Remember those gory visuals on television? A police officer, his right leg blown off by a bomb and his chopped fingers strewn all over the place, wreathing in pain as two ministers and nearly two dozen officials and policemen looked on helplessly on a street in Tamil Nadu?
But this piece is not about the visuals themselves, though the desirability of showing such disturbing visuals without adequate screening is in itself a serious matter for debate. It is more about what followed thereafter - the way the ministers, officials and policemen were grilled and roasted by the anchors of news channels for their cardinal failure to come to the rescue of the dying policeman. When the under-fire superintendent of police of the concerned district feebly tried to point out that everybody was stunned into inaction for a few minutes by the sheer suddenness of the incident and that it was nothing like ‘an eternity’ that the anchor was referring to, the anchor had the audacity to harangue the officer thus: “Come on, officer. The police officer was wreathing in pain and was asking for help for close to 25 minutes. The television cameras were all there. We have got footage of more than 10 minutes. What are you talking about?”
Something within me snapped at this point. I could feel my blood curdle – not at the supposedly guilty SP, but at the shrill anchor. Here was a man who was actually bragging about the fact that television crews were busy shooting the dying man for ‘over 10 minutes’ – not once thinking about leaving their cameras aside and rushing to the help of the man!!
Perhaps, there is no use blaming the anchor because an anchor is only as good (or as bad) as the channel. This particular English channel held everybody who was present on the spot guilty of insensitivity. But wasn’t its own crew (or whichever crew it borrowed the footage from) guilty of the same crime? What moral right does it have to question others when, instead of taking the crew to task, it actually tom-tommed the ‘exclusive’ footage shot by it – showing it uncensored?? Does one become some kind of a robot – devoid of all human emotion and sensitivity – the moment s/he becomes a journalist or a cameraperson???
Even a police officer needs a warrant issued by the competent authority to enter your house. But the television media needs no permission. It can barge into your home - even your bedroom – any time of the day or night if it smells the sniff of a ‘story’ there. There may be a bereavement in the family. But that would not stop the intrepid reporter from thrusting his boom in front of your face and ask blithely; “How are you feeling?”
Of late, the media – especially the television media – has arrogated to itself the sole right to ask questions of everybody. But who would question the media? Certainly not the Press Council, a toothless body with no power to take erring media houses to task. Such is the power of the media that even the seemingly all powerful politicians, bureaucrats and the judiciary dare not ask an uncomfortable question to it. If they do, the media fraternity would hit the streets crying themselves hoarse over the attempt to “gag the Press”, “throttle freedom of expression” and “rape of democracy”. So dead drunk it is of its power (and so cut-throat the race for the TRP, one might add) that it is futile to expect it to introspect and take corrective measures.
So, who will rein in the media? The only entity that has the power to take on the rampaging bull is the ‘consumer’ of news – the television news viewer, the newspaper reader and so on. When s/he makes it clear that s/he will not have this nonsense any more, the big bosses of the media are bound to sit up and take notice. From there to taking the necessary corrective steps is just a step away.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Of fixers and retainers
A couple of weeks back, a friend of 30 years called up. I was a trifle intrigued because he rarely bothers calling though we live and work in the same town. The friend, who is now the vice president of a leading Indian corporate with interests in the lucrative mining sector in Orissa, started by asking about a prominent RTI activist of the state and my relationship with him. I said I had the best of relations with this activist.
It was only after this that the purpose of his call became clear. [I now wonder if corporate types ever make a courtesy call to anybody, including friends from the student days.] The said activist was apparently proving to be a thorn in his company’s designs to mine iron ore without being shackled by irritants like mining and forest laws by filing RTI application after RTI application on the company’s illegal operations. The friend bragged that he had managed to hold up an answer to the RTI query so far by pulling the right strings, but was then quick to concede that he could not postpone the inevitable for eternity. Coming to the ‘business’ end of the talk, he asked if I could have a ‘chat’ with this activist to make him desist from going after the company: in short, if I could ‘fix’ him.
I tried to reason with him saying this activist friend comes from a very rich family and hence is not amenable to monetary inducements; that he is in it for the love of it and not to cut deals with corporates. But the friend was skeptical and persisted with his proposal for a meeting. For good measure, he added that we could meet before the meeting with the activist and work out some ‘arrangement’ – not just for this particular case but a ‘long term’ one.
I was struck by the sheer audacity of the proposal. Here was a friend, who knows me for three decades, actually offering me a bribe to ‘fix’ a troublesome activist. I could understand his firm belief that the activist is up for sale since he does not know him personally. But how could he even think of proposing to buy me off to do his bidding? I felt like giving him a mouthful and banging the phone on him. But I could do nothing of the sort and told him, sheepishly and vaguely, that we would meet ‘one of these days’.
Despite my timidity in telling him on his face what I thought of his ‘business proposal’, I guess this friend of mine got enough hints about my discomfiture with the whole idea and I doubt if he would really go ahead and arrange a meeting. But you never know. In the shameless world that corporate India has become, every senior execuitve is convinced that everybody and everything has a price tag.
If the proposed meeting does come about, I have little doubt that it would be at one of the many swanky hotels of the town, where the booze and food bill for two could be upwards of Rs. 2, 000. I also know for sure that my good friend will not be paying this amount from his pocket. All corporates have a specific ‘head’ to account for such ‘miscellaneous’ expenses.
