The quality of the “breaking news” flashing on the news channels, which by itself have multiplied to become innumerable, seems to be degrading with time. The most famous amongst all in the race is none other than “India TV”. One of other days, I was amazed to see a report featuring dogs as a regular visitor to a temple during the “evening prayers”. And guess what, the anchor of that show was the one and only, Mr. Rajat Sharma.
Then, there was another report; I can easily recall which showcased the plight of Sanjay Dutt, our beloved actor (his popularity charts have been soaring ever since his arrest) in jail. The report covered what he was wearing, what he was eating, how he was behaving etc. etc. (I don’t know how many of us give a damn shit to know that.) But the funniest part of the report was that he snored loudly at night as told to the reporter by Sanju’s accomplices in jail.
Next in the row comes the self acclaimed “sabse tez” news channel, yes you got it right, Aaj Tak. One of the breaking news that I happened to watch on this one was our FM, Mr. Chidambaram got unsolicited calls for cards, phones etc. from here, there and everywhere. The footage included a cartoon of Mr. Chidambaram talking on the cell phone, zooming into him from various angles, giving the viewers an impression as if they are watching a K-soap than a news channel. They made a great hype about the news and it was aired in their primetime as “Break-ing news”. Another programme which they regularly telecast is “Special Report” wherein what I watched today was last thing anybody would prefer watching. They constructed a series of events as to how things went when Salman’s sister went to jail to tie Rakhi on his hand. How can you forget the famous Nokia “BL-5C” battery news which has given such channels a reason to flash breaking news of mobile blasts, every now and then.
I recall the campaign that was started by “93.5 RED FM” which involved a radio advertisement directed to bring such news channel on track. The ad involved a news reader providing info on the status of a pregnant black hen and the reader repeatedly mentioned that their reporter has been covering the news for the last 4 days and the hen has been diagnosed to lay more than 10 eggs. It was a fabulous effort to teach a lesson to such channels.
In my opinion, there should be a sanity check on the content going on air through such channels. When we say that we are a democratic country, we acknowledge that the press has a right of freedom of expression. However, at the same time, it should be ensured that such a right is not taken for a ride and there should be a regulatory body to monitor the quality of the content. Otherwise, the viewers like me, will continue our careless channel hopper behavior towards such channels.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Thursday, August 16, 2007
The Rain Drain..
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The Rain Drain..
“Rain Rain,
Go away,
Come again,
Another day,
Little Johnny wants to play.”
This riddle reminds me of my childhood memories of monsoon season. The lazy days when we used to make paper boats and float them in the little ponds formed outside our house by rain waters. I can recall the childish joy of getting drenched from head till toe and jumping around like a crazy frog. The renowned ghazal singer Jagjit Singh has beautifully portrayed it in his words:
“Ye daulat bhi lelo,
Ye shohrat bhi lelo,
Bhale cheen lo mujhse meri jawaani,
Magar mujhko lauta do bachpan ka saawan,
Wo kaagaz ki kashti, wo baarish ka paani…”
I remember the monsoon mornings, when my mother would give me an umbrella with advice of not getting soaked in the expected rains but she knew all that was an effort in vain. On way back from school, we would ask the auto rickshaw walla to stop at the nearby ice lolly shop and enjoy the orange bar with whatever paltry pocket money we got. What followed was the obvious, viral fever.
As they say, time flies like a butterfly. I grew up and entered my teens. The rains were then awaited, by me and my friends, to play football in the huge playground in our colony, which would turn into a messy field in the rainy season. All of us would then show off our skills and prove our physical fitness, as playing on a wet field was never easy. The skids on the field and the bruises on our legs coming from each other’s spikes (special shoes worn for playing football) made the game a muscular sport. The outcome was the pain from injuries that would succumb on us and confide us to our bedrooms for days. But that would never dampen our spirits and we were back on the field every next time, full of zeal and confidence.
The hands of the time machine tickled rapidly and then started my college life. This time, the rains were welcomed by me and my friends for the sluggishness that accompanied it. We would sit in the corridors of our college and have “chai” with sumptuous samosa’s served at the college canteen The other option was to sit at the Café Coffee Day at Kamla Nagar and sip hot coffee as if there was no tomorrow. Those sessions would last for hours with jokes and gossips, being an integral part of it.
