of justice you mete out at dinner time I tuned in hoping you return to your normal self. Wow…I wasn’t surprised you were well and truly back in action. The walls at home are once again lively. Thank you for making my day.

Unfortunately, I was told later that though you made my day, the previous day, the 27th of June will go down in history as a day when journalism was as invertebrate as a jelly fish.