That the amount in question is small change for a leading corporate house goes without saying. But two years ago, I learnt the hard way that there are no ‘heads’ in the company’s books to account for even this measly sum if it is for a cause less 'worthier' than giving a treat to a journalist. The occasion was a film festival organized by a film society, of which I am one of the founding members, in the town. I had gone to this very friend asking for a small sponsorship. Starting with Rs. 5, 000, I had scaled down my request to just Rs. 2, 000 in the end. But dozens of calls and several visits to his office later, I drew a blank.
I lost considerable face in the bargain as the other core members found it hard to believe that a journalist of my seniority and standing could not manage a sponsorship of a few thousand rupees, especially considering the fact that this vice president was a friend of mine. Some of them perhaps thought I did not try. Others doubted my standing in the pecking order.
Though I was mighty angry at the time when the friend made the indecent proposal to me, the anger has now dissipated and given way to a painful realisation that he could hardly be blamed for doing what he did. After all, aren’t there are many in my tribe - not just in Niira Radia’s Delhi, but in our very own Bhubaneswar - who do not have any compunction about putting themselves up for sale in the corporate or political bourse? There is this senior journalist of a major Odia newspaper, who is known to have ‘fixed’ mining leases for at least five companies and has now been rewarded with a palatial building in a posh area of the town for his ‘help’. Then there is this Young Turk, who has consistently and unabashedly batted for Vedanta, the company now in the docks, for the last couple of years. Indeed, it would not be a travesty of truth to say that the corporate and political fixers and retainers now outnumber those who play by the book.
In this dismal scenario, is there a hope in hell for the honest journalist? I believe there is because nobody – just nobody, no matter how powerful or rich s/he is - can force you to trade your integrity. All that one has to do is to resist the temptations for the good things in life, live within one’s means and occasionally endure the taunts of friends, family or well wishers for being a ‘good for nothing’. Is that such a big price to pay?
It was only after this that the purpose of his call became clear. [I now wonder if corporate types ever make a courtesy call to anybody, including friends from the student days.] The said activist was apparently proving to be a thorn in his company’s designs to mine iron ore without being shackled by irritants like mining and forest laws by filing RTI application after RTI application on the company’s illegal operations. The friend bragged that he had managed to hold up an answer to the RTI query so far by pulling the right strings, but was then quick to concede that he could not postpone the inevitable for eternity. Coming to the ‘business’ end of the talk, he asked if I could have a ‘chat’ with this activist to make him desist from going after the company: in short, if I could ‘fix’ him.
I tried to reason with him saying this activist friend comes from a very rich family and hence is not amenable to monetary inducements; that he is in it for the love of it and not to cut deals with corporates. But the friend was skeptical and persisted with his proposal for a meeting. For good measure, he added that we could meet before the meeting with the activist and work out some ‘arrangement’ – not just for this particular case but a ‘long term’ one.
I was struck by the sheer audacity of the proposal. Here was a friend, who knows me for three decades, actually offering me a bribe to ‘fix’ a troublesome activist. I could understand his firm belief that the activist is up for sale since he does not know him personally. But how could he even think of proposing to buy me off to do his bidding? I felt like giving him a mouthful and banging the phone on him. But I could do nothing of the sort and told him, sheepishly and vaguely, that we would meet ‘one of these days’.
Despite my timidity in telling him on his face what I thought of his ‘business proposal’, I guess this friend of mine got enough hints about my discomfiture with the whole idea and I doubt if he would really go ahead and arrange a meeting. But you never know. In the shameless world that corporate India has become, every senior execuitve is convinced that everybody and everything has a price tag.
If the proposed meeting does come about, I have little doubt that it would be at one of the many swanky hotels of the town, where the booze and food bill for two could be upwards of Rs. 2, 000. I also know for sure that my good friend will not be paying this amount from his pocket. All corporates have a specific ‘head’ to account for such ‘miscellaneous’ expenses.
That the amount in question is small change for a leading corporate house goes without saying. But two years ago, I learnt the hard way that there are no ‘heads’ in the company’s books to account for even this measly sum if it is for a cause less 'worthier' than giving a treat to a journalist. The occasion was a film festival organized by a film society, of which I am one of the founding members, in the town. I had gone to this very friend asking for a small sponsorship. Starting with Rs. 5, 000, I had scaled down my request to just Rs. 2, 000 in the end. But dozens of calls and several visits to his office later, I drew a blank.
I lost considerable face in the bargain as the other core members found it hard to believe that a journalist of my seniority and standing could not manage a sponsorship of a few thousand rupees, especially considering the fact that this vice president was a friend of mine. Some of them perhaps thought I did not try. Others doubted my standing in the pecking order.
Though I was mighty angry at the time when the friend made the indecent proposal to me, the anger has now dissipated and given way to a painful realisation that he could hardly be blamed for doing what he did. After all, aren’t there are many in my tribe - not just in Niira Radia’s Delhi, but in our very own Bhubaneswar - who do not have any compunction about putting themselves up for sale in the corporate or political bourse? There is this senior journalist of a major Odia newspaper, who is known to have ‘fixed’ mining leases for at least five companies and has now been rewarded with a palatial building in a posh area of the town for his ‘help’. Then there is this Young Turk, who has consistently and unabashedly batted for Vedanta, the company now in the docks, for the last couple of years. Indeed, it would not be a travesty of truth to say that the corporate and political fixers and retainers now outnumber those who play by the book.