Today I sit in my balcony watching the agony of the rain gods. It has been raining cats and dogs for the past twenty four hours and the earthy terrain of Delhi has received a downpour of about 167 mm. The roads are all swamped with the filthy waters which have been let loose by the peripheral drains on the road sides. The traffic jams are taking their own normal time. The news channels are also flooded with reports on the chaotic state of the city life. I took a leave from office and preferred staying back at home to enjoy the weather.
Again on one hand, when the weather is such that there are clouds around but it doesn’t rain, we blame the rain gods for being ruthless and making us a victim of the moist and humid environment. On the other hand when it rains to our satisfaction, this is the plight that we are reduced to.
I think it is all about the perspective about a particular thing which changes with time. While I was a child, I used to welcome monsoons like a thirsty crow. Today I find myself caught up with all strings of office life that the same monsoons appear to be a disturbance in the daily life. The water in front of my house, which was called a pound for floating my paper boat, is now called as “water logging”.
I very humbly acknowledge that with time people and their perspective changes.
“Rain Rain,
Go away,
Come again,
Another day,
Little Johnny wants to play.”
This riddle reminds me of my childhood memories of monsoon season. The lazy days when we used to make paper boats and float them in the little ponds formed outside our house by rain waters. I can recall the childish joy of getting drenched from head till toe and jumping around like a crazy frog. The renowned ghazal singer Jagjit Singh has beautifully portrayed it in his words:
“Ye daulat bhi lelo,
Ye shohrat bhi lelo,
Bhale cheen lo mujhse meri jawaani,
Magar mujhko lauta do bachpan ka saawan,
Wo kaagaz ki kashti, wo baarish ka paani…”
I remember the monsoon mornings, when my mother would give me an umbrella with advice of not getting soaked in the expected rains but she knew all that was an effort in vain. On way back from school, we would ask the auto rickshaw walla to stop at the nearby ice lolly shop and enjoy the orange bar with whatever paltry pocket money we got. What followed was the obvious, viral fever.
As they say, time flies like a butterfly. I grew up and entered my teens. The rains were then awaited, by me and my friends, to play football in the huge playground in our colony, which would turn into a messy field in the rainy season. All of us would then show off our skills and prove our physical fitness, as playing on a wet field was never easy. The skids on the field and the bruises on our legs coming from each other’s spikes (special shoes worn for playing football) made the game a muscular sport. The outcome was the pain from injuries that would succumb on us and confide us to our bedrooms for days. But that would never dampen our spirits and we were back on the field every next time, full of zeal and confidence.
The hands of the time machine tickled rapidly and then started my college life. This time, the rains were welcomed by me and my friends for the sluggishness that accompanied it. We would sit in the corridors of our college and have “chai” with sumptuous samosa’s served at the college canteen The other option was to sit at the Café Coffee Day at Kamla Nagar and sip hot coffee as if there was no tomorrow. Those sessions would last for hours with jokes and gossips, being an integral part of it.
Today I sit in my balcony watching the agony of the rain gods. It has been raining cats and dogs for the past twenty four hours and the earthy terrain of Delhi has received a downpour of about 167 mm. The roads are all swamped with the filthy waters which have been let loose by the peripheral drains on the road sides. The traffic jams are taking their own normal time. The news channels are also flooded with reports on the chaotic state of the city life. I took a leave from office and preferred staying back at home to enjoy the weather.
Again on one hand, when the weather is such that there are clouds around but it doesn’t rain, we blame the rain gods for being ruthless and making us a victim of the moist and humid environment. On the other hand when it rains to our satisfaction, this is the plight that we are reduced to.
I think it is all about the perspective about a particular thing which changes with time. While I was a child, I used to welcome monsoons like a thirsty crow. Today I find myself caught up with all strings of office life that the same monsoons appear to be a disturbance in the daily life. The water in front of my house, which was called a pound for floating my paper boat, is now called as “water logging”.
I very humbly acknowledge that with time people and their perspective changes.
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