A Day to Remember

11th September 2010 will be a day to remember for the Faculty of Journalism and Communication, MSU. 28 senior and junior students made history as they featured in the Divya Bhaskar Anniversary edition dated 12th September 2010. While many might not cherish this day, I for one, will never forget it.

Having heard of the printing process of newspapers for years, I had never actually been witness to one. And frankly I wasn't quite thrilled about the idea.

On 11th Sep, we were invited to Divya Bhaskar Press to be a part of their 6th year anniversary celebrations. Seated at the conference table, we heard the Dy Editor Mr. Vishwajit Parekh declare that the anniversary edition of the paper would be brought out with the combined efforts of the students of FJC as well as the Divya Bhaskar team. We were the guest editors of the day and we were thrilled.

Leaving aside the fact that we weren't as involved in the process as we had thought, the printing process was the highlight of the trip.

As we were taken into the printing area, the massive machinery that covered almost the entire floor took us by surprise. Expensive and highly advanced technology was being used for an 'item' that we don't even think twice about. We pick up the papers in the morning, read it and keep it aside. And that's where the journey of the newspaper ends and no one even thinks about how it got to their doorstep in the first place.


As we watched the numerous plates being made and inserted into the printing press, we saw countless rolls of newsprint all around.

Finally the moment that most of us had been waiting for arrived.

We heard the machines roll into action..the newsprint sliding from one corner of the room to the other like a conveyor belt..the clicking of some buttons..the groan of machines..the chatter of the men in the room..all of this slowly at first..but as moments passed, the action multiplied 10 folds..the noise got louder..the orders became more hurried and frantic..we watched in rapt attention as the first newspaper fell onto the conveyor belt with a soft thud..and then, before our eyes, it began to happen..it was nothing short of a miracle...we held our breath as newspapers began to fall onto the belt with increasing speed...we watched the colours change..watched as paper after paper was being produced in a fashion that is unlike anything I had ever seen..Our hearts beat in unison..like the machines around us..

It was unbelievable..like a baby being born..having seen what the day's paper would look like on the computer screen just a few hours ago, seeing it in 'flesh' was a completely different feeling. I held the warm paper between my fingers and couldn't shake off that feeling of awe and amazement..

We walked out of the press at 1:30 am, still unsteady yet overcome by the entire experience. As we stood talking, a man came along on his bicycle, carrying the last tea container of the day.He stopped near us and poured us all a cup of tea each. And I couldn't help smiling..

With my latest cup of tea and my earliest copy of the newspaper, I walked out of the Divya Bhaskar premises.

Puzzled

There are a few things that have come to my mind in the past few weeks and I've been trying to understand them. I'm going to break it up into parts:








1) You know how the profession of medicine is always targeted when doctors ask for donations, or abort a child or refuse to treat a patient for many reasons like lack of money or a disease like HIV-AIDS or leprosy or give a diagnosis even though they might not be qualified for it? And at times like these they quote the famous Hippocratic Oath, a few line of which I too, am going to use to make a point.

".....I will prescribe regimens for the good of my patients according to my ability and my judgment and never do harm to anyone.
.....If I keep this oath faithfully, may I enjoy my life and practice my art, respected by all men and in all times; but if I swerve from it or violate it, may the reverse be my lot."

So despite this oath, doctors still fail to perform their duties "to the best of their abilities".

Anyway, my point is, is there any such oath that Journalists take? Because there really should be one. Not to say that they'd follow it though, considering the lack of common sense or humanity that some of the journalists today possess.

When the media needs to show a tragedy or something along those lines that depicts bloodshed and violence and injury, isn't there some sort of rule that you shouldn't show or print gory pictures? That showing blood splattered on the streets or a cut off arm of a person doesn't actually prove a point and there are a million and one ways to do it otherwise. Like taking a recent example, page ONE of a popular daily newspaper dated August 3, 2010, has the picture of a man with blood spewing from his leg in an incident of violence in Baramulla district of Srinagar. Or the haunting picture of the child who died in the Bhopal Gas tragedy that now adorns every poster on the streets. Or a recent page One picture of people washing the blood off the roads. Whatever happened to being sensitive towards the feelings of the readers??