In this dismal scenario, is there a hope in hell for the honest journalist? I believe there is because nobody – just nobody, no matter how powerful or rich s/he is - can force you to trade your integrity. All that one has to do is to resist the temptations for the good things in life, live within one’s means and occasionally endure the taunts of friends, family or well wishers for being a ‘good for nothing’. Is that such a big price to pay?
Friday, November 26, 2010
L'affaire Barkha, Vir
There are those who believe that publishing Niira Radia’s tapped conversations with star journalists Barkha Dutt, Vir Sanghvi and Prabhu Chawla et al crossed the line of ‘media ethics’ since they were not given a chance to defend themselves before going public. But I believe the exact opposite. It is the mainstream media – especially the so-called national English newspapers and TV channels - which has violated all norms of media ethics by maintaining a deafening silence over the whole affair. If they are convinced that ‘Outlook’ and ‘Open’ magazines did something unethical, nothing prevented them from publishing the tapes after giving a fair chance to these worthies to come out with their versions. In blacking out the story altogether, they have laid themselves open to the charge of a conspiracy of silence. I have absolutely no doubt that they would have pounced upon it and gone ahead with the mandatory ‘Breaking News’ tagline before others could lay their hands on it if only it had involved politicians or bureaucrats (or anybody else for that matter) instead of a few of their own. [By the way, just imagine asking Barkha Dutt and Vir Sanghvi for their side of the story before publishing the transcripts of the tapes. Powerful people enjoying the whole-hearted support of the ruling dispensation that they are, they would have moved heaven and hearth to kill the story in the womb!! ]
The point to note about the Radia tapes is that none of the dramatis personae from the media fraternity have seriously questioned their authenticity, though Vir Sanghvi did allude - rather feebly, I would say – to the fact that even the magazine (Open) did not vouch for their authenticity.
Now, let us consider the explanations tendered by Barkha Dutt and Vir Sanghvi. Barkha’s contention is that her conversation with Radia was part of the legitimate news gathering activity of a journalist. But a careful hearing of the tapes (or a careful reading of the transcripts) makes it difficult to buy this argument. She does appear to be taking more interest in the Congress-DMK deal making than is normal for a journalist . Just two excerpts from the conversation will suffice. “Oh god! So, now what should I tell them? Tell me”, she says at one point. The context is TR Baalu playing spoilsport by going public with his comments. At another point, she says; “I know. We have taken that off”, in the background of Dayanidhi Maran going around telling people that he was ‘the only acceptable person.’ Notice the use of ‘we’ here. She rounds it off by saying ‘Okay. Let me talk to them again”. This is after Niira tells her; “Congress needs to tell Karunanidhi that we have not said anything about Maran.” In trying to pass off these statements as part of normal journalistic activity, Barkha is stretching our credulity a little too far.
At worst, Barkha can be accused of acting as go-between in the Congress-DMK deal-making over the formation of the government. But Vir Sanghvi’s crime is enormous and unpardonable. Here is the Editor-in-Chief of The Hindustan Times actually taking briefs from a corporate lobbyist on what spin to give to his ‘must must read’ column. He does not stop at that. He promises the lobbyist to talk to her minion and get the final version vetted by her!! [Considering the said piece was on the pricing of a precious national resource like natural gas, it would perhaps not be wholly inappropriate to dub him the journalistic equivalent of A Raja!]
Barkha may still redeem herself. But I am afraid Vir is tainted for life. Given the criteria media barons use to choose their editors, it would not be surprising if a major newspaper or television channel hires his services in future. But I bet the readers will, from now on, always try and read between the lines and see what or whose agenda he is pushing in his writing – even when he is not actually doing so. A case in point is the reaction to the one piece that he has written after Radiagate broke – apart, of course, from the rather disjointed rejoinder - on Nov 20 on his website on the subject of the Prime Minister’s image crisis in the aftermath of the Spectrum scandal.
This, however, is only a self goal scored by Vir. But the greater damage that he has done is to the credibility of the media fraternity as a whole. If a journalist of his stature can act like a corporate lobbyist (and a family retainer of the Gandhis, one may add), who do the people trust? The trust deficit that he has created has made every journalist a suspect in the eyes of the viewers/readers.
A few words about the rejoinders furnished by Barkha and Vir here. For far too long, they have interpreted statements of others, read between the lines, deconstructed their body language, put things in context and added perspective to them for the benefit of the viewer/reader. Why don’t they, for a change, let the viewer/reader do all this in regard to their tapped conversations? After all, neither of them is denying the authenticity of the tapes. Or do they think the viewer/reader is too dumb to do what is their exclusive preserve?
The point to note about the Radia tapes is that none of the dramatis personae from the media fraternity have seriously questioned their authenticity, though Vir Sanghvi did allude - rather feebly, I would say – to the fact that even the magazine (Open) did not vouch for their authenticity.
