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.
Tuesday, June 28, 2016
Tuesday, April 5, 2016
Operation Just Cause – By the Fourth Estate
There was nothing much happening around the world to inspire the dilettante writer in me pen a blog. The prime time and headlines on the national front were dominated by mundane uninteresting debates and editorials on beef, booze, dress, and general calls to Freedom of everything, from or within, dominated by the right to speech and the right to eat. The International news was once again all about the gory face of hatred showing up everywhere.
Actually I missed the good old days when the prime times were intellectually engaging. They used to debate on technical stuff like Spectrum licenses, 2G’s, 3G’s, large sized Howitzers, Submarines , Helicopters, Mining licenses and the ways to get them etc. , and yes there were the occasional fodder talk too. Well, when there is a lot of bullshit happening all around we need to talk about fodder too, isn’t it? But, we did learn a lot, in fact I had learnt how a spectrum works even before the 3G’s and 4G’s popped up on my smart phone screen.
So you see there was nothing inspirational to write about, until the mother of all breaking news beamed and flashed across the world a couple of days ago. The Panama Papers they called it. Apparently spilling the beans (or more than beans) on the rich and the famous from across the globe. This was a rarity in the media world, news breaking across time zones with enough local content to keep the viewers / readers hooked. This was also a moment of voyeuristic pleasure for a middle class citizen to see the riches of the super-rich being hauled up, especially in India since it came close on the heels of a member of the uber–wealthy fraternity giving us the slip a month ago.
Panama, a Central American country that connects the Atlantic and the Pacific oceans has created quite a storm across seas over the last 48 hours. It’s rather ironical that the word Panama also means ‘many butterflies’, quite a lot I would say, now in the tummies across the world. For a change these are tummies filled with Caviar and Chardonnay. My memory connects with Panama in a rather vague couple of things, mugging up its rather easy capital Panama City and marking the Panama Canal on the world map, or wearing a straw hat bought at Mahabalipuram that was sold to me as a Panama hat and the impressive packet of Panama cigarettes that used to feature in old Tamil movies.
With my half-baked knowledge in finance, all I have understood is the rich and famous have managed to stash their wealth away from the eyes of the daft people like you and me who simply believe in paying the taxes before earning them. One article talks about how a husband used these means to hide his wealth from his wife just as their relationship headed south, thereby saving a couple of hundreds of millions of dollars in divorce settlement. There is also an instance where the wife had done the same to protect her wealth. One of the synonyms of wealth is Mammon. How true when you hear all this.
If my wife and I were to part ways I would probably walk away with my leftover Old Monk and she with her bottle of wine. Yes I do stash away my wealth too since the day I started earning, I had the habit of folding a couple of hundreds and ‘stash’ it away in the hidden recesses of my wallet and conveniently forget it, so that, it comes in handy when I’m digging deep into every hidden hole at times of need.
I am no expert in corporate law or personal finance however I feel embittered by the happenings and the sight of astronomical figures doing the rounds. I am not preaching Robin Hood here but my feeling is that even a 3rd or 4th decimal fraction of the figures doing the rounds would go a long way in the process of alleviating poverty across the globe.
The Americans invaded and bombed Panama in 1989, dethroned Gen Manuel Noriega and claimed they were fighting to combat drug trafficking for the world’s sake. They called it Operation Just Cause. Twenty seven years later thanks to the selfless and concerted efforts by a group of 70 odd journalist sharing data across countries and cultures are combating another evil in the society called money laundering.
This time around the operation is for more than a just cause and has gone on to prove that the pen is definitely mightier than the bombs.
Actually I missed the good old days when the prime times were intellectually engaging. They used to debate on technical stuff like Spectrum licenses, 2G’s, 3G’s, large sized Howitzers, Submarines , Helicopters, Mining licenses and the ways to get them etc. , and yes there were the occasional fodder talk too. Well, when there is a lot of bullshit happening all around we need to talk about fodder too, isn’t it? But, we did learn a lot, in fact I had learnt how a spectrum works even before the 3G’s and 4G’s popped up on my smart phone screen.
So you see there was nothing inspirational to write about, until the mother of all breaking news beamed and flashed across the world a couple of days ago. The Panama Papers they called it. Apparently spilling the beans (or more than beans) on the rich and the famous from across the globe. This was a rarity in the media world, news breaking across time zones with enough local content to keep the viewers / readers hooked. This was also a moment of voyeuristic pleasure for a middle class citizen to see the riches of the super-rich being hauled up, especially in India since it came close on the heels of a member of the uber–wealthy fraternity giving us the slip a month ago.
Panama, a Central American country that connects the Atlantic and the Pacific oceans has created quite a storm across seas over the last 48 hours. It’s rather ironical that the word Panama also means ‘many butterflies’, quite a lot I would say, now in the tummies across the world. For a change these are tummies filled with Caviar and Chardonnay. My memory connects with Panama in a rather vague couple of things, mugging up its rather easy capital Panama City and marking the Panama Canal on the world map, or wearing a straw hat bought at Mahabalipuram that was sold to me as a Panama hat and the impressive packet of Panama cigarettes that used to feature in old Tamil movies.
With my half-baked knowledge in finance, all I have understood is the rich and famous have managed to stash their wealth away from the eyes of the daft people like you and me who simply believe in paying the taxes before earning them. One article talks about how a husband used these means to hide his wealth from his wife just as their relationship headed south, thereby saving a couple of hundreds of millions of dollars in divorce settlement. There is also an instance where the wife had done the same to protect her wealth. One of the synonyms of wealth is Mammon. How true when you hear all this.
If my wife and I were to part ways I would probably walk away with my leftover Old Monk and she with her bottle of wine. Yes I do stash away my wealth too since the day I started earning, I had the habit of folding a couple of hundreds and ‘stash’ it away in the hidden recesses of my wallet and conveniently forget it, so that, it comes in handy when I’m digging deep into every hidden hole at times of need.
I am no expert in corporate law or personal finance however I feel embittered by the happenings and the sight of astronomical figures doing the rounds. I am not preaching Robin Hood here but my feeling is that even a 3rd or 4th decimal fraction of the figures doing the rounds would go a long way in the process of alleviating poverty across the globe.
The Americans invaded and bombed Panama in 1989, dethroned Gen Manuel Noriega and claimed they were fighting to combat drug trafficking for the world’s sake. They called it Operation Just Cause. Twenty seven years later thanks to the selfless and concerted efforts by a group of 70 odd journalist sharing data across countries and cultures are combating another evil in the society called money laundering.
This time around the operation is for more than a just cause and has gone on to prove that the pen is definitely mightier than the bombs.
Friday, March 11, 2016
Rum, Rumi and Rumination
The first quarter of the year is a time for introspection. In this social media age you are swamped with unsolicited gyan, be it Whatsapp or facebook. Virtually every other person is a guru and guru production is practically a cottage industry today in India.
Wonder where the Rumis, the Mahatriyas, the Sri Sris and the Sadhgurus were when I was growing up. It would have helped me attain nirvana and bring about a spiritual awakening in me. I did have my fair share of spiritual awakening (not sure if it really woke me up). Osho and Maharishi were my favourites. My spiritual awakening was limited to listening to Osho discourses on audio cassette players , attending Transcendental Meditation courses of the Maharishi and reading a couple of books on Sufism, Taoism and Zen Philosophy, while actively practising the religious beliefs I was born into. This gave me a balanced outlook to life or so I believe.
Unfortunately I grew up in a period; you were branded a prodigal pariah if you followed Osho or a Maharishi. I had to even lie to my parents to attend an initiation session of Transcendental Meditation, for which I had to buy, Flowers, Coconut other offerings that made the ‘dakshana’ , in spite of them being the most liberal of parents. As you see, my pursuit of gyan did not come easy.
