Debates are meant to end in a resolution, with one side prevailing over the other or – more often than not – both sides conceding some ground and agreeing to settle for a middle ground. But this one has dragged on for close to seven years now with no end in sight. One is talking about the debate over what is right for Budhia Singh: training and preparing him to be a future marathon champion or allowing him to be a ‘normal’ child; leaving him in the care of a dedicated coach like the late Biranchi Das or providing him ‘scientific’ training that does not take a toll on his tender body; acknowledging the fact that he is a prodigy and grooming him accordingly or rejecting the claim that he is made of some special stuff altogether.
There are forceful arguments to back each of these positions. Those who believe that he could have been groomed as a possible marathoner say champions are made not by pampering children but by putting them through the rigorous training regime that is the lot of every aspiring athlete. A ‘normal’ child leading a normal life with his/her share of fun, mischief and toffees, they maintain, can never become a champion. The counter argument is equally unexceptionable. A child is a child and nothing is more important than his/her childhood – not even the prospect of an Olympic medal some day.
Budhia’s present coach Rupanwita Panda, while acknowledging her ward’s amazing endurance, points to the fact that he was made to run marathon distances at a very tender age with not enough gap between two runs by his erstwhile coach when even adult marathoners are advised to undergo a one-month long period for recovery after every run. Running marathons frequently could have proved fatal for him, she says. But the other side says for all the ‘scientific’ training that Budhia has had at the Sports Hostel, he is not winning even school races, forget about running a marathon. It sincerely believes that for all practical purposes, Budhia has been ‘lost’ for good. The rejoinder to this argument by the votaries of the scientific training school is that Budhia has never really been a short distance sprinter; he has always been a marathoner and his strength has always been his ‘endurance’ rather than his speed.
Budhia’s endurance, however, is one thing over which there is very little argument. He can still take six laps at a stretch of the 400-meter track where he trains (the maximum allowed by his present coach) without any sign of fatigue. His coach still believes that he can be a very good middle distance runner, if not a marathoner, in future. She points to Budhia’s steadily improving timing in doing the laps to justify her belief. But at the same time, she is emphatic that rushing things at this stage could be disastrous.
Meeting Budhia recently was an eye opener. The boy that one met in Kalinga Stadium bore very little resemblance to the Budhia of yore who lived in the Judo Hall in BJB Nagar. He has grown bigger, taller and fairer (may be it is the ‘scientific’ training that has done the trick). He is a much mellowed child now. Gone is the fun-loving, mischievous and at times irritable boy with wild mood swings. In its place, there is now a 10-year old who listens to you with rapt attention, speaks confidently and coherently (though the peculiar twang remains) and even joins his hands in a ‘namaste’ when you finally bid goodbye. The shoeless, shabbily dressed Budhia has been replaced by a neatly shoed, immaculately dressed boy of 10 who even speaks a smattering of English these days (after all, he is studying at one of the most sought after schools in town – the Chandrashekharpur DAV School).
It is clear that his days at the Judo Hall are a hazy, distant memory for Budhia. It does not appear that he misses his old pals at Judo Hall much. He does, however, remember and miss his first coach. He gives the distinct impression of a happy, contended boy at ease with his surroundings and circumstances.
Certain things, however, remain unchanged. As was the case in the Judo Hall, he is still the baby of the team in his new abode – the Sports Hostel. All other boarders of his hostel are at least four years older than him. (The minimum age for entry to the hostel is 14, Budhia being an exceptional case.) Like in Judo Hall again, he is apparently loved and pampered by all his seniors in the hostel.
The distance from the Judo Hall to the Sports Hostel inside Kalinga Stadium is no more than seven kilometers. But in traversing that distance, it would seem, Budhia has stepped into a whole new world. The promise of an Olympic medal in marathon is now a long forgotten dream. He now strongly resembles the ‘normal’ boy that many wanted to make out of him. A ‘normal’ boy who plays a bit of sports!
Saturday, April 14, 2012
The court as the ultimate arbiter
We Indians have a time honoured tradition of knocking on the doors of the court for just about everything under the sun. The reasons for the recourse to court range from the sublime to the bizarre. Courts have been asked to adjudicate on matters as diverse as whether or not Ram Lalla was born at the disputed site where the Babri mosque stood till December 6, 1992 and whether consensual gay sex should or should not be a criminal offence. More often than not, however, it is a mundane matter of life and death which brings an individual, a group or an oragnisation to the doorsteps of a court room: a poor man harassed by the local administration, government employees denied their rightful dues by an apathetic government, tribals fighting for their forest based livelihood threatened by a mining or industrial project and so on.
There are two primary reasons for our obsession with courts: an inability (or is it unwillingness?) to come to a mature, mutually satisfying conclusion with the other party and an innate belief that the court knows best.
Two recent judgments – one each in the Supreme Court and the Orissa High Court – call into question this assumption that the court is the last word on everything: from how much compensation an accident victim should get to whether or not the election of a candidate is void.
Let us start with the one nearer home. Adjudicating on a petition filed by Nishikanta Mishra of Nationalist Lawyers’ Forum, the Orissa High Court ruled that the Indian Oil Corporation (IOC) can draw water from Mahanadi through an under-construction intake well in Cuttack for its refinery project in Paradip. The honorable court supposedly based its verdict on the report of an expert committee which had apparently concluded that drawing of water – a small matter of just 40 million gallons a day - for the refinery would neither affect the drinking water and irrigation needs of the people of Cuttack and surrounding areas nor threaten the embankments of Mahanadi in Cuttack city.
This columnist is too much of an ignoramus on the subject to even think of questioning either the verdict that the honorable court delivered in its wisdom or the report of the expert committee on which the verdict was presumably based. But certain questions do come to the mind. The first: why do expert committees appointed by courts on matters of a technical nature are almost always headed – and manned, one may add – almost entirely by retired bureaucrats? Are they the sole repository of all knowledge and wisdom on matters technical? For all knows, there could be an expert outside the cozy circle of ex-bureaucrats who could argue that the remedy suggested by the expert committee and accepted by the court – the dredging of the riverbed on a 6.5 km stretch from Naraj to Jobra – is worse than the disease. Should not such voices also be heard before ruling on a matter of life and death (and that precisely is what it is for millions of people dependent on the Mahanadi)?
But what takes the cake in the judgment of the honorable High Court is the list of do’s it has drawn up for the public sector giant: pay Rs. 10 crore to the Cuttack Shishu Bhavan, Rs. 3 crore to the Bhubaneswar-Cuttack Police Commissionerate for the modernization of infrastructure for safe and smooth flow of traffic and five hi-tech ambulances and construct a water treatment plant in Cuttack city to meet the drinking water needs of its people “as part of its corporate social responsibility”.