Now, let us consider the explanations tendered by Barkha Dutt and Vir Sanghvi. Barkha’s contention is that her conversation with Radia was part of the legitimate news gathering activity of a journalist. But a careful hearing of the tapes (or a careful reading of the transcripts) makes it difficult to buy this argument. She does appear to be taking more interest in the Congress-DMK deal making than is normal for a journalist . Just two excerpts from the conversation will suffice. “Oh god! So, now what should I tell them? Tell me”, she says at one point. The context is TR Baalu playing spoilsport by going public with his comments. At another point, she says; “I know. We have taken that off”, in the background of Dayanidhi Maran going around telling people that he was ‘the only acceptable person.’ Notice the use of ‘we’ here. She rounds it off by saying ‘Okay. Let me talk to them again”. This is after Niira tells her; “Congress needs to tell Karunanidhi that we have not said anything about Maran.” In trying to pass off these statements as part of normal journalistic activity, Barkha is stretching our credulity a little too far.
At worst, Barkha can be accused of acting as go-between in the Congress-DMK deal-making over the formation of the government. But Vir Sanghvi’s crime is enormous and unpardonable. Here is the Editor-in-Chief of The Hindustan Times actually taking briefs from a corporate lobbyist on what spin to give to his ‘must must read’ column. He does not stop at that. He promises the lobbyist to talk to her minion and get the final version vetted by her!! [Considering the said piece was on the pricing of a precious national resource like natural gas, it would perhaps not be wholly inappropriate to dub him the journalistic equivalent of A Raja!]
Barkha may still redeem herself. But I am afraid Vir is tainted for life. Given the criteria media barons use to choose their editors, it would not be surprising if a major newspaper or television channel hires his services in future. But I bet the readers will, from now on, always try and read between the lines and see what or whose agenda he is pushing in his writing – even when he is not actually doing so. A case in point is the reaction to the one piece that he has written after Radiagate broke – apart, of course, from the rather disjointed rejoinder - on Nov 20 on his website on the subject of the Prime Minister’s image crisis in the aftermath of the Spectrum scandal.
This, however, is only a self goal scored by Vir. But the greater damage that he has done is to the credibility of the media fraternity as a whole. If a journalist of his stature can act like a corporate lobbyist (and a family retainer of the Gandhis, one may add), who do the people trust? The trust deficit that he has created has made every journalist a suspect in the eyes of the viewers/readers.
A few words about the rejoinders furnished by Barkha and Vir here. For far too long, they have interpreted statements of others, read between the lines, deconstructed their body language, put things in context and added perspective to them for the benefit of the viewer/reader. Why don’t they, for a change, let the viewer/reader do all this in regard to their tapped conversations? After all, neither of them is denying the authenticity of the tapes. Or do they think the viewer/reader is too dumb to do what is their exclusive preserve?
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Politicianspeak
The provocation for this piece was the almost identical and entirely predictable responses of two of the highest constitutional functionaries – Honurable Prime Minister Dr. Manmohan Singh and Honourable Chief Minister Naveen Patnaik – to two different judicial pronouncements made during the day. While the Supreme Court questioned the PM’s 15-month long silence on Dr. Subramaniam Swamy’s plea asking for permission to prosecute ‘Spectrum’ Raja, the Orissa High Court quashed the land acquisition for the proposed Vedanta University, delivering a body blow to CM Naveen Patnaik, who moved heaven and earth to get the project going. But the reactions were not different at all. Both of them said “Let us first study what the Court has actually said”, though in the PM’s case, it was the Congress spokesperson rather than the PM himself who reacted.
Here is a compilation of what the politician, when confronted with particular situations, says and what s/he actually means.
Situation: When rapped on the knuckles by the court
What the politician says: "Let us first study the judgment"
What s/he actually means: "I am too embarrassed to react."
Situation:When confronted with a serious charge
What the politician says: "The law will take its course."
What s/he actually means: "I will make sure that the law will never take its course."
Situation: When facing a serious charge in court
What the politican says: "I have full faith in the judiciary."
What s/he actually means: "I have full faith in my team of lawyers."
Situation: When exonerated by a court
What the politician says: "I have been vindicated."
What s/he actually means: "My battery of lawyers was better than yours."
Situation:While campaigning during an election
What the politician says: "I will work for the poor and the down-trodden."
Whats/he actually means: "I will work to make sure that the poor and the down trodden remain poor and down trodden."
Situation: When caught with his/her pants/panties down in a sting operation
What the politician says: "The tape is doctored."
What s/he actually means: "Who is the bast... who did this to me?"
Situation: When confronted with a scandal
What the politician says: "My conscience is clear."
What s/he actually means: "Yeh ‘conscience’ kis chidiya ka naam hai?"
Situation: When laying the foundation stone for an industry
What the politician says: "The plant will bring prosperity for the local people."
What s/he actually means: "This plant will bring prosperity for the industry, me and my party and misery for the local people."
Situation: When demanding a salary hike
What the politician says: "Do you know how much an MLA/MP has to spend to ‘attend to’ his constituency?"
What s/he actually means: "If you knew how much I have to spend to attend to my constituency, the income tax people would be after me."
Situation: When caught on camera hobnobbing with shady characters
What the politician says: "As a politician, I keep meeting so many people every day. Is it possible to verify the antecedents of everybody?"
What s/he actually means: "The next time, I will be more careful."