And not just print.I was watching the news on a television news channel that featured the recent Leh floods. The correspondent spoke to many survivors of their near death experience. But not only that, they even spoke to survivors who'd lost everything from family to property to cattle. Alright. So maybe its required. But do they really need to be so pushy and so insensitive about it?Do they have to ask a father to describe his son being washed away in the floods before his eyes? Do they need to ask a poor shop keeper how his shop came crumbling down and with it crumbled his life savings and earnings? Why??? Just because you need a story? Do you think the audience cannot fathom the gravity of the situation without watching a family cry over its lost members?






2) As I rejoined the much talked about and always in the news "Facebook", it had barely been a day and my inbox was flooded by, believe it or not, 89 requests!! Now I had no idea I was that popular or that people missed me so much. Feels kinda nice, no doubt. But then I took some time to think about it. Why would people, whom I haven't spoken to in a million and one years, want to add me as a friend...?Even when I was using Facebook earlier, we still never so much as acknowledged each others' presence. Take classmates in school for example...or batch mates even. Yeah, so we shared the same classes. We were in the same school. but we barely spoke(and in some cases Never spoke) unless it was to..well..call out attendance or something. Take seniors or juniors in school or college. Why would they add me?I ain't anything special. Then why? We never hung out together. Or even take distant, and I mean Really really distant relatives whom I have to ask my parents about and even then have no clue who they are. I know I sound terribly rude and gloating with self importance and all, but I truly want to know... Why do people add people on their friends' list if they don't intend to ever keep in touch with them once they're added on the list? Don't get me wrong, but this is something alot of people have wondered and I'm simply voicing their doubts as well.

I did ask a couple of people about their opinion in this matter. And I got a few responses that make sense:

a) because some of them remember the old times and its a case of nostalgia.
b) because they might need your help some day
c) because its a popularity contest for some, greater the number of friends on your list, the more popular you are


Couldn't think of anymore of my own. But who knows what is it about Facebook that makes people go crazy.





3) Some days back somebody said something to me that drove me mad. And not in a good way, definitely. I was told, in a very casual, matter-of-fact way, "Fictional books never taught me anything." And it made my blood boil. I couldn't imagine what made that person even think of such a thing, let alone say it out loud. I think back to all the books I've read since I was a kid and I realize that everything I've learnt in life, other than of course from my parents, has come from books. And I rarely read non-fiction. I couldn't imagine picking up a book and not feeling a thrill as I breathed in its familiar smell. I'd flip through the pages and I could see a whole new world begin to unfold before me. A world that will teach me something I've never known before; of experiences both good and bad, of love lost and found, of life in all its glory and misery, of happiness and gloom, of judgments on life and actions, in favour and against, of seasons that come and go, of times cherished and forgotten, of moments of laughter and tears.

I have learnt to be myself through the lives of those I read about.

They might not be real people, but their emotions are real. What the writer feels is real. And what I've seen through the characters' eyes is real.

I think of Shakespeare, at this point, and I wonder if a man as great as he, would be turning over in his grave at the innocent statement made by my friend...

Once upon a Time

She couldn’t believe it. Maybe she’d heard wrong. There had to be some mistake. He hadn’t said what she thought he’d said. Should she call him back and ask? Just to confirm? Because there was no way he would’ve done this to her. And definitely not over the phone. He couldn’t have been so callous.

And yet, somewhere in the distance she could hear those tiny voices whispering in her head. They were saying things she didn’t want to hear. Because they were wrong! He was wrong! He wasn’t a selfish person, and there was no chance in hell that he’d do something like this to her. Not after everything she’d done for him.