Sorry, Your Honour! But one thought you were requested by the petitioner to rule on whether or not the intake well at Hadiapatha would affect the drinking and irrigation water needs of the people and endanger the embankments along Mahanadi in Cuttack city. It was infinitely more important than the CSR obligations of a corporate house. If you thought, in your wisdom, that it would not impact either, the matter should have rested there. Why make the company pay for things totally unrelated to what it wants: water for its refinery. What, pray, is the link between the sufficiency or otherwise of water in Mahanadi and the number of beds available in the Cuttack Shishu Bhavan and the number of high-tech ambulances at the disposal of the authorities in Cuttack and Bhubaneswar? [In fact, IOC can legitimately challenge the High Court verdict asking it to pay what it has been asked to pay when its basic contention – that the intake well at Hadiapatha would not affect the people – had been upheld by the court. I have, however, no doubt whatsoever that it would do nothing of the sort, relieved as it is having the monkey off its back.]
The other question that comes to mind has to do with something entirely different. Was the fact that IOC is a public sector behemoth weigh, even if it was so small on the scale as to be called negligible, with the honorable judges? And the related question; would the verdict have been different had it been a private and a much smaller company?
Now to the other judgment, incidentally also related to rivers and water, delivered by the Supreme Court in the last week of February. In a judgment that could have far-reaching consequences, the apex court chided the Union government and asked it to implement the ambitious project of interlinking rivers in a ‘time-bound manner’ because delay in its implementation was raising the cost of the project. A three-judge bench headed by Chief Justice SH Kapadia also appointed a high powered committee manned mostly by babus from both Union and state governments, save two ‘social activists’ to oversee the implementation of the project.
The debate on the desirability of the inter-linking project has not even begun in right earnest in the country and it will take years before a conclusion is arrived at. Given the fact that the idea faces such stiff opposition from environmentalists, farmers and even experts, it is entirely possible that a solution may never emerge at all. They are of the firm view that inter-linking would lead cause serious ecological imbalance, lead to displacement of millions and still not fulfill the purpose for which it was conceived in the first place: to raise the irrigation capacity of the country to 160 million hectares by 2050. Murmurs of protest against the SC verdict have already begun and there are unmistakable signs that the opposition is going to get more and more vociferous in the days to come.
The petitioner in the Mahanadi case at least has the option of challenging the High Court decision in the Supreme Court, though there is no guarantee that the apex court will overturn the HC ruling. But where does one go if one has a problem with a verdict delivered by the Supreme Court (I am sure millions of people have a serious problem with the SC ruling on inter-linking of rivers)?
There are two primary reasons for our obsession with courts: an inability (or is it unwillingness?) to come to a mature, mutually satisfying conclusion with the other party and an innate belief that the court knows best.
Two recent judgments – one each in the Supreme Court and the Orissa High Court – call into question this assumption that the court is the last word on everything: from how much compensation an accident victim should get to whether or not the election of a candidate is void.
Let us start with the one nearer home. Adjudicating on a petition filed by Nishikanta Mishra of Nationalist Lawyers’ Forum, the Orissa High Court ruled that the Indian Oil Corporation (IOC) can draw water from Mahanadi through an under-construction intake well in Cuttack for its refinery project in Paradip. The honorable court supposedly based its verdict on the report of an expert committee which had apparently concluded that drawing of water – a small matter of just 40 million gallons a day - for the refinery would neither affect the drinking water and irrigation needs of the people of Cuttack and surrounding areas nor threaten the embankments of Mahanadi in Cuttack city.
This columnist is too much of an ignoramus on the subject to even think of questioning either the verdict that the honorable court delivered in its wisdom or the report of the expert committee on which the verdict was presumably based. But certain questions do come to the mind. The first: why do expert committees appointed by courts on matters of a technical nature are almost always headed – and manned, one may add – almost entirely by retired bureaucrats? Are they the sole repository of all knowledge and wisdom on matters technical? For all knows, there could be an expert outside the cozy circle of ex-bureaucrats who could argue that the remedy suggested by the expert committee and accepted by the court – the dredging of the riverbed on a 6.5 km stretch from Naraj to Jobra – is worse than the disease. Should not such voices also be heard before ruling on a matter of life and death (and that precisely is what it is for millions of people dependent on the Mahanadi)?
But what takes the cake in the judgment of the honorable High Court is the list of do’s it has drawn up for the public sector giant: pay Rs. 10 crore to the Cuttack Shishu Bhavan, Rs. 3 crore to the Bhubaneswar-Cuttack Police Commissionerate for the modernization of infrastructure for safe and smooth flow of traffic and five hi-tech ambulances and construct a water treatment plant in Cuttack city to meet the drinking water needs of its people “as part of its corporate social responsibility”.
Sorry, Your Honour! But one thought you were requested by the petitioner to rule on whether or not the intake well at Hadiapatha would affect the drinking and irrigation water needs of the people and endanger the embankments along Mahanadi in Cuttack city. It was infinitely more important than the CSR obligations of a corporate house. If you thought, in your wisdom, that it would not impact either, the matter should have rested there. Why make the company pay for things totally unrelated to what it wants: water for its refinery. What, pray, is the link between the sufficiency or otherwise of water in Mahanadi and the number of beds available in the Cuttack Shishu Bhavan and the number of high-tech ambulances at the disposal of the authorities in Cuttack and Bhubaneswar? [In fact, IOC can legitimately challenge the High Court verdict asking it to pay what it has been asked to pay when its basic contention – that the intake well at Hadiapatha would not affect the people – had been upheld by the court. I have, however, no doubt whatsoever that it would do nothing of the sort, relieved as it is having the monkey off its back.]
The other question that comes to mind has to do with something entirely different. Was the fact that IOC is a public sector behemoth weigh, even if it was so small on the scale as to be called negligible, with the honorable judges? And the related question; would the verdict have been different had it been a private and a much smaller company?
Now to the other judgment, incidentally also related to rivers and water, delivered by the Supreme Court in the last week of February. In a judgment that could have far-reaching consequences, the apex court chided the Union government and asked it to implement the ambitious project of interlinking rivers in a ‘time-bound manner’ because delay in its implementation was raising the cost of the project. A three-judge bench headed by Chief Justice SH Kapadia also appointed a high powered committee manned mostly by babus from both Union and state governments, save two ‘social activists’ to oversee the implementation of the project.
