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.

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.

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.]

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.

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?

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?

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.