Situation: When faced with a no confidence motion
What the politician says: "I have the support of the majority in the House."
What s/he actually means: "I have all the money and I am sure I can buy the required number of votes to prove my majority in the House."
PS: This is only a sampling. You are free to add to it.
Here is a compilation of what the politician, when confronted with particular situations, says and what s/he actually means.
Situation: When rapped on the knuckles by the court
What the politician says: "Let us first study the judgment"
What s/he actually means: "I am too embarrassed to react."
Situation:When confronted with a serious charge
What the politician says: "The law will take its course."
What s/he actually means: "I will make sure that the law will never take its course."
Situation: When facing a serious charge in court
What the politican says: "I have full faith in the judiciary."
What s/he actually means: "I have full faith in my team of lawyers."
Situation: When exonerated by a court
What the politician says: "I have been vindicated."
What s/he actually means: "My battery of lawyers was better than yours."
Situation:While campaigning during an election
What the politician says: "I will work for the poor and the down-trodden."
Whats/he actually means: "I will work to make sure that the poor and the down trodden remain poor and down trodden."
Situation: When caught with his/her pants/panties down in a sting operation
What the politician says: "The tape is doctored."
What s/he actually means: "Who is the bast... who did this to me?"
Situation: When confronted with a scandal
What the politician says: "My conscience is clear."
What s/he actually means: "Yeh ‘conscience’ kis chidiya ka naam hai?"
Situation: When laying the foundation stone for an industry
What the politician says: "The plant will bring prosperity for the local people."
What s/he actually means: "This plant will bring prosperity for the industry, me and my party and misery for the local people."
Situation: When demanding a salary hike
What the politician says: "Do you know how much an MLA/MP has to spend to ‘attend to’ his constituency?"
What s/he actually means: "If you knew how much I have to spend to attend to my constituency, the income tax people would be after me."
Situation: When caught on camera hobnobbing with shady characters
What the politician says: "As a politician, I keep meeting so many people every day. Is it possible to verify the antecedents of everybody?"
What s/he actually means: "The next time, I will be more careful."
Situation: When faced with a no confidence motion
What the politician says: "I have the support of the majority in the House."
What s/he actually means: "I have all the money and I am sure I can buy the required number of votes to prove my majority in the House."
PS: This is only a sampling. You are free to add to it.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Big Fish, Small Fish
What is the next big thing that brand India has to offer to the world after IT? Auto components? State of the art electronic equipment?? Satellite launch vehicles???
If the buzz in the market is anything to go by, ‘translation’ – of all things - is all set to catapult India to the top of the heap in this particular segment of the global market in the near future. The size of the Indian ‘market’ for this supposedly lazy pastime of people with a little flair for languages and plenty of time on hands is, by one estimate, already over $ 500 million. Given the Indians’ penchant for languages, the country has a real possibility of cornering a sizeable chunk of the global market worth over $ 15 billion.
The icing on the cake: it also has the potential to generate more than 5, 00, 000 jobs in the country. Coming as it does from no less a person than Dr. Sam Pitroda, Chairman of the National Knowledge Commission, the figure can hardly be dismissed as idle speculation or ‘castles in the air’.
The one thing that did the trick for the Indian IT industry – ‘cheap labour’ (Yes, you heard right; it was not the much vaunted Indian capacity for patience and facility with the intricate) – is also fuelling the growth in the ‘translation industry’. The best part is: much of the market will be cornered by the vernacular translators (those who translate to and from any Indian language) rather than their ‘elite’ English counterparts, given the increasing tendency among multinational companies to ‘go local’.
This exponential growth in the translation industry will open up vast employment opportunities for Odias – as for their counterparts in other vernacular languages – with some command over their mother tongue and English or any other foreign language. At least some of these Odias can hope to emulate in the none-too-distant future Sandeep Mulkar, Chairman cum Managing Director of the Pune-based (Pune, by all accounts, has emerged as the ‘translation capital’ of India) Bureau for Interpretation and Translation Services, which already has big names like Volkswagen, Mercedes-Benz, John Deere and SAP, Infosys and Bharat Forge among its clients.
Right? Wrong. I would tell you why.
Shortly after the anti-Christian riots in Kandhamal last year, a well known activist from Mumbai was on a mission collecting FIRs filed by the victims of the riot (no prizes for guessing what purpose the FIRs served). Since the overwhelming majority of them were in Odia, they had to be translated into English to be ‘useful’. So, this woman activist took all the 190 odd FIRs to Mumbai to get them translated.
But a few days later, she called up a senior journalist friend in Bhubaneswar and requested him to get the documents translated by somebody here as the ‘mercenaries’ in Mumbai were quoting an ‘astronomical’ price for the job. The journalist friend obliged and the lady got her job done for one tenth [Or was it one twentieth? Or even one fiftieth?? There is really no way of knowing] of what she would have paid in the Maximum City. Meanwhile, the two young translators in the Minimum City burnt midnight oil for nearly a fortnight to meet the deadline.
It transpired that translation from Odia to English or vice versa costs significantly more than translation to and from most other Indian languages in Mumbai. A little digging up revealed that this is so because there are very few in the city who are competent in both the languages (no surprise this, given the typically Odia trait of ‘forgetting’ their mother tongue at the first available opportunity) and hence the few that there are have to be paid a fat amount by the ad agencies that handle almost the entire business of translation in the city (unless, of course, you happen to know somebody personally).