The debate on the desirability of the inter-linking project has not even begun in right earnest in the country and it will take years before a conclusion is arrived at. Given the fact that the idea faces such stiff opposition from environmentalists, farmers and even experts, it is entirely possible that a solution may never emerge at all. They are of the firm view that inter-linking would lead cause serious ecological imbalance, lead to displacement of millions and still not fulfill the purpose for which it was conceived in the first place: to raise the irrigation capacity of the country to 160 million hectares by 2050. Murmurs of protest against the SC verdict have already begun and there are unmistakable signs that the opposition is going to get more and more vociferous in the days to come.
The petitioner in the Mahanadi case at least has the option of challenging the High Court decision in the Supreme Court, though there is no guarantee that the apex court will overturn the HC ruling. But where does one go if one has a problem with a verdict delivered by the Supreme Court (I am sure millions of people have a serious problem with the SC ruling on inter-linking of rivers)?
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
The New Look Naveen
There is a twinkle in his eyes, a quiet confidence in his demeanour and a new found swagger in his steps these days. You don’t have to be a professional ‘body language’ reader to see the remarkable (and all too visible) transformation that the just concluded panchayat elections in the state have brought about in Naveen Patnaik.
Just about a fortnight before, the Chief Minister and BJD boss gave the distinct impression of a man under seize. The alleged Pipili gang rape case had hit the government, the party and Naveen himself like a ton of bricks. Both the government and the party were reeling under the combined weight of the vociferous protest by Opposition parties, women’s organizations, Dalit rights’ organizations and others. With the National Commission for Women, the National Scheduled Caste Commission, civil rights organizations and – last but not the least – the media constantly breathing down his neck, Naveen was clearly on the back foot. Having positioned himself as the messiah of women all through his reign, the Chief Minister gave the distinct impression of a man who was unable to fathom what had hit him and how he should respond to this crisis. Those who have seen him on a national English news channel answering questions on the Pipili case would remember the sense of unease and embarrassment in his demeanour.
Hardly had he recovered from the shock of the Pipili case and the embarrassment of having to get rid of his Agriculture minister when the hooch tragedy struck. Though it was not the first such tragedy during his 12-year rule, this one came at a particularly difficult time for him. Questions were raised about everything. Why was the government trying to pass it off as a ‘medicinal tragedy’ rather than a hooch tragedy? Why was the Excise Commissioner in the same post for six years at a stretch despite the fact that there had been at least two major hooch tragedies during his tenure? Why did not the government have a contingency plan ready when it had been warned about precisely such a thing happening after production of country spirit stopped at the Aska Sugar Factory following the burst in the molasses palnt?
Naveen responded to these questions the only way knows: getting the Excise minister and close friend AU Singhdeo to resign; sacking, suspending or transferring dozens of officials, including the Excise Commissioner and the Drugs Controller and arresting over a thousand people all over the state for illicit liquor trade.
Nothing exemplified Naveen’s sense of desperation more than the way he campaigned for the panchayat elections. Observers noted that no other Chief Minister (himself included) had addressed as many campaign meetings (over a hundred, according to most estimates) during a panchayat election. Naveen hit the campaign trail with gusto, giving it everything that he had.
The results are there for everybody to see.
Armed with the resounding victory his party has notched up, winning no less than 26 out of the 30 zilla parishads, Naveen is now ready to take on the world. Gone is the diffidence, the hesitant manners and the shying away from the media. Seizing on the
opportunity provided by the latest guffaw by the bumbling UPA government in the matter of the powers proposed to be given to the National Centre for Counter Terrorism (NCTC), Naveen did something that one does not ordinarily associate with him: assembling a dozen Chief Ministers and regional satraps of disparate persuasions to raise the banner of revolt against
the UPAgovernment at the Centre. The man who kept a safe distance from the media just weeks ago created a record of sorts by appearing in live discussions on almost all national English television channels on the same day. The vociferous voices of protest that rent the air just a month ago have now been submerged in the deafening celebrations of BJD workers. The decimated Opposition, which went and hammer and tongs at him till the election got underway, has now been r e n d e r e d speechless. Civil rights organisations have exhausted their lung power while news related to the Pipili case and the hooch tragedy has receded into the inner pages of newspapers – and thereby away from public memory. The new found confidence saw Naveen
unilaterally announcing the candidature of Ranendra ‘Raja’ Swain for the Athgarh by-election, ignoring the openly expressed reservations of chief party strategist Pyari Mohan Mohapatra about Raja.
Not many people credit the BJD supremo with political acumen. But the ‘outsider’ has obviously learnt the one lesson that is nursery rhyme for any aspiring politician: public memory is short. The second lesson that he has mastered is: nothing succeeds like an election victory.
[PS: This blog was first published in “The Political and Business Daily”]
Just about a fortnight before, the Chief Minister and BJD boss gave the distinct impression of a man under seize. The alleged Pipili gang rape case had hit the government, the party and Naveen himself like a ton of bricks. Both the government and the party were reeling under the combined weight of the vociferous protest by Opposition parties, women’s organizations, Dalit rights’ organizations and others. With the National Commission for Women, the National Scheduled Caste Commission, civil rights organizations and – last but not the least – the media constantly breathing down his neck, Naveen was clearly on the back foot. Having positioned himself as the messiah of women all through his reign, the Chief Minister gave the distinct impression of a man who was unable to fathom what had hit him and how he should respond to this crisis. Those who have seen him on a national English news channel answering questions on the Pipili case would remember the sense of unease and embarrassment in his demeanour.
Hardly had he recovered from the shock of the Pipili case and the embarrassment of having to get rid of his Agriculture minister when the hooch tragedy struck. Though it was not the first such tragedy during his 12-year rule, this one came at a particularly difficult time for him. Questions were raised about everything. Why was the government trying to pass it off as a ‘medicinal tragedy’ rather than a hooch tragedy? Why was the Excise Commissioner in the same post for six years at a stretch despite the fact that there had been at least two major hooch tragedies during his tenure? Why did not the government have a contingency plan ready when it had been warned about precisely such a thing happening after production of country spirit stopped at the Aska Sugar Factory following the burst in the molasses palnt?
Naveen responded to these questions the only way knows: getting the Excise minister and close friend AU Singhdeo to resign; sacking, suspending or transferring dozens of officials, including the Excise Commissioner and the Drugs Controller and arresting over a thousand people all over the state for illicit liquor trade.
Nothing exemplified Naveen’s sense of desperation more than the way he campaigned for the panchayat elections. Observers noted that no other Chief Minister (himself included) had addressed as many campaign meetings (over a hundred, according to most estimates) during a panchayat election. Naveen hit the campaign trail with gusto, giving it everything that he had.
