I Bow Before You!

I bow before you, for I am weak;

I bow before you, for my thoughts reek.

I bow before you, for I am frustrated;

I bow before you, for I am devastated.

I bow before you, for I feel heavy;

I bow before you, for my eyes feel soggy.

I bow before you, for I am tired;

I bow before you, for I am mired.

I bow before you, for I want only calm;

I bow before you, for only you won’t harm.

My Bike, My Blabber!

I am an oldie, you might call me fogey who blabbers, but here I am telling you about my experience with my bike.  So, be patient with my blabbers.

In my days there were no swanky and designer bikes. In my time we had Rajdoot:  Ek  Jandar sawari ,shandar sawari. Though there were others as Yezdi and Bullet as well but I liked it the most.

I still remember vividly when I had brought home my Rajdoot with the savings and some loan from my father after completion of two years of my job in bank.  It was very first experience of my family members as well to call a locomotive of their own.My father traversed mostly on his bicycle to his job and for the odd jobs of the house, for other things we used public transport.  Now we had cut down on the public transport, heavily. Now  I started  going to  office on my bike.  I used to take my parents on my bike to parks, temples, and doctors. Now we were reaching faster to our destinations and that too without any pushing and shoving of public transport.

I used to feel like real Dharmedra whenever my wife was a pillion rider. But I never went berserk with speed to show off. I was a calmed version of  Dharmendra: Full in emotion but balanced in energy. In those days getting some time alone with wife used to be a real luxury in Lucknow. I used to make pretext that I had an invitation from a friend and going to his house, while in reality we used to go to movies. It used to be a sheer experience watching movies like Jugnu,Charas with my real life Hema Malini  in the old time movie theatres that were far cry from today’s multiplexes. 

Gradually time passed and we got blessed with two lovely daughters. I gave them ride to their nursery… to their colleges. My bike has been part of their jitters before an exam and their giggles after the exam. Whenever they fell ill, my bike worked like ambulance for them as well. Once my youngest daughter had severe toothache while she was 4 years old and she was crying like hell. I made her sit on the petrol tank of the bike and rushed her to the doc. But when I reached, I saw that clinic had still half an hour to open. Amid the uproar, created in my mind by the tears of my daughter, I had forgotten to notice that my daughter who was crying badly some minutes ago had a light smile on her face. The ride of Rajdoot had worked as a therapeutic element.  I gave her ride on my bike for another 20 minutes before coming to the clinic. I always felt weak when my daughters cried, I am thankful to my bike for making them smile.

Times changed… many new models and brands of bikes started running on the roads of India, and my Rajdoot grew an oldie with me. Now with the change in the design of the bikes, the change in the style of motorbiking came as well. Now it was time of youth who were ready to touch the sky with the fierce celerity of their bikes on roads. I meet several youngsters taking over me on roads, everyday, with a feeling of “king of the road”. Today also I met one king of the road, on the road. I have brought him to a near- by hospital and now some neurosurgeons are operating him for a serious brain injury. I sit outside the O.T praying for positive news. Join me in the prayer.

P.S: This post is a fictional attempt and an entry to a contest being run by Castrol Power1 @ indiblogger.in.  Feel the pulse of biking @:http://www.facebook.com/CastrolBiking

A thing called change!

Change: a word that is deeply ingrained in the ways of this world. The Earth, the Sun, the Moon change their positions and we experience days and nights. And in these days and nights we see histories being made, civilizations being flourished. 

We witness the power of the nature to influence a change in the scorching heat, macabre clouds, bubbly blooms and feeble foliage.

We know nature can change things and situations at its will. We are off-springs of nature so the eagerness to bring about a change in the age and era that we live in is only natural. The human mind keeps on   thinking about change. After walking on all fours human mind thought of a change about walking on two, after roaming around buck naked for a while the human mind thought of a change about being wrapped in clothes.

So change has been integral to the thought process of human mind. Being a part of the human civilization I also dwell upon several situations that I want to experience a change.

We often see heads of two states playing one-upmanship game on the name of power. The main thing about this power is that it has a nuclear angle to it. The angry words, threatening vows complete the communication between the countries involved in this nuclear game. I want this situation to experience a change, where nations seem ever-ready to clear off each other in the name of nuclear.

People of this country follow a religion that teaches peace but turmoil is the destiny of this nation for past several decades. Its spiritual leader had to flee and its population had to take refuge in a neighboring country. I wish a change that with every bead of their rosary completing a circle; the dream of their return to the motherland gets near to them.

They are part of a magnanimous and one of the most successful democracies of the world, but their own countrymen couldn’t care less when they suffered the economic blockade for more than 100 days. When they were facing exorbitant prices of essential commodities and all sorts of problems related to survival, their countrymen were busy betting whether a sportsperson will reach a landmark in a particular match or not. I wish for a change in this situation. I want the rest of the country to stop and listen when a part of its yell and wail silently.