She sat at the edge of the bed in the hotel room, her hand still clutching the phone as if her life depended on it. May be it did. She didn’t want to seem like those desperate needy women who just wouldn’t let go. But she was a needy desperate woman! She needed him! Now, more than ever.

How could he choose to abandon her at this point in her life? How could he abandon her at all? Hadn’t he promised to be with her “through thickness and thin” and “in sickness and in health” till death do them part? What happened to all those vows that he had made, holding her hand, that he’d love her forever.

She glanced at the photo frame she’d brought along with her that stood on the night stand. It was a picture of both of them laughing like a bunch of kids. It was taken a couple of years ago on their trip to North-East India. It had been her gift to him for finally getting the job he’d tried for over six months. They’d gone for a walk with a tour guide in one of the numerous tea gardens in Darjeeling and her foot had slipped on the dew laden grass. He’d caught hold of her wrist as he’d lost his own footing and they’d both tumbled onto the grass. The moment had seemed hilarious at that time and the guide, sensing a ‘Kodak moment’ had taken a picture.

That seemed like two different people in a different life.

The picture only reminded her of one of the few times she’d given up her dreams for him. She’d studied to be a journalist. And she knew she was good at it. It was her life and there was nothing else she wanted to do. But the beginning of their married life had been financially low and she’d taken up a job at a BPO instead. It paid good money. It was as simple as that. When things had begun to look a little better, she’d heard about a magazine in her city that was looking for a fashion writer. She knew that now, with their life back on track, she could take this job. But he’d found another job in a Bigger city he’d said, and after many fights, she’d shifted with him to the new city. It was at that time that she’d surprised him with a week long trip to the north-east with part of the earnings from her previous work.

Once again, when life settled down, she took up another lifeless job just so that they could stay together. But all that time she had still been looking out for her dream job. She’d given so many interviews that she’d lost count. But nothing worked out in his supposedly ‘big city’.

She knew that her constant failure at nailing the perfect job was taking its toll on both of them. But she held on, trying everything she could.

Just when she’d thought things were at their worst, she’d gotten a call from a newspaper in a nearby city that was looking for a daily columnist. She knew she was perfect for it. Even though it meant spending almost six hours traveling everyday, she wanted to do it. She wanted to be happy and she needed it to make their lives happier.

Today had been her interview and she’d decided to spend the night in the city that would give her big break. She’d been so excited that she hadn’t noticed his subdued, almost indifferent, attitude as she’d left the house. She’d reached the press office in time and couldn’t wait till it was over. She knew she’d get this job. She knew this was the answer to their problems. Life would be the fairytale she’d always wanted.

But it hadn’t ended like she’d hoped. She hadn’t got the job. They were looking for someone with experience, not degrees, skills or passion.

She’d called him up just an hour ago to tell him that she hadn’t made it. She wanted to be with him, so he could’ve held her as she’d cried. She wanted him to tell her that everything would be ok.

But instead, he’d told her that it was over between them.

Why?

She wasn’t capable of finding a job that she wanted.

She was slowing him down.

She was becoming way too dependent on him.

She wasn’t hard working or dedicated to her work with the number of jobs she’d switched.

The voices in her head were getting louder now. They eluded any kind of emotional, pitiful or denial thoughts. They were screaming out loud now. They were saying things she should’ve said to him. They were demanding for answers that she couldn’t give but needed them just as much. They were counting off reasons why he had every reason to stay instead of abandoning her at a point in her life when he was all she had.

Tears failed to come. Because despite those uncontrollable voices, she was still in denial.

This moment seemed like something from one of those million Hollywood movies she’d seen. It sounded just as dramatic and over-the-top. She could almost picture herself in a scene. The situation seemed perfect for the movie. She looked like those depressed heroines waiting for the glycerin in their eyes to do its job. She could almost hear the soulful music in the background.

All she wanted to hear, more than anything she’d ever wished for, was for someone to yell “CUT!”