The results are there for everybody to see.
Armed with the resounding victory his party has notched up, winning no less than 26 out of the 30 zilla parishads, Naveen is now ready to take on the world. Gone is the diffidence, the hesitant manners and the shying away from the media. Seizing on the
opportunity provided by the latest guffaw by the bumbling UPA government in the matter of the powers proposed to be given to the National Centre for Counter Terrorism (NCTC), Naveen did something that one does not ordinarily associate with him: assembling a dozen Chief Ministers and regional satraps of disparate persuasions to raise the banner of revolt against
the UPAgovernment at the Centre. The man who kept a safe distance from the media just weeks ago created a record of sorts by appearing in live discussions on almost all national English television channels on the same day. The vociferous voices of protest that rent the air just a month ago have now been submerged in the deafening celebrations of BJD workers. The decimated Opposition, which went and hammer and tongs at him till the election got underway, has now been r e n d e r e d speechless. Civil rights organisations have exhausted their lung power while news related to the Pipili case and the hooch tragedy has receded into the inner pages of newspapers – and thereby away from public memory. The new found confidence saw Naveen
unilaterally announcing the candidature of Ranendra ‘Raja’ Swain for the Athgarh by-election, ignoring the openly expressed reservations of chief party strategist Pyari Mohan Mohapatra about Raja.
Not many people credit the BJD supremo with political acumen. But the ‘outsider’ has obviously learnt the one lesson that is nursery rhyme for any aspiring politician: public memory is short. The second lesson that he has mastered is: nothing succeeds like an election victory.
[PS: This blog was first published in “The Political and Business Daily”]
The Missed Call: India’s Lifeline
I seriously doubt if Sunita (name changed) has ever made a call on her mobile. Every single time she picks up the phone and makes a call, it is a ‘missed call’, the Great Indian Innovation. For some reason which is still a mystery to me, her particular brand of missed call would be so brief that bat an eyelid and you would actually ‘miss’ it. Just a single tinkle of your hello tune which, if you are not close enough or attentive enough to your mobile, you are more than likely to miss. But you are supposed to not only not miss the solitary beep, but call back within minutes, if not seconds. And once you call, she would just not stop. An average conversation with her lasts between 25 to 40 minutes. The cost is all yours, but the pleasure all hers! Thoroughly disgusted with this very irritating habit of Sunita, my wife stopped responding to her missed calls. Lo and behold! The missed calls simply stopped coming! Much to the relief of my wife, I must add.
The ‘missed call’ – and not the Great Indian Railways or Indian Post – is the true lifeline of India. The range of uses it is put to is truly breathtaking. You are waiting for the car. The driver gives you a missed call. You understand that he has arrived and rush downstairs. If that sounds a little too elitist, let us choose a more ‘aam admi’ example. The neighbourhood rickshawala who ferries your child to school gives a missed call and you realize it is time for your child to rush out. You get down from a bus, give a missed call to someone and s/he lands there in minutes to pick you up. I have absolutely no doubt that every reader of this piece can, from his or her own experience, list dozens of ways in which the missed call is used.
This kind of use of the missed call is based on sound economics and sound practical sense. After all, why do you need to spend, even if it is only a few paisa, when you can get what you want done with just a missed call? No wonder users of this kind of need-based missed calls form the overwhelming majority. But there are also those who use the missed call not to save their money, but that of others. Like this Good Samaritan friend of mine, who has asked his office peon to give him a missed call whenever he needs to speak to him. He would call back – to save a few paise from the peon’s mobile bill!
When it comes to creative use of the missed call, you have to hand it to the new age youth. Recently, I was aghast to hear that a 20-something youth has had 10/12 affairs – all of them born out of ‘missed calls’ (out of responding to ‘missed calls’, to be more precise). If the guy who narrated this to me - with the Casanova blushing like a coy bride throughout – is too be believed, there are apparently ‘hundreds’ of girls and boys scouring the airwaves through the proven path of the missed call for a virtual affair which may or may not transform into a real affair. I would have dismissed the whole story as so much hogwash had it not been for a story that I had read just days before on the front page of a leading Odia daily. A young couple had fallen in ‘missed call love’ and decided to come to Bhubaneswar and marry. The marriage solemnized (in a temple, where else?), the couple stayed in a lodge. On the fourth day, the boy told the girl her mother had suddenly taken ill and he had to rush. He promised to return by evening but never did. Desperate calls by the girl to the number that had been instrumental in the birth of their affair elicited the ‘switched off’ answer. Shattered, she went to the Mahila police station and that is how the whole thing came to light.
For every single way of using the missed call, there are at least ten different ways of misusing or abusing it. A friend’s wife had a harrowing experience for about a week after she committed the cardinal error of calling back after receiving a missed call on her mobile. The voice at the other end belonged to a young man, who kept pestering her with professions of love though dozens of missed calls a day, without realising that the lady she was proposing to was perhaps old enough to be her mother! Her husband, however, played spoilsport, ending the Cupid-struck boy’s short-lived dalliance with a mouthful on day.
Personally speaking, I am not a big fan of this business of the missed call. To be honest, I positively detest it. But I shudder to think of the day when the missed calls would be chargeable. I have no doubt whatsoever in my mind that the whole nation would rise against it like never before, not even during the brief euphoria of the Anna Hazare movement last year. The UPA government survived the Anna wave. But I doubt if can withstand the missed call avalanche if it were to make it a paid service.
May be the UPA government knows that already. May be that is why it has, despite a supposedly reformist Prime Minister, never paid any attention whatsoever to the persistent – and some would say legitimate – demand of the telecom operators that they should be allowed to bill customers for missed calls. In a country where governments have been known to fall because of the rise in onion prices, this one is a real hot potato for any political party or formation – and not just the UPA – to handle.
The ‘missed call’ – and not the Great Indian Railways or Indian Post – is the true lifeline of India. The range of uses it is put to is truly breathtaking. You are waiting for the car. The driver gives you a missed call. You understand that he has arrived and rush downstairs. If that sounds a little too elitist, let us choose a more ‘aam admi’ example. The neighbourhood rickshawala who ferries your child to school gives a missed call and you realize it is time for your child to rush out. You get down from a bus, give a missed call to someone and s/he lands there in minutes to pick you up. I have absolutely no doubt that every reader of this piece can, from his or her own experience, list dozens of ways in which the missed call is used.
This kind of use of the missed call is based on sound economics and sound practical sense. After all, why do you need to spend, even if it is only a few paisa, when you can get what you want done with just a missed call? No wonder users of this kind of need-based missed calls form the overwhelming majority. But there are also those who use the missed call not to save their money, but that of others. Like this Good Samaritan friend of mine, who has asked his office peon to give him a missed call whenever he needs to speak to him. He would call back – to save a few paise from the peon’s mobile bill!
When it comes to creative use of the missed call, you have to hand it to the new age youth. Recently, I was aghast to hear that a 20-something youth has had 10/12 affairs – all of them born out of ‘missed calls’ (out of responding to ‘missed calls’, to be more precise). If the guy who narrated this to me - with the Casanova blushing like a coy bride throughout – is too be believed, there are apparently ‘hundreds’ of girls and boys scouring the airwaves through the proven path of the missed call for a virtual affair which may or may not transform into a real affair. I would have dismissed the whole story as so much hogwash had it not been for a story that I had read just days before on the front page of a leading Odia daily. A young couple had fallen in ‘missed call love’ and decided to come to Bhubaneswar and marry. The marriage solemnized (in a temple, where else?), the couple stayed in a lodge. On the fourth day, the boy told the girl her mother had suddenly taken ill and he had to rush. He promised to return by evening but never did. Desperate calls by the girl to the number that had been instrumental in the birth of their affair elicited the ‘switched off’ answer. Shattered, she went to the Mahila police station and that is how the whole thing came to light.
For every single way of using the missed call, there are at least ten different ways of misusing or abusing it. A friend’s wife had a harrowing experience for about a week after she committed the cardinal error of calling back after receiving a missed call on her mobile. The voice at the other end belonged to a young man, who kept pestering her with professions of love though dozens of missed calls a day, without realising that the lady she was proposing to was perhaps old enough to be her mother! Her husband, however, played spoilsport, ending the Cupid-struck boy’s short-lived dalliance with a mouthful on day.
Personally speaking, I am not a big fan of this business of the missed call. To be honest, I positively detest it. But I shudder to think of the day when the missed calls would be chargeable. I have no doubt whatsoever in my mind that the whole nation would rise against it like never before, not even during the brief euphoria of the Anna Hazare movement last year. The UPA government survived the Anna wave. But I doubt if can withstand the missed call avalanche if it were to make it a paid service.
May be the UPA government knows that already. May be that is why it has, despite a supposedly reformist Prime Minister, never paid any attention whatsoever to the persistent – and some would say legitimate – demand of the telecom operators that they should be allowed to bill customers for missed calls. In a country where governments have been known to fall because of the rise in onion prices, this one is a real hot potato for any political party or formation – and not just the UPA – to handle.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Sleeping with the Enemy
The day after Malkangiri Collector R Vineel Krishna and Junior Engineer Pabitra Majhi were abducted by Maoists, a journalist friend said; “Mark my words. The abducted government officers will be released only on Feb 24 after the Assembly adjourns for the mid-session break.” His reasoning: this is a neatly choreographed drama to take the sting out of the Opposition attack on the government in the Assembly on the rotten Dal scam.
Lo and behold!! The Collector’s release was announced to the world, just as the journalist friend had predicted, after the Assembly was adjourned till March 10, even though the actual release had already taken place at least an hour before the Assembly adjourned and at least two hours before the formal government announcement.
The journalist friend is no seer. Having once been a part of the think tank of the ruling establishment, he was just making an intelligent guess based on his insider’s knowledge of the working of the Naveen Patnaik government.
While nobody else predicted the date with such pin-point accuracy, there was no dearth of people – and certainly not journalists – who sincerely believed in, bought or peddled the ‘deal’ theory. Even paan shop gossip centred around the theory that the Naveen Patnaik government, through the seemingly omnipresent and omnipotent Pyari Mohan Mohapatra, had entered into a deal with the Ramakrishna faction of the Maoists to take attention away from the Dal scam, which was getting too hot to handle for the government when the abduction happened.
In journalist circles, there was animated talk of a more mundane ‘deal’ – one involving payment of huge amounts of cash to the Maoists to stage the drama. Even a figure – Rs. 8 crore – was bandied about freely.
Proponents of the ‘deal’ theory raised a number of eminently pertinent questions. Why did the Collector venture into territory which is widely known as the Maoists’ den without any security? Why was Swami Agnivesh cold shouldered by the state government though he was the first to offer his services as a mediator – especially considering the fact that he had played a key role as a mediator in securing the release of five abducted policemen in neighbouring Chhatisgarh just a few weeks before the hostage crisis in Orissa? Why did the Chhatisgarh government not pass on definite intelligence it apparently had a day before the abduction that the Maoists were planning to do precisely such a thing? Or, if it did, why was it not heeded by the Orissa government?
There were some impertinent – and in some cases, mischievous – questions as well. Why was Vineel Krishna chosen as the target? The implication was that the state government wanted to bask in the reflected glory of the Malkangiri Collector, who clearly has earned the admiration of the people of Malkangiri in general and the so-called ‘cut off’ area, in particular. One particularly unkind commentator even went to the extent of suggesting that he was ‘chums’ with the 'annas'and was just faithfully playing out his assigned role in the hostage drama. To prove his point, he has pointed to the unfettered access allegedly given to Vineel Krishna during his period of captivity to communicate with his family and even get essential items like clothes and shaving kit delivered to him in the jungles.
A leading Oriya daily ran a front page story asking for ‘stringent’ action against the Collector for his utterly ‘irresponsible’ and ‘foolish’ act in venturing into an area where the proverbial angle ‘fears to trade.’ [Is it not amusing that the media, which always lashes out at officers for not visiting remote places and listening to the grievances of the people first hand, pounced on Krishna for having done precisely that?]. It did not stop at that and went on to demand that officers who organized processions in support of the popular Malkangiri Collector should lose their salary for the nine days when “all work came to a standstill”.
Another Oriya daily ran a front page bottom spread making a big deal about the fact that Krishna was once a student of Prof. Hargopal to prove its point that it was a drama of the Telugus,for the Telugus and by the Telugus.
Yet another commentator wondered why Pabitra Majhi was chosen ahead of the other junior engineer accompanying the Collector to be abducted? The suggestion was it was a carefully crafted strategy to use the ‘tribal card’, particularly in view of the fact that he was released a day before the Collector. Somebody else asked: why was the helicopter carrying interlocutors Prof. Hargopal and Dandapani Mohanty ‘deliberately’ delayed till late in the afternoon? The unspoken suggestion: to ensure that they would not be able to reach Malkangiri in time to secure the release of the Collector. [No answers are available to the important question as to what material difference would it have made if Vineel Krishna had been handed over to the interlocutors and not to some local journalists because there is no way one can ask questions to those who have made a career out of raising questions without bothering to provide – or even suggest – possible answers! ]
The one question which has been the most puzzling for me personally is: when exactly did the government get the first information that the Collector had been released (or was being released)? Journalists who were present when the Collector was released say he was set free at about 4 pm. In that case, what does one make of the announcement by the third interlocutor (the other two having already left for Koraput) Prof. R Someswara Rao at 6.30 pm that Krishna “will be released by tomorrow”? Does that mean the government did not know, at least till two and a half hours after the release, that the Collector had already been released? If that is the case, then it is worrying. When the government of the day comes to know about the denouement of such a serious crisis that had paralysed the administration for nine days from the media, it is a clear signal that it is no more in control of things. If, as is more likely, it did know when the Collector would be released even while pretending that it didn’t and delayed the announcement sufficiently for the Assembly to adjourn, it’s even more worrying. For it means that the Naveen government has nothing but utter contempt for the people of the state, for the media and above all for the august house called the Orissa Assembly.
Despite being very much in the thick of things in my capacity as a journalist – and despite the time since the release of Vineel Krishna to reflect on things at leisure - I am still not sure what to make of the ‘deal’ theory. Now, it appears so eminently plausible. Now, it sounds so utterly incredible and far-fetched.
Governments, especially the ones centred around a single personality like the Naveen Patnaik government, have always been more than willing participants in deal-making. BJD’s deal-making skills were on full and vulgar display in the run up to the last Assembly elections in May 2009 and there is no reason why it would shy away from a deal with the Maoists to secure the release of one of the finest officers the state has – or, as the cynics suggest, to divert attention from the dal scam. But why did the Maoists play ball with the very government they are engaged in a fierce, no-holds-barred and bloody battle with? After all, as many as 20 Maoists were killed in the state by security personnel in January alone (although how many of them were really Maoists remains a matter of acrimonious debate).
But in the cynical times that we live in, nothing seems improbable. The new rules of the game provide ample opportunity to sleep and play footsie with the enemy. It is possible to do business with each other even while killing each other. [On second thoughts, it is an old – nay ancient – game, at least as old as the Mahabharat. Didn’t the Kauravas and Pandavas meet after sunset like friends after the day’s battle?] Some incurable romantics may imbue the Maoists with a halo – of an ideology-driven class war, blood and sacrifice. But the unpalatable truth is; they have left Mao far behind. [Why, even China has left the man who led the Revolution far behind!]
In large swathes of Maoist controlled areas in India, lower and middle level cadres have become a law unto themselves. They kill people at will; run extortion syndicates targeting corporates, mining lords and other rich people; charge hefty protection money from companies, government officials and even educational institutions (Remember the seizure of Rs. 12 lakh meant for the Maoists from two senior staff of a leading engineering college in Rayagada a couple of years back?]. In some places, they have now started, like corrupt government officials, demanding a cut even in welfare schemes meant for the poor and children. In the backdrop of all this, entering into a secret pact with the state government is not really as preposterous an idea as it initially appears, especially considering that the Maoists have held all the aces in this case since day one. They have got what they wanted (the release of key Maoist leaders); they have brought the state government to its knees and sent out the right signals by showing their concern for the tribals. [May be – just may be – they have also laughed all the way to the bank, (although the ‘deal’ has been allegedly transacted in hard cash)!]
The issue, however, is not whether a ‘deal’ had actually been struck by the government and the Maoists, but the number of people willing to believe this seemingly absurd theory. We are indeed living in very cynical times.
Lo and behold!! The Collector’s release was announced to the world, just as the journalist friend had predicted, after the Assembly was adjourned till March 10, even though the actual release had already taken place at least an hour before the Assembly adjourned and at least two hours before the formal government announcement.
The journalist friend is no seer. Having once been a part of the think tank of the ruling establishment, he was just making an intelligent guess based on his insider’s knowledge of the working of the Naveen Patnaik government.
While nobody else predicted the date with such pin-point accuracy, there was no dearth of people – and certainly not journalists – who sincerely believed in, bought or peddled the ‘deal’ theory. Even paan shop gossip centred around the theory that the Naveen Patnaik government, through the seemingly omnipresent and omnipotent Pyari Mohan Mohapatra, had entered into a deal with the Ramakrishna faction of the Maoists to take attention away from the Dal scam, which was getting too hot to handle for the government when the abduction happened.
In journalist circles, there was animated talk of a more mundane ‘deal’ – one involving payment of huge amounts of cash to the Maoists to stage the drama. Even a figure – Rs. 8 crore – was bandied about freely.
Proponents of the ‘deal’ theory raised a number of eminently pertinent questions. Why did the Collector venture into territory which is widely known as the Maoists’ den without any security? Why was Swami Agnivesh cold shouldered by the state government though he was the first to offer his services as a mediator – especially considering the fact that he had played a key role as a mediator in securing the release of five abducted policemen in neighbouring Chhatisgarh just a few weeks before the hostage crisis in Orissa? Why did the Chhatisgarh government not pass on definite intelligence it apparently had a day before the abduction that the Maoists were planning to do precisely such a thing? Or, if it did, why was it not heeded by the Orissa government?
There were some impertinent – and in some cases, mischievous – questions as well. Why was Vineel Krishna chosen as the target? The implication was that the state government wanted to bask in the reflected glory of the Malkangiri Collector, who clearly has earned the admiration of the people of Malkangiri in general and the so-called ‘cut off’ area, in particular. One particularly unkind commentator even went to the extent of suggesting that he was ‘chums’ with the 'annas'and was just faithfully playing out his assigned role in the hostage drama. To prove his point, he has pointed to the unfettered access allegedly given to Vineel Krishna during his period of captivity to communicate with his family and even get essential items like clothes and shaving kit delivered to him in the jungles.
A leading Oriya daily ran a front page story asking for ‘stringent’ action against the Collector for his utterly ‘irresponsible’ and ‘foolish’ act in venturing into an area where the proverbial angle ‘fears to trade.’ [Is it not amusing that the media, which always lashes out at officers for not visiting remote places and listening to the grievances of the people first hand, pounced on Krishna for having done precisely that?]. It did not stop at that and went on to demand that officers who organized processions in support of the popular Malkangiri Collector should lose their salary for the nine days when “all work came to a standstill”.
Another Oriya daily ran a front page bottom spread making a big deal about the fact that Krishna was once a student of Prof. Hargopal to prove its point that it was a drama of the Telugus,for the Telugus and by the Telugus.
Yet another commentator wondered why Pabitra Majhi was chosen ahead of the other junior engineer accompanying the Collector to be abducted? The suggestion was it was a carefully crafted strategy to use the ‘tribal card’, particularly in view of the fact that he was released a day before the Collector. Somebody else asked: why was the helicopter carrying interlocutors Prof. Hargopal and Dandapani Mohanty ‘deliberately’ delayed till late in the afternoon? The unspoken suggestion: to ensure that they would not be able to reach Malkangiri in time to secure the release of the Collector. [No answers are available to the important question as to what material difference would it have made if Vineel Krishna had been handed over to the interlocutors and not to some local journalists because there is no way one can ask questions to those who have made a career out of raising questions without bothering to provide – or even suggest – possible answers! ]
The one question which has been the most puzzling for me personally is: when exactly did the government get the first information that the Collector had been released (or was being released)? Journalists who were present when the Collector was released say he was set free at about 4 pm. In that case, what does one make of the announcement by the third interlocutor (the other two having already left for Koraput) Prof. R Someswara Rao at 6.30 pm that Krishna “will be released by tomorrow”? Does that mean the government did not know, at least till two and a half hours after the release, that the Collector had already been released? If that is the case, then it is worrying. When the government of the day comes to know about the denouement of such a serious crisis that had paralysed the administration for nine days from the media, it is a clear signal that it is no more in control of things. If, as is more likely, it did know when the Collector would be released even while pretending that it didn’t and delayed the announcement sufficiently for the Assembly to adjourn, it’s even more worrying. For it means that the Naveen government has nothing but utter contempt for the people of the state, for the media and above all for the august house called the Orissa Assembly.
Despite being very much in the thick of things in my capacity as a journalist – and despite the time since the release of Vineel Krishna to reflect on things at leisure - I am still not sure what to make of the ‘deal’ theory. Now, it appears so eminently plausible. Now, it sounds so utterly incredible and far-fetched.
Governments, especially the ones centred around a single personality like the Naveen Patnaik government, have always been more than willing participants in deal-making. BJD’s deal-making skills were on full and vulgar display in the run up to the last Assembly elections in May 2009 and there is no reason why it would shy away from a deal with the Maoists to secure the release of one of the finest officers the state has – or, as the cynics suggest, to divert attention from the dal scam. But why did the Maoists play ball with the very government they are engaged in a fierce, no-holds-barred and bloody battle with? After all, as many as 20 Maoists were killed in the state by security personnel in January alone (although how many of them were really Maoists remains a matter of acrimonious debate).
But in the cynical times that we live in, nothing seems improbable. The new rules of the game provide ample opportunity to sleep and play footsie with the enemy. It is possible to do business with each other even while killing each other. [On second thoughts, it is an old – nay ancient – game, at least as old as the Mahabharat. Didn’t the Kauravas and Pandavas meet after sunset like friends after the day’s battle?] Some incurable romantics may imbue the Maoists with a halo – of an ideology-driven class war, blood and sacrifice. But the unpalatable truth is; they have left Mao far behind. [Why, even China has left the man who led the Revolution far behind!]
In large swathes of Maoist controlled areas in India, lower and middle level cadres have become a law unto themselves. They kill people at will; run extortion syndicates targeting corporates, mining lords and other rich people; charge hefty protection money from companies, government officials and even educational institutions (Remember the seizure of Rs. 12 lakh meant for the Maoists from two senior staff of a leading engineering college in Rayagada a couple of years back?]. In some places, they have now started, like corrupt government officials, demanding a cut even in welfare schemes meant for the poor and children. In the backdrop of all this, entering into a secret pact with the state government is not really as preposterous an idea as it initially appears, especially considering that the Maoists have held all the aces in this case since day one. They have got what they wanted (the release of key Maoist leaders); they have brought the state government to its knees and sent out the right signals by showing their concern for the tribals. [May be – just may be – they have also laughed all the way to the bank, (although the ‘deal’ has been allegedly transacted in hard cash)!]
The issue, however, is not whether a ‘deal’ had actually been struck by the government and the Maoists, but the number of people willing to believe this seemingly absurd theory. We are indeed living in very cynical times.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
April Fool
“Aap Sandeep Sahu hain na?” [“Aren’t you Sandeep Sahu?”], asked the cute little girl in her early twenties, an AK 47 flung casually across her shoulders. Three black spots tattooed into her chin in the shape of a reverse triangle added a rare sparkle to her exquisitely carved face. Perhaps for the first time in life, I felt like a celebrity of sorts – a poor man’s Shahrukh, if you like. Here was a girl – and a dreaded Maoist at that - deep inside the forest somewhere on the Kandhmal-Ganjam border seeking me out in a group of six journalists from Bhubaneswar – four of them from television channels.
The Kandhamal riots were nearly two weeks old by the time. Dozens of Christians had already been butchered and hundreds of houses burnt. The top Maoist leader in Orissa, Sabyasachi Panda alias Comrade Sunil had invited a group of journalists from Bhubaneswar to confirm that the killing of Swami Laxmanananda Sarasawati, which triggered the riots, was the work of Maoists. The girl in question was one of the three guarding the ‘leader’.
As I said “Yes”, the girl in battle fatigues extended her mehndied hand to shake hands with me. Still wondering why she was particularly interested in me and not the four television journalists, I asked; “How do you know me?.” Pat came the reply; “We listen to your voice on the radio every day.” It was only now that I realized her interest in me had very little to do with me and everything to do with my reporting for the BBC Hindi radio. I could see an old radio set kept at a distance. “In these forests, there are neither newspapers nor television. Just about the only way of keeping abreast with what is happening in the outside world is the BBC radio”, said the girl in Hindi. And added, for good measure; “BBC ki reporting hamesha sabse santulit hoti hai” [BBC’s reporting is always balanced”]. I must confess this compliment (for the BBC and not so much for me) is among the most prized possessions of my 16-year long association with the BBC.
“Ah, the power of radio!”, I told myself. Coming as it did from the most unlikely of listeners, I thought this was the most definitive endorsement of radio news in general and BBC Hindi radio news in particular. I thought about the millions of people without access to newspapers, television or the internet – and not just in the forests – who need their daily staple of ‘news’.
The best part about working with the BBC was that it was a brand name that did not need an introduction anywhere even in my part of the world, where Hindi is spoken by very few – or, for that matter, any part of in the world. During my tours to the hinterland, I have often been amazed at the number of people who follow the BBC Hindi radio.