 This post is an entry to a contest being run by Indiblogger and Stayfree @ indiblogger.in. Go to   http://www.facebook.com/sftimetochange and be a part of change.

Poroborti station Kalighat to Agla station Kalkaji Mandir hai!

Yes, I have been transferred from Kolkata to Delhi, the capital of India. It is more than a month now that I have been here. The place has changed, the language has changed but one thing that remains unchanged is the indefatigable pair of legs that run, run, and run. They have to catch the metro and reach their destination. The destination that satiates hunger…the destination that fulfills dreams.

There are some other things as well that didn’t change.

The young couples, lost in the eyes of each other and roaming their own destinations between themselves, are here as well. Their behavior shows as if the outer world doesn’t exist for them. The crowd doesn’t matter to these people as long as they are crowded with the emotion of love.

Yes, there are also those intellectuals, as in Kolkata, who read English novels or some complex statistical research papers in the train and intermittently look up with an erudite gesture to survey the uninitiated masses around them. A sense of superiority is clearly etched in their looks while supervising other ordinary beings of the train.

The toddlers pestering their parents are found in the Delhi Metro as well. They will try to run in a crowded train, will sit on the floor and take a round or two around the poles in the coaches. Their parents try to stop them because they understand the parameters of social behavior. But perhaps in the unshackled behavior of these children there is lesson for all of us to be free from what is preventing us from feeling liberated.

Commentary from a vanquished soul!

I have been running indefatigably, amid the rivers and ravines of life. Frazzled and famished I feel.  I don’t know if the whole running had any meaning. When I look back I find my footprints charred by the flames of time. There remains only ash of my footprints behind me.

I feel thirsty but there is no water around. There is noise of nature around me but I seem to have gone deaf. I am yelling in the wilderness but no one cares to listen. I know it is not the fault of others; it is my voice that has become so feeble that it can’t reach any ears.

It has started raining and I feel as if the raindrops would melt me beyond recognition. The thunder of the sky will rip my heart off and steal the last drops of courage contained by it. The air is pricking me from every side and the pain seems unbearable.

I know everything ceases and this catastrophe will stop too but what will I do with only my eyes remaining after the tempest has calmed. I can’t run with my eyes. I will stop. I will cease to exist with cessation of the tempest.  And my eyes will have to go through a painful experience of my reticent devastation. I feel sorry for my eyes.

P.S: I know there are some people who will worry about me after reading the post, and I would like to clarify for those that this is just an attempt to sketch the gloom of life in general and not necessarily reflecting my life.

I don’t know why?

The stars painted destinies; but I don’t know why I still remain lackluster,

The nature gifted everyone apogees; but I don’t know why I still fluster.

The sun has risen in far horizon; but I don’t know why my eyes still see darkness,

The night has bid good bye long ago; but I don’t know why my sky is still lightless.

The god has sketched rainbow on the sky; but I don’t know why I can’t see any colors,

The god has spilt the pitcher of fragrance; but I don’t know why I can’t feel any flavors.

The whole world seems sprinting, but I don’t know why I can’t walk a mile,

The whole world seems gloating, but I don’t know why I can’t manage a smile.

The whole world seems blessed, but I don’t know why I feel cursed,

The whole world seems caressed, but I don’t know why I feel hurt.

When Soul Shudders!

Fear is a sine qua non element of the whole ideology of our existence. However we try to downplay its role in our lives, it plays a significant part in our lives. We study because we fear that we might flunk the exams, we work because we fear that we might lose a regular income, we love our near and dear ones because we fear the loneliness. On most occasions the element of fear works in favour of our existence.

But problem starts when this fear takes a macabre form and starts mutilating the soul. The fear makes the soul so feeble that it becomes slave of inferior thinking. The notion of God and his/her powers start tormenting us instead of blessing us. When we suffer from an adverse situation in life, we consider it wrath of God. And we try to douse the indignation of God through all sorts of things that even God would disapprove of.

In the whirlpool of bad times our soul shudders and we install our faith in stones, amulets,magical books and self acclaimed spiritual personalities. When we become weak, all other things around us gain strength. We start to believe in an aspect that the real power of God resides in the stones, talisman and written or spoken hypocrisy of some mortal humans, instead of believing in the soul that has been termed as invincible and fountainhead of strength.

I won’t say that I wonder why it happens! No, I don’t wonder, because I know that being  humans we are vulnerable to the forces of this universe and when these forces overpower our expectation for life, we submit to all things that we know is illogical just in order to have a sense that we can also command our lives.

Matter gets pathetic when some people cash in the adversity of someone’s life and from one net of hoodwink to another they traverse the path of hope, expectation and dejection. By the time they come to know that stones don’t help change a situation and a person of same body of flesh and blood like them is no God, a sizeable slice of their money in bank  and their confidence in humanity gets dwindled.