So, notwithstanding the enormous reach and power of the internet and wonderful innovations like the PDF and scanning, all that the Odia translator can hope to get is a few crumbs left over by the sharks of the trade. Some of the agencies engaged in the translation business in the big cities (that is where the moolah is) may appoint local franchisees and share a minuscule part of their whopping profit with them. But the poor translator, like the poor kendu leaf collector, will continue to earn a pittance unless s/he has the ways and means of setting up shop in the cities where such work is generated. Those who cannot are condemned to ply their trade for as little as Rs. 30, 20 or even Rs. 10 for an A4 size page!!!
If the buzz in the market is anything to go by, ‘translation’ – of all things - is all set to catapult India to the top of the heap in this particular segment of the global market in the near future. The size of the Indian ‘market’ for this supposedly lazy pastime of people with a little flair for languages and plenty of time on hands is, by one estimate, already over $ 500 million. Given the Indians’ penchant for languages, the country has a real possibility of cornering a sizeable chunk of the global market worth over $ 15 billion.
The icing on the cake: it also has the potential to generate more than 5, 00, 000 jobs in the country. Coming as it does from no less a person than Dr. Sam Pitroda, Chairman of the National Knowledge Commission, the figure can hardly be dismissed as idle speculation or ‘castles in the air’.
The one thing that did the trick for the Indian IT industry – ‘cheap labour’ (Yes, you heard right; it was not the much vaunted Indian capacity for patience and facility with the intricate) – is also fuelling the growth in the ‘translation industry’. The best part is: much of the market will be cornered by the vernacular translators (those who translate to and from any Indian language) rather than their ‘elite’ English counterparts, given the increasing tendency among multinational companies to ‘go local’.
This exponential growth in the translation industry will open up vast employment opportunities for Odias – as for their counterparts in other vernacular languages – with some command over their mother tongue and English or any other foreign language. At least some of these Odias can hope to emulate in the none-too-distant future Sandeep Mulkar, Chairman cum Managing Director of the Pune-based (Pune, by all accounts, has emerged as the ‘translation capital’ of India) Bureau for Interpretation and Translation Services, which already has big names like Volkswagen, Mercedes-Benz, John Deere and SAP, Infosys and Bharat Forge among its clients.
Right? Wrong. I would tell you why.
Shortly after the anti-Christian riots in Kandhamal last year, a well known activist from Mumbai was on a mission collecting FIRs filed by the victims of the riot (no prizes for guessing what purpose the FIRs served). Since the overwhelming majority of them were in Odia, they had to be translated into English to be ‘useful’. So, this woman activist took all the 190 odd FIRs to Mumbai to get them translated.
But a few days later, she called up a senior journalist friend in Bhubaneswar and requested him to get the documents translated by somebody here as the ‘mercenaries’ in Mumbai were quoting an ‘astronomical’ price for the job. The journalist friend obliged and the lady got her job done for one tenth [Or was it one twentieth? Or even one fiftieth?? There is really no way of knowing] of what she would have paid in the Maximum City. Meanwhile, the two young translators in the Minimum City burnt midnight oil for nearly a fortnight to meet the deadline.
It transpired that translation from Odia to English or vice versa costs significantly more than translation to and from most other Indian languages in Mumbai. A little digging up revealed that this is so because there are very few in the city who are competent in both the languages (no surprise this, given the typically Odia trait of ‘forgetting’ their mother tongue at the first available opportunity) and hence the few that there are have to be paid a fat amount by the ad agencies that handle almost the entire business of translation in the city (unless, of course, you happen to know somebody personally).
So, notwithstanding the enormous reach and power of the internet and wonderful innovations like the PDF and scanning, all that the Odia translator can hope to get is a few crumbs left over by the sharks of the trade. Some of the agencies engaged in the translation business in the big cities (that is where the moolah is) may appoint local franchisees and share a minuscule part of their whopping profit with them. But the poor translator, like the poor kendu leaf collector, will continue to earn a pittance unless s/he has the ways and means of setting up shop in the cities where such work is generated. Those who cannot are condemned to ply their trade for as little as Rs. 30, 20 or even Rs. 10 for an A4 size page!!!
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
The Pen and the Mouse
Ah, the romance of writing in the longhand!!!
The geeks of today cannot fathom this fascination for the longhand in an age when the mouse and the keyboard rule the world. But it has proved too overpowering for many old timers like this senior of mine who, even after becoming the Editor of a leading Odia daily, has steadfastly refused to run his fingers over the keyboard and has – surprise of surprises – gotten away with it.
This senior may be too much in love with his own handwriting - which, I must say, is outstanding. But there was no such factor influencing my hatred for the ‘mouse’. For well over a decade after computers started invading the workplace, I resisted the pressure – from peers as well as my employers – to abandon the good old pen in favour of the monstrous machine called the computer.
I still remember the day when the Editor-owner of the first newspaper I worked for issued a fiat asking all subs to start learning computers. “I would banish pen and paper from the news desk”, he was fond of bragging. If he could not have his way – at least for the period that I stayed with the newspaper – it was largely because of the stiff resistance that I and a few others of my persuasion put up to the ‘idea’, which the loyalist brigade hailed with a collective “What an idea, Sirji?”.
My opposition in this particular case, however, had less to do with my love of the longhand and more with my own idea of ‘division of labour’. I could feel a distinct sense of unease among the colleagues in the DTP room when they were asked by an official order to teach us the basics of operating the computer. They felt – and not without reason – they would lose their jobs once the subs started writing and editing their copies on the computer and made no secret of their unwillingness to teach us. Thanks to the support of subs like me, they did not lose their jobs immediately. But today, most of them are in a pitiable situation, slogging for a pittance at a DTP centre. Some have been forced by circumstances to take up jobs they had no previous experience of. They were the people who ushered in the computer revolution in the state. But, as they say, “the revolution devours its child’.
Many of my erstwhile colleagues later changed sides and took to the computer. My resistance to computers, however, remained long after I had left this particular newspaper. For years, I would write my stories in longhand, serpentine arrows and all, and then give it to a commercial DTP operator for composing, sitting with him during the entire process to ensure that typographical errors do not creep into the copy, before couriering it to the office.
It went on even after my wife, a hardware maintenance engineer herself, brought and installed a computer at home for my use. [She had precious little use for the computer while at home, given all the chores that a working woman in a nuclear family has to look after.] But my daughter, who was in her middle school at the time, took to the computer like the proverbial fish to water - writing, painting, playing games and doing sundry other things on it.
For years, mother and daughter would take turns trying to drag me to the computer. But I would always cook up a ready excuse not to sit before it. I later realized that I was cooking up excuses and alibis not just for them, but for me as well. “The thoughts just do not flow with the computer” (a statement that I now realise has no basis whatsoever), I would tell myself.
Today, as I write this piece, I am convinced that the computer – and the internet, its inseparable companion – is the best thing to have happened to mankind in the last century. I am now truly a convert to the cult of the computer (though rather late in the day) and wish that some day, my longhand-obsessed senior would discard his pen in favour of the ‘mouse’. Like me.
The geeks of today cannot fathom this fascination for the longhand in an age when the mouse and the keyboard rule the world. But it has proved too overpowering for many old timers like this senior of mine who, even after becoming the Editor of a leading Odia daily, has steadfastly refused to run his fingers over the keyboard and has – surprise of surprises – gotten away with it.
This senior may be too much in love with his own handwriting - which, I must say, is outstanding. But there was no such factor influencing my hatred for the ‘mouse’. For well over a decade after computers started invading the workplace, I resisted the pressure – from peers as well as my employers – to abandon the good old pen in favour of the monstrous machine called the computer.
I still remember the day when the Editor-owner of the first newspaper I worked for issued a fiat asking all subs to start learning computers. “I would banish pen and paper from the news desk”, he was fond of bragging. If he could not have his way – at least for the period that I stayed with the newspaper – it was largely because of the stiff resistance that I and a few others of my persuasion put up to the ‘idea’, which the loyalist brigade hailed with a collective “What an idea, Sirji?”.
My opposition in this particular case, however, had less to do with my love of the longhand and more with my own idea of ‘division of labour’. I could feel a distinct sense of unease among the colleagues in the DTP room when they were asked by an official order to teach us the basics of operating the computer. They felt – and not without reason – they would lose their jobs once the subs started writing and editing their copies on the computer and made no secret of their unwillingness to teach us. Thanks to the support of subs like me, they did not lose their jobs immediately. But today, most of them are in a pitiable situation, slogging for a pittance at a DTP centre. Some have been forced by circumstances to take up jobs they had no previous experience of. They were the people who ushered in the computer revolution in the state. But, as they say, “the revolution devours its child’.
Many of my erstwhile colleagues later changed sides and took to the computer. My resistance to computers, however, remained long after I had left this particular newspaper. For years, I would write my stories in longhand, serpentine arrows and all, and then give it to a commercial DTP operator for composing, sitting with him during the entire process to ensure that typographical errors do not creep into the copy, before couriering it to the office.
It went on even after my wife, a hardware maintenance engineer herself, brought and installed a computer at home for my use. [She had precious little use for the computer while at home, given all the chores that a working woman in a nuclear family has to look after.] But my daughter, who was in her middle school at the time, took to the computer like the proverbial fish to water - writing, painting, playing games and doing sundry other things on it.
For years, mother and daughter would take turns trying to drag me to the computer. But I would always cook up a ready excuse not to sit before it. I later realized that I was cooking up excuses and alibis not just for them, but for me as well. “The thoughts just do not flow with the computer” (a statement that I now realise has no basis whatsoever), I would tell myself.
Today, as I write this piece, I am convinced that the computer – and the internet, its inseparable companion – is the best thing to have happened to mankind in the last century. I am now truly a convert to the cult of the computer (though rather late in the day) and wish that some day, my longhand-obsessed senior would discard his pen in favour of the ‘mouse’. Like me.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Three cheers for 'Udisha'
“A rose by any other name would smell just as well”, they say. But I have my doubts. Every time somebody spells or pronounces my beloved Odisha as Orissa or Udisha, I get worked up. I was naturally thrilled when the Union Cabinet approved the Odisha government proposal to rename the state and its official language.
But to my consternation, I find that not every Odia shares my jubilation. Many feel this is much ado about nothing. “Do you seriously believe any outsider to start calling the state Odisha hereafter?”, asked a friend. “Odias have never really distinguished between ‘sa’ and ‘sha’ in their pronunciation. So, what is the big deal?”, queried another, who would rather have the state’s name pronounced as Odisa.
Year ago, I remember seething with rage when an anchor on good old Doordarshan made the announcement that the next programme was the Oriya (not Odia as it is now set to become) film “Niraba Jhada”, pronouncing the name in a way that made the second word – meaning storm – mean human shit.
Storm in a cup? Not when you are at the receiving end of an endless series of howlers, making you wonder at times if there is a pattern to it. Television news anchors would take great pains to pronounce the most tongue-twisting of names – be they Tamil, Tibetan, French, Spanish or whatever – correctly. But when it came to an Odia name, they would make sure that they mispronounce it. And thus, ‘Kandhamal’ would become ‘Khandamal’, ‘Swain’ ‘Swine’ and so on.
Ironically, the man responsible for getting the Centre’s nod for correction of the official name of the state and its language has left the television anchors far, far behind when it comes to mispronouncing Odia names. He has regaled crowds by turning Baripada, the headquarters of Mayurbhanj district, into the rural woman’s favourite term of abuse reserved for men in villages of coastal Odisha. But to give the devil his due, it was he – and not the supposedly quintessential Odia Chief Minister, who also ruled the state for three terms – who managed to do the unthinkable - getting a seemingly hostile UPA government to endorse the change of name. Perhaps aware of the repercussions of his move, he has even stopped pronouncing his state as Udisha as he used to do till a few months before the last elections.
I have always felt very strongly about misspelling or mispronunciation of names. I get terribly irritated each time somebody writes my name as Sandeep Sahoo, Sundeep Sahoo or Sandip Sahoo, even when s/he is merely copying from a document which has my name spelt correctly. So, I was a little amused when the change of name of the state and its language led to a furious debate about the desirability of such a change in much of the national media, which is usually very reticent about giving space to Odisha and Odias. I don’t remember any such debate when Bombay was renamed Mumbai, Madras became Chennai, Calcutta Kolkata and so on.
If the preceding paragraphs smell of a persecution complex and sound too parochial or jingoistic, here is something that should absolve me of all these sins. Even as I hate somebody mispronouncing my name, that of my state or my language, I know for sure that we Odias will continue to pronounce Odisha as Odisa, as my good friend had rightly pointed out, long after the cabinet decision gets formal parliamentary approval. And the rest of the world will continue to pronounce Odisha as Orissa or Udisha. Three cheers for Udisha!!!
But to my consternation, I find that not every Odia shares my jubilation. Many feel this is much ado about nothing. “Do you seriously believe any outsider to start calling the state Odisha hereafter?”, asked a friend. “Odias have never really distinguished between ‘sa’ and ‘sha’ in their pronunciation. So, what is the big deal?”, queried another, who would rather have the state’s name pronounced as Odisa.
Year ago, I remember seething with rage when an anchor on good old Doordarshan made the announcement that the next programme was the Oriya (not Odia as it is now set to become) film “Niraba Jhada”, pronouncing the name in a way that made the second word – meaning storm – mean human shit.
Storm in a cup? Not when you are at the receiving end of an endless series of howlers, making you wonder at times if there is a pattern to it. Television news anchors would take great pains to pronounce the most tongue-twisting of names – be they Tamil, Tibetan, French, Spanish or whatever – correctly. But when it came to an Odia name, they would make sure that they mispronounce it. And thus, ‘Kandhamal’ would become ‘Khandamal’, ‘Swain’ ‘Swine’ and so on.
Ironically, the man responsible for getting the Centre’s nod for correction of the official name of the state and its language has left the television anchors far, far behind when it comes to mispronouncing Odia names. He has regaled crowds by turning Baripada, the headquarters of Mayurbhanj district, into the rural woman’s favourite term of abuse reserved for men in villages of coastal Odisha. But to give the devil his due, it was he – and not the supposedly quintessential Odia Chief Minister, who also ruled the state for three terms – who managed to do the unthinkable - getting a seemingly hostile UPA government to endorse the change of name. Perhaps aware of the repercussions of his move, he has even stopped pronouncing his state as Udisha as he used to do till a few months before the last elections.
I have always felt very strongly about misspelling or mispronunciation of names. I get terribly irritated each time somebody writes my name as Sandeep Sahoo, Sundeep Sahoo or Sandip Sahoo, even when s/he is merely copying from a document which has my name spelt correctly. So, I was a little amused when the change of name of the state and its language led to a furious debate about the desirability of such a change in much of the national media, which is usually very reticent about giving space to Odisha and Odias. I don’t remember any such debate when Bombay was renamed Mumbai, Madras became Chennai, Calcutta Kolkata and so on.
If the preceding paragraphs smell of a persecution complex and sound too parochial or jingoistic, here is something that should absolve me of all these sins. Even as I hate somebody mispronouncing my name, that of my state or my language, I know for sure that we Odias will continue to pronounce Odisha as Odisa, as my good friend had rightly pointed out, long after the cabinet decision gets formal parliamentary approval. And the rest of the world will continue to pronounce Odisha as Orissa or Udisha. Three cheers for Udisha!!!
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