A year before the interview with the Maoist leader, I had accompanied Rehan Fazal and Sushila Singh from the Delhi office of BBC Hindi to Kalahandi – that perennial metaphor for poverty, starvation and much worse. The occasion was the outbreak of cholera in the area, which had already killed over 25 persons in Kalahandi and neighbouring Rayagada. The Aaj Kal programme was to be aired live from Bhawanipatna , the district headquarters of Kalahandi, that day. Suresh Agarwal, a faithful listener of BBC Hindi, had come from Kesinga, 40 km away, to meet the honoured guests from Delhi. “Here is a long time listener of our service”, I told Rehan as I began introducing Suresh after the day’s work was over. “Suresh Agarwal?”, quipped Rehan almost immediately. Suresh’s was a familiar name for nearly all BBC Hindi anchors and producers because he frequently participated in listener-based programmes like Aap ki Baat BBC ke saath. That is the kind of bond that the Hindi service had built with the listeners over the years.
Conventional wisdom suggests that BBC radio is the old man’s trip to the land of nostalgia and is aeons away from the mindspace of the young. But I have been surprised by the number of young people who follow BBC Hindi – though on the net rather than good old short wave radio. I have received dozens of friend requests on Facebook from young men and women, who primarily know me from BBC Hindi.
I am having a tough time explaining to all the people whom I meet or interact with on the phone or on the net why BBC Hindi needs to close down. My fate is not vastly different from my Editor Amit Barua’s the other day when he had to answer the same question worded differently from an army of angry, disconsolate listeners during the ‘BBC India Bol’ programme. One particularly irate listener actually accused BBC of ‘cheating’. “Aap hamare saath is tarah ‘dhokha’ nahin kar sakte” [“You cannot cheat us like this”], he said.
Even as I write this, I find that diehard BBC Hindi radio fans in the heartland are preparing to write to the British foreign office and even burn the effigy of Prime Minister David Cameron in a last ditch bid to save what they love. Many of them know, in their heart of hearts, that there is virtually no possibility of a rollback of the decision. But they will protest nevertheless. Because, as they say, “We are like that only.”
[PS: Given the profusion of writing on the subject both in print as well as on the net, I am a little surprised that nobody has so far (as far as I know) alluded to the irony of the date. After all, transmission of BBC Hindi radio will stop from All Fools Day. But I am pretty sure there would be many listeners, who will feel that BBC ne hamen April Fool banaya.]
The Kandhamal riots were nearly two weeks old by the time. Dozens of Christians had already been butchered and hundreds of houses burnt. The top Maoist leader in Orissa, Sabyasachi Panda alias Comrade Sunil had invited a group of journalists from Bhubaneswar to confirm that the killing of Swami Laxmanananda Sarasawati, which triggered the riots, was the work of Maoists. The girl in question was one of the three guarding the ‘leader’.
As I said “Yes”, the girl in battle fatigues extended her mehndied hand to shake hands with me. Still wondering why she was particularly interested in me and not the four television journalists, I asked; “How do you know me?.” Pat came the reply; “We listen to your voice on the radio every day.” It was only now that I realized her interest in me had very little to do with me and everything to do with my reporting for the BBC Hindi radio. I could see an old radio set kept at a distance. “In these forests, there are neither newspapers nor television. Just about the only way of keeping abreast with what is happening in the outside world is the BBC radio”, said the girl in Hindi. And added, for good measure; “BBC ki reporting hamesha sabse santulit hoti hai” [BBC’s reporting is always balanced”]. I must confess this compliment (for the BBC and not so much for me) is among the most prized possessions of my 16-year long association with the BBC.
“Ah, the power of radio!”, I told myself. Coming as it did from the most unlikely of listeners, I thought this was the most definitive endorsement of radio news in general and BBC Hindi radio news in particular. I thought about the millions of people without access to newspapers, television or the internet – and not just in the forests – who need their daily staple of ‘news’.
The best part about working with the BBC was that it was a brand name that did not need an introduction anywhere even in my part of the world, where Hindi is spoken by very few – or, for that matter, any part of in the world. During my tours to the hinterland, I have often been amazed at the number of people who follow the BBC Hindi radio.
A year before the interview with the Maoist leader, I had accompanied Rehan Fazal and Sushila Singh from the Delhi office of BBC Hindi to Kalahandi – that perennial metaphor for poverty, starvation and much worse. The occasion was the outbreak of cholera in the area, which had already killed over 25 persons in Kalahandi and neighbouring Rayagada. The Aaj Kal programme was to be aired live from Bhawanipatna , the district headquarters of Kalahandi, that day. Suresh Agarwal, a faithful listener of BBC Hindi, had come from Kesinga, 40 km away, to meet the honoured guests from Delhi. “Here is a long time listener of our service”, I told Rehan as I began introducing Suresh after the day’s work was over. “Suresh Agarwal?”, quipped Rehan almost immediately. Suresh’s was a familiar name for nearly all BBC Hindi anchors and producers because he frequently participated in listener-based programmes like Aap ki Baat BBC ke saath. That is the kind of bond that the Hindi service had built with the listeners over the years.
Conventional wisdom suggests that BBC radio is the old man’s trip to the land of nostalgia and is aeons away from the mindspace of the young. But I have been surprised by the number of young people who follow BBC Hindi – though on the net rather than good old short wave radio. I have received dozens of friend requests on Facebook from young men and women, who primarily know me from BBC Hindi.
I am having a tough time explaining to all the people whom I meet or interact with on the phone or on the net why BBC Hindi needs to close down. My fate is not vastly different from my Editor Amit Barua’s the other day when he had to answer the same question worded differently from an army of angry, disconsolate listeners during the ‘BBC India Bol’ programme. One particularly irate listener actually accused BBC of ‘cheating’. “Aap hamare saath is tarah ‘dhokha’ nahin kar sakte” [“You cannot cheat us like this”], he said.
Even as I write this, I find that diehard BBC Hindi radio fans in the heartland are preparing to write to the British foreign office and even burn the effigy of Prime Minister David Cameron in a last ditch bid to save what they love. Many of them know, in their heart of hearts, that there is virtually no possibility of a rollback of the decision. But they will protest nevertheless. Because, as they say, “We are like that only.”
[PS: Given the profusion of writing on the subject both in print as well as on the net, I am a little surprised that nobody has so far (as far as I know) alluded to the irony of the date. After all, transmission of BBC Hindi radio will stop from All Fools Day. But I am pretty sure there would be many listeners, who will feel that BBC ne hamen April Fool banaya.]
Monday, December 6, 2010
A law unto itself
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.
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.
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