come on laden, take over our tv news channels

Since there are two kinds of ideas, good and bad, I have all my ideated along two lines. So naturally enough, all ideas that ever ate up whatever percentage of my gray cells and drained and weakned my brain can be classified into two groups. The first being good. The second being better. But mishtake happened just an hour or so back. I watched (by mishtake, if i may add) hard talk extra on BBC World. They ran an interview with Paul Anka. Pleasure, I must say, though I don't know my grunge from heavy metal and cannot figure words in most angrezi songs unless they are of the 'love, love me do, say i love you' or some such nonsensically juvenile variety. Anka came across as a refreshingly sober, humane, humble creature who looked like your nice uncle next door. Goos teller of tales. And the reason was the interviewer, who must not have asked more than five or seven questions in the whole half-hour programme.

What the guy did, instead, was to let Anka talk. After all, that's why the man had been invited in the first place, right? He smiled and laughed with Anka, and more than anything else listened to the old man. Just as I smiled and laughed with Anka, and listened to the old man. That was the channel's primary objective, and the interviewer did it with aplomb.

What happened next was pretty awful. Okay, I'll give a blow-by-blow account:
# First the programme got over (aw, no)
# Then the credits started rolling (aw, no)
# Then I had to make a decision which way to go with the remote: forward or back (aw, no. hard decision extra after hard talk extra, eh?)
# Then I decided to move ahead (aw, aw, that was revolutionary. i really never move ahead in life. and that's on principle)
# Then I went to CNN (aw, they were running some stupid news report that none in the world apart from some dangerously senile Americans care a fig about)
# Then I landed on planet NDTV.
# Then I saw that daadi (with a hard second D, as in beard), whatshisname.. Srinivasana Jain.. interviewing Suketu Mehta (aw, did the big daadi of 'em all, Roy sahab, ever wonder why the programme is called Bombay talkies when it's neither about films nor about mumbai as such. but i decide to pardon him for the time being. i have other worries to worry about, as you shall see shortly)
# Then I saw the lill daadi (still with a hard second D, as in beard) pose, interpose, superimpose himself on poor Mehta every second minute
# And it was then that I realised what exactly irritated me about indian television anchors and journalists (the two come from different planets, provided we agree the second variety exists on indian TV). They cut into an interviewee every secoind minute and try to put their point across with a smartass of a question that none save the shithead's silly partner in bed cares a fig about. They show off their non-existing intellect, and basically try to come across as super-dedicated journalists who believe in a) never letting the subject talk about the subject at hand for more than a minute and half ; and b) trying to get a "sensational and breaking-news" quote with every moronic question.
Imagine what lill daadi (awmygosh, still with a hard second D, as in beard), would have done with poor Paul, the Anka. He would have gone all guns blazing and get him to say something on the lines of 'Nirvana was a super shithead of a band', and then pat his own back and lick his own dead gray cells for breaking a news.
#Anyway, then the programme got over, and i moved over to India TV.
But that's a different tale to be told another day.

PS: Dear Mr Laden, if you happen to be gunning past this line, please use some money and brain of yours and buy out all indian tv news channels. Then make all anchors, super anchors and morons working for them spend a year in that cave of yours.

hail NYT: It doesn't sack, reaches 'agreement' to discontinue from being on the rolls. or whatever

"The New York Times and Judith Miller, a veteran reporter for the paper, reached an agreement today that ends her 28-year career at the newspaper and caps more than two weeks of negotiations."
Thus spake the opening paragraph of the NYT report which basically meant 'the bitch has been sacked, and all's well with the feel-god world'. When did an employee ever get to negotiate for a couple of weeks before "retiring", as the editor's note to the staff says?
Check the NYT site for redifinition of language and the editor's note to the staff.

PS: My left brain thanks the right one (or is it the other way round?) that I never became a journalist.

HERE, THE EDITOR'S MEMO:

Following is a memorandum from Bill Keller, the executive editor of The Times, sent to his staff today at 3:30 p.m. Eastern time.

To the Staff:

Judy Miller has retired from The New York Times effective today.

In her 28 years at The Times, Judy participated in some great, prize-winning journalism. She displayed fierce determination and personal courage both in pursuit of the news and in resisting assaults on the freedom of news organizations to report. We wish her well in the next phase of her career.

Bill

P.S. Judy asked that I share with you a letter I sent regarding my recent memo to the staff. It is attached, and speaks for itself.

Dear Judy,

I know you’ve been distressed by the memo I sent to the staff about things I wish I’d done differently in the course of this ordeal. Let me be clear on two points you’ve raised.

First, you are upset with me that I used the words “entanglement” and “engagement” in reference to your relationship with Scooter Libby. Those words were not intended to suggest an improper relationship. I was referring only to the series of interviews through which you ­ and the paper ­ became caught up in an epic legal controversy.

Second, you dispute my assertion that “Judy seems to have misled” Phil Taubman when he asked whether you were one of the reporters to whom the White House reached out with the Wilson story. I continue to be troubled by that episode. But you are right that Phil himself does not contend that you misled him; and, of course, I was not a participant in the conversation between you and Phil.

I wish you all the best for the future.

Regards, Bill

indian journalists: can't write, can't edit, can well cock up

Sometimes all you feel like doing after reading the morning papers is take a matchbox, go to the balcony and burn the darned things down. The problem lies with your neighbour. He/she will shout across from the next balcony which, if you live in that strange place called 'Indian city', is closer to your balcony than your own bedroom. 'hey you,' the neighbour will shout across, caring two three or four hoots about the proper name that your parents hit across as a sign of enlightenment after spending zillions of sleepless nights. 'what in the name of god do you think you are doing? you wanna burn the whole goddamn place down or what?' you can ask them to politely fuck off and mind their own bleeding business, or you can sternly tell them to please leave their balcony and go to their living room and for heaven's god sake watch some television and give you some peace of mind. But no sir, they won't let you do anything like that. They will threaten police complaint and filing defamation case, or a right to information (the latest in the media fad directory).

But the point remains just as pointed: The newspapers here in India are just unreadable. Ignore the spelling, it still remains unbloodyreadable. The other day I was reading this strange thing called HT City, which, as the masthead suggests, is a city-specific pull-out that comes free with the Hindustan times. No problem with that, but only thing that remains specific to the city every day of the year is the adverts. The damned thing had a damned piece by this damned guy called Vir Sanghvi. It was about some devilonlycares restaurant in Bandra. It went on, and on, and on, and on, and on. And on to some more. It wasted three-fourths of the goddamned page. The writing was bad. The editing, if any, was conspicuous by its absence (cliche, cliche, let's start a war in Indian newspapers on cliches). The content, or whatever I managed to gather, was unreadable. Okay, I admit I read bits and pieces, and I pardon the guy who edited the piece, for it was so lousy that it was unreadable. And if it's so unreadable the second time over, it must have been worse the first time around. So I pardon him/her.

But the point still remains just as valid even after all these words sent out to the blogosphere: WHY WAS THE DAMNED THING THERE TO DISTURB THE PEACE OF MIND OF SOME DAMNED INNOCENT READER? Who cares to read one lakh and thirty seven words about some Japanese food/restaurant serving the likes of Sanghvi in Bandra? And that reminds me, what was it doing in HT City? Is the Metro taking you off to Bandra in its next phase that's coming up sometime perhaps in the next millennium?
But till then why doesn't Sanghvi rest in peace and let my neighbours rest in peace as well?

indian journalists: can't write, can't edit, can well cock up

Sometimes all you feel like doing after reading the morning papers is take a matchbox, go to the balcony and burn the darned things down. The problem lies with your neighbour. He/she will shout across from the next balcony which, if you live in that strange place called 'Indian city', is closer to your balcony than your own bedroom. 'hey you,' the neighbour will shout across, caring two three or four hoots about the proper name that your parents hit across as a sign of enlightenment after spending zillions of sleepless nights. 'what in the name of god do you think you are doing? you wanna burn the whole goddamn place down or what?' you can ask them to politely fuck off and mind their own bleeding business, or you can sternly tell them to please leave their balcony and go to their living room and for heaven's god sake watch some television and give you some peace of mind. But no sir, they won't let you do anything like that. They will threaten police complaint and filing defamation case, or a right to information (the latest in the media fad directory).

But the point remains just as pointed: The newspapers here in India are just unreadable. Ignore the spelling, it still remains unbloodyreadable. The other day I was reading this strange thing called HT City, which, as the masthead suggests, is a city-specific pull-out that comes free with the Hindustan times. No problem with that, but only thing that remains specific to the city every day of the year is the adverts. The damned thing had a damned piece by this damned guy called Vir Sanghvi. It was about some devilonlycares restaurant in Bandra. It went on, and on, and on, and on, and on. And on to some more. It wasted three-fourths of the goddamned page. The writing was bad. The editing, if any, was conspicuous by its absence (cliche, cliche, let's start a war in Indian newspapers on cliches). The content, or whatever I managed to gather, was unreadable. Okay, I admit I read bits and pieces, and I pardon the guy who edited the piece, for it was so lousy that it was unreadable. And if it's so unreadable the second time over, it must have been worse the first time around. So I pardon him/her.

But the point still remains just as valid even after all these words sent out to the blogosphere: WHY WAS THE DAMNED THING THERE TO DISTURB THE PEACE OF MIND OF SOME DAMNED INNOCENT READER? Who cares to read one lakh and thirty seven words about some Japanese food/restaurant serving the likes of Sanghvi in Bandra? And that reminds me, what was it doing in HT City? Is the Metro taking you off to Bandra in its next phase that's coming up sometime perhaps in the next millennium?
But till then why doesn't Sanghvi rest in peace and let my neighbours rest in peace as well?