Skip to main content

Meglomaniacs

It's 2:37 am and I am thinking what the hell I am doing editing a story on money laundering. Do I care how much hot money is being laundered around the world? Do I care that that the success of the US's financial systen is based on money laundering? And just when I find myself disillusioned by illegal activities happening with such impunity around the world, lo comes the voice of a Swiss banker who says, "you know, it's not such a bad thing, after all...If in the 1970s taxes in India were 70 per cent can you really blame (industrialists) for sending their money to Switzerland?... black money actually gets it into the legal economy and invested in stocks and bonds, which is much better than having the money stay in the black economy and get invested in dubious enterprises". Now, I don't know but I think our sense of right and wrong is f***** up.

And then, dealing with a bunch of meglomaniacs, who think they know best and write best is another professional hazard. Why do journalists think they are an end in themselves? And these days, it's more about "oh don't remove that quote, it's exclusive... don't change the word, it will backfire... no, no boss doesn't like the use of articles in headlines... boss wants to change the storyline..." So how many stories are broken in the process? How many stories have rattled the country? How many stories have become a subject of debate and discussions countrywide? Result: zero. Ego: max. Perhaps, there should be a Pulitzer prize for the snobbish, hobnobbing, names dropping Indian journalist, who would rather die to be in Page 3 than for his job?

Indian journalists come nowhere near their American counterparts. So we do not have a Bob Woodward, so we do not have stories on time, so we have lazy, google-de-gooks, for whom knowledge and stories are not persuasion but numbers to stack up at the time of appraisals. Disgruntled is the word.

Comments

Anonymous said…
my you sound angry.. i cant get who u angry with-- the writer, teh boss or teh Swiss Banker or the journalists in general....Dont blame u, you wdnt have been sitting in office till four if everybody were doing their jobs..not more not less.
Unknown said…
Hey Indie, I totally agree with you. What's worse is because of the attitudes of a few we tend to generalise all. It is surprising how we even successfully bring out the mag with so many hurdles.
Anyways chillax... breathe out...
Anonymous said…
there's a lot worse places you could be than in the nice air-conditioned comforts of the BW office at 3:00 am

1. A foxhole on a battlefield - bombs and bullets falling around you
2. Under a streetlight in some red-light district
3. On a tiny fishing boat in the middle of a pacific storm...
Snigdha said…
well a long time ago a newspaper called the indian express brought down the government. many years later the journalist who wrote that story became a minister in a fundamentalist government. well journos are like that. they often stand for nothing and fall for anything. snobbish, yes, but that mostly stems from ignorance. but chill. don't ruin your day because of some stupid people.

Popular posts from this blog

A Mad Man Or A Boor

What does one do when one encounters a mad dog? Or what does one do when one encounters a man with pre-fixed notions about everything in life, most specifically of women who live alone and give him some importance? The two are equivalent to me and basic intelligence says avoid the paths they tread like plague. But I chose to tackle them head on. I almost got rabbies. The mad man said [sic] " You sound like a very desperate person. A single and frustrated woman who is looking for anyone to leave a comment on your blog so much so that you wouldn't even spare a spammer ." Spammer being, the first comment on the previous post is apparently a spam, an advert for T-shirts. Bummer! I thought it was a handsome Spaniard or Latino, so I had replied "Hi Rodrigo", hoping to take the conversation forward offline. Anyway! All this the mad man found out. I didnt. Sure, I dig comments because I love the spontaneity and intelligence of my friends. And I didn't invite the ma

O-B-A-M-A

Two million people at the National Mall in Washington alone. The world watched too as Barack Obama was sworn in as the 44th President of the United States. So did I. I rudely cut roomie's soap operas and switched to CNN to witness history being created. Some day I may live to tell the tale of how Barack, the much touted Afro-American President of the United States, stumbled with his swearing-in oath. I was a bit disappointed as I watched the man who had run the most successful of election campaigns, the man who Americans were pinning their hopes on, take his oath. Clearly, he was under too much of a pressure to be the best. So before Chief Justice John Roberts could complete the first sentence, there was Obama abruptly breaking out into his first names... " I Barack Hussein Obama.." and then waited for the judge to complete the sentence.. The next line was even taxing. He stopped short after two words... " That I will excute ..." and then Justice Roberts cont

Good Girls Don't Drink?

I have been disturbed by the news coming out of my region – the northeast of India - where a teenage girl coming out of a bar at 9:30 pm was molested and beaten by a group of 20 men. The news has even found its way down under for the shocking nature of it. Tabloids and even TV have carried the news. I have always prided myself in belonging to a region that is known for its high tolerance and where women are generally safe and independent. But I have always felt a bit squidgy about Guwahati unlike the rest of the seven sisters. The place is so like the rest of India in many ways, dirty and claustrophobic. That explains why bars are looked upon as sleazy places and women going there beaten up as with the recent case. Just 150 km away is Shillong, the place where I grew up. Night clubs thrive there and till date there has been no case of attacks against women. Reading the news, I am appalled by some of the reactions. “But the girl was drinking,” or “only prostitutes visit that