These are days you see words of wisdom dished all around, and rarely get to see people of wisdom. You wake up to motivational messages wishing you a great day if you stay positive or go to bed with messages of wonderful dreams and promises of a better dawn that makes you forget that none of the morning messages came true. The gurus tell you things you knew all along which you always considered trivial. Suddenly the same stuff has more gravity when spoken by a guru and would bring about a spiritual awakening in you. ‘Wake up in the morning, close your eyes and hold your wife’s hands’. Now, if I said that, you would brand me a moron. Imagine the same being narrated by a guru in a nasal tone or a deep hoarse voice, with an unruly facial hair, clad in, white, saffron or a green robe. There is a tectonic shift in the effect that the very same statement has on you.
Finally when a Sri Sri proclaims an event on teaching you the nuances of how to live, it becomes an event where you have 3.5 Million people flocking to the venue. I believe you don’t need a white / Saffron/ green robe (My apologies if I have missed out other colours, it was not intentional or discriminatory to the other colour) and a black beard (since this feature is a common factor I’m happy) to teach the art of living. One can learn it from an unemployed educated youth wearing a trouser worn out at its helms and sporting a soiled white shirt, or from a rickshaw puller sporting a colourful lungi and a well ventilated vest. You my friends,can learn the art of living from the above gentlemen drawn from different strata of the society. Lend a ear to their hardships, and I bet you end up learning more than any of the discourses you may listen to by the so called acclaimed self-proclaimed gurus.
Take a deep breath and feel the moment, love a fellow human irrespective of his cast, creed and religion and be at peace with what you have, voila you have already mastered the art of living.
Living is not an art but a conglomeration of intuitive actions that takes you through to the next minute of your life, the day you understand that, you are an artist who has mastered how to live.
You might wonder why the title made no sense. I simply used Rum to Ruminate on Rumi.
Gurus come and go!!! Be your own guru!
Wonder where the Rumis, the Mahatriyas, the Sri Sris and the Sadhgurus were when I was growing up. It would have helped me attain nirvana and bring about a spiritual awakening in me. I did have my fair share of spiritual awakening (not sure if it really woke me up). Osho and Maharishi were my favourites. My spiritual awakening was limited to listening to Osho discourses on audio cassette players , attending Transcendental Meditation courses of the Maharishi and reading a couple of books on Sufism, Taoism and Zen Philosophy, while actively practising the religious beliefs I was born into. This gave me a balanced outlook to life or so I believe.
Unfortunately I grew up in a period; you were branded a prodigal pariah if you followed Osho or a Maharishi. I had to even lie to my parents to attend an initiation session of Transcendental Meditation, for which I had to buy, Flowers, Coconut other offerings that made the ‘dakshana’ , in spite of them being the most liberal of parents. As you see, my pursuit of gyan did not come easy.
These are days you see words of wisdom dished all around, and rarely get to see people of wisdom. You wake up to motivational messages wishing you a great day if you stay positive or go to bed with messages of wonderful dreams and promises of a better dawn that makes you forget that none of the morning messages came true. The gurus tell you things you knew all along which you always considered trivial. Suddenly the same stuff has more gravity when spoken by a guru and would bring about a spiritual awakening in you. ‘Wake up in the morning, close your eyes and hold your wife’s hands’. Now, if I said that, you would brand me a moron. Imagine the same being narrated by a guru in a nasal tone or a deep hoarse voice, with an unruly facial hair, clad in, white, saffron or a green robe. There is a tectonic shift in the effect that the very same statement has on you.
Finally when a Sri Sri proclaims an event on teaching you the nuances of how to live, it becomes an event where you have 3.5 Million people flocking to the venue. I believe you don’t need a white / Saffron/ green robe (My apologies if I have missed out other colours, it was not intentional or discriminatory to the other colour) and a black beard (since this feature is a common factor I’m happy) to teach the art of living. One can learn it from an unemployed educated youth wearing a trouser worn out at its helms and sporting a soiled white shirt, or from a rickshaw puller sporting a colourful lungi and a well ventilated vest. You my friends,can learn the art of living from the above gentlemen drawn from different strata of the society. Lend a ear to their hardships, and I bet you end up learning more than any of the discourses you may listen to by the so called acclaimed self-proclaimed gurus.
Take a deep breath and feel the moment, love a fellow human irrespective of his cast, creed and religion and be at peace with what you have, voila you have already mastered the art of living.
Living is not an art but a conglomeration of intuitive actions that takes you through to the next minute of your life, the day you understand that, you are an artist who has mastered how to live.
You might wonder why the title made no sense. I simply used Rum to Ruminate on Rumi.
Gurus come and go!!! Be your own guru!
Friday, September 4, 2015
We think of you….
We came to you as teary eyed 4 year olds with a handful of jumbled letters and you made us a meaningful word out of it. We then grew up to be a mix of jumbled words; you made us into an expressive sentence. We never knew when to stop or pause, you told us, the full stop and the comma were for that. Finally when we had learnt to put them all together we proudly showed you our prose. You weren’t impressed; you taught us ways to make it sound better. Finally, you made poetry out of us.
When the lines were skewed and the angles were not adding up, you were the angel who taught us, that variables were as important as the constants both in Mathematics and life. This lesson we carry until this day. You gave us little tricks to solve complex problems and tucked it into our sleeves and asked us to use it when the need arises. We think of you, decades later, when we pull it out of our sleeves while teaching our little ones.
When we look at a plant today we still remember the Xylem and the Phloem’s, when at the physician’s and discussing a liver ailment, we quickly ask, "Is the bile secretion ok?” We go on to have reasonably informed discussions with our physician. The gen next looks up at us with an expression "When did you google that?" We simply smile and think of you!
Even today being part of an audience in a school quiz show, when a blurred image of a cave pops up on the screen followed by the question, we put up our hand with the same childlike exuberance and shout out the answer ...stalactites and stalagmites it is!. When we are flying over the vast oceans and land forms we name them silently to ourselves, thinking of you.
At a local athletic meet, we remember the synchronized marching tips and the hop skip and jump rules in a triple jump you drilled us in. We think of you setting our bars high, be it for a high jump attempt or for the life ahead in general.
We think of you when we open a door for a lady, or when we stand up as an elderly person walks in, or each time we say please and sorry. We think about you each time we say a Thank you!
Here you are! Thank you! You put in your best to make us do our best. We hope we did.
Happy Teachers Day!!!
The Class of '88
When the lines were skewed and the angles were not adding up, you were the angel who taught us, that variables were as important as the constants both in Mathematics and life. This lesson we carry until this day. You gave us little tricks to solve complex problems and tucked it into our sleeves and asked us to use it when the need arises. We think of you, decades later, when we pull it out of our sleeves while teaching our little ones.
When we look at a plant today we still remember the Xylem and the Phloem’s, when at the physician’s and discussing a liver ailment, we quickly ask, "Is the bile secretion ok?” We go on to have reasonably informed discussions with our physician. The gen next looks up at us with an expression "When did you google that?" We simply smile and think of you!
Even today being part of an audience in a school quiz show, when a blurred image of a cave pops up on the screen followed by the question, we put up our hand with the same childlike exuberance and shout out the answer ...stalactites and stalagmites it is!. When we are flying over the vast oceans and land forms we name them silently to ourselves, thinking of you.
At a local athletic meet, we remember the synchronized marching tips and the hop skip and jump rules in a triple jump you drilled us in. We think of you setting our bars high, be it for a high jump attempt or for the life ahead in general.
We think of you when we open a door for a lady, or when we stand up as an elderly person walks in, or each time we say please and sorry. We think about you each time we say a Thank you!
Here you are! Thank you! You put in your best to make us do our best. We hope we did.
Happy Teachers Day!!!
The Class of '88
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