In the market of life everything sells from hopes to dreams. Life is precious, so we want to preserve it. And when we see threat to it, our soul shudders and we submit to all things that are hanky- panky and swindling. Logic takes back seat and we feel relaxed in the tangles of surreal realities.

I pray for this situation to change and the soul to become supreme against all sorts the fear and scare of life.

She is speaking, but is anyone listening?

Image Courtesy : 

                          http://www.bbc.co.uk/hindi/india/2012/02/120207_mushar_kushinagar_ns.shtml

There is clamor of democracy in the state, everyone is busy yelling but no one is ready to listen to the silence which just spoke. And when it spoke he became mute. He was my husband. He died of T.B: a curable disease. You must be wondering why? Because we don’t have money and hospitals that treat poor is still a distant dream in India of five star hospitals.

Family members are coming together to share the pie of power, but my family got into shambles in search of a piece of a bread. Power they will always have and savor, but there is no guarantee that the bread I will have and my family that is remaining will share.

This festival of democracy has many colors, and one color or a mixture of colors will win at the end of the day but I, the daughter of democracy, will be left with only one color to mourn the success of this democracy and that is white.

I am no clairvoyant but can see vividly that the drums of democracy are making a noise so loud that my future’s heart has failed and it has also fallen down (like my husband did) on the ground: motionless and lifeless!

P.S: This post is inspired by an article on website of BBC: http://www.bbc.co.uk/hindi/india/2012/02/120207_mushar_kushinagar_ns.shtml

English: more than a language!

What does a language do?

 Yes you are right! It communicates.

In the case of other languages (Hindi and all regional languages) in India, they might be only the vehicle of communication but not the English (which has become very much a part of India).

In most cases, in India, when we try to communicate in English, we try to communicate our status in society as well. Speaking in Hindi in a mall or a posh hotel is considered tacky. When we speak in English, we want others to rate us better on the scale of education and upbringing.

In a way this language is a glass through which we want the world to see and judge us.

No doubt, to have the knowledge of a language as rich as English is terrific, but to use it to get the attention of the surrounding or convey the social status (fake or real) is what that irks me.

I fail to understand utterly that when I can ask a salesperson about products in Hindi or Bangla (or any other regional languages) why would I ask him/her in English? And more often than not, I have found salespersons themselves starting the conversation in English, when they can very well communicate in Hindi or the regional language.

If we as Indian think that communicating in Hindi, Bangla, Asamese, Kannada  ,Tamil, Panjabi, Marathi, Malayali  or any other regional language is a matter of shame, then I feel as a society we  need to mature. And using English to serve some petty purposes of social activities belittles the sublime importance of this (English) language as a communication tool.

At a juncture when United Nations has registered its anxiety over extinction of several languages across the globe, it becomes only necessary for us to preserve the mine of languages that we have in the form of national and regional languages through using them more and more in our daily social interactions.

Only by respecting our own languages, we can respect English language. Otherwise every time we use English to show proximity to a class that is superior to other language speakers, we disrespect the soul of the (English) language.

Being Mediocre!

According to the legend,  Adi Shankaracharya’s parent Shivaguru had a dream in which Lord Shiva gave him two choices: either a prodigious son with a short lifespan or a mediocre one with longevity. And Shivaguru, opted for prodigy. And thus Shankaracharya was born.

My focus of this post is not the Shankaracharya, but the fascination with the prodigy and indifference towards mediocrity that lie within human society. We all long to be the best in life. We admire and adore that is the best. It is in human nature to yearn for extraordinary and perhaps this yearning is behind the many feats that human civilization has achieved.

But is being mediocre such a sin that Shankara’s parent opted for a prodigy? No doubt that the prodigies contribute to the world in more substantial terms than who are not, yet the value of being mediocre in this world becomes no less.  Being mediocre means having no special skills yet having strong zeal to excel. Being mediocre means having the opportunity to improve upon with every single day that is passing by. And learning new things everyday  accomplishes the goal of being a human. And as long as we accomplish this goal, there should be no shame in being mediocre. 

All gods of ours have to be extraordinary in their image. We cannot tolerate our gods weeping and being weak. That is why we often glorify their lives with events that make them a larger than life existence. But we forget that our gods have also felt average and mediocre on occasions. When wife of our lord was abducted, he must have also felt being average and mediocre human being, when our lord had to retreat from a battlefield, he must also have felt average and mediocre.

 What I am trying to say is that being average and mediocre is also about being part of God and Nature. So being mediocre should also be respected when we consider about traits of human beings.

We should celebrate mediocrity for it ensconces in itself the seed of grit to grow with life.

P.S: This post is outcome of some ‘inspirational talking’ from Sujatha Sathya (an accomplished writer and a fellow blogger) at the time when I was feeling de-motivated to write anything.

My Meeting with Santa

Image Courtesy: eu.fotolia.com

It is the perishing out here at the North Pole and I am only in my nightclothes. But it is amazing that I am not feeling the brutal chill of the place. I am feeling very comfortable. And here comes Santa , the King of the North Pole. "HO HO HO…… Welcome my child to the North Pole." (Though I am not a child from worldly standards, yet Santa addresses me so, because, even a person of 100 years will only be a child for him)

I beam seeing him and leap to hug him. For so many years, I have been yearning to meet this white-bearded person. The warmth of the hug has semblance of the care of a father and love of a mother. I don’t want to get out of this embrace.

But just then he shakes me and says: “Ho Ho Ho…. Come child, I will give you a tour around this place on my Reindeer Cart.”  And good lord! What speed it has! Even the Ferrari will feel ashamed before it.

In a jiffy, I reach a garden full of X-mas trees that are emitting glow of different hues and are decorated with red stockings, chocolates, and toys. There are tables and chairs placed very neatly around the garden.

“Sit my child” offers Santa, indicating towards a table.

And within a minute, two elves come with decorated plates having chocolate coffee (that is steaming hot) and fruit cake. Smiling they serve these things to me and Santa.

“So, tell my child how are you feeling here?” Asked Santa

“It is just great, fabulous and dreamy! I am really thankful to you Santa that you brought me here.”

“You have been praying for so long to visit this place that is why I thought why not bring you here on this Christmas Eve. So, you want your wishes? Ask what you want?”

“After meeting you and visiting this place I don’t feel like asking for anything. It seems strange but it is true.”

"Ho Ho Ho…. But since you have come to this place you must tell me some of your wishes."

“Umm… if they have got to be told, then Santa please give some sanity to people in India who run Hospitals, so that no sick person has to be engulfed in an inferno again; infants in my country die of mismanagement of the hospitals Santa, please erase mismanagement from the psyche of the administrative staffs  of the hospitals , girl child in my country is still considered a burden Santa, please give sanity to my countrymen who abort girl child and to the society that creates the pressure on parents to abort; my country is victim of terrorist attacks that claim several innocent lives every year, please make my country free of such attacks; and nowadays , the world is in the clutch of a slowdown again, save the world from this crisis and save the jobs of millions and create new jobs around the globe as well Santa.” I said all this at one go and stopped panting.

“Your wish is my command!”

“What!” I asked with my mouth in agape.

“Yes what you asked will be given, after all I am Santa who fulfils wishes, have faith in me my child!”

“No no… It is not like that Santa, negativity of everyday has obliterated all hopes in me, that is why when you said that my wishes will be fulfilled, I felt staggered.”

“Keep your hopes alive my child, things are there to change and will change for good."

“You are right Santa, the hopes must be kept alive.” I say while looking around me.

“What are you looking at?” Asks Santa.

“Nothing… it is just that…”

“What? Tell me”

“No, what I was thinking was that you must be getting so many prayers around the world for a visit to this place, but how come only I am here at this time with no other human being in sight. Do you have any lottery system? And it is just that my lottery came out today.”

“Ho Ho Ho….. So, this is bothering you.  Look around you once again.”

And, when I turned my eyes around, I let out:  My Gosh!

Because, there were many Santas, on many tables listening and talking to children, adults, and elderly people. Suddenly, the tranquility of the place filled with the guffaw and chatter of so many people.

“How do you do this?”

“And you thought that only your C.K.Prahalads & Peter Druckers know everything about management.” Said Santa, with a wink." I give everyone a personalized treatment here. It is only when someone wants to mingle with other humans, I allow this to happen.  I have other arrangements too."

“Such as?”

“Such as: Lovers’ park and Chocolate Park. In Lovers’ Park, couples of all age can have the privacy, it might be full of other lovers but they will feel as if they are alone. And in the Chocolate Park, mostly come the diabetics of all ages (but the children, without the ailment, are also my prime visitors).they come and have chocolate Jacuzzi and other different dishes of chocolates.” Explains Santa.

“Wow! I would also like to visit these parks.”

“Why not! But since you don’t have your beloved at this time, you can come with me to the Chocolate Park and I will also give you a tour to the toy factory. I am sure you will enjoy the tour.”

“Woohoo!!!!!”

And he makes me sit onto his cart again and we are off to the chocolaty Chocolate Park.

Hey! What you people are thinking? Shaking me off this dream, don’t dare do that and on the contrary, why not join me on the dreamy ride, now we are going to the Chocolate Park!

Such is Life… But Why It is Such?

They had gone there in search of the light of life but the smoke of cruel destiny blanketed the Sun of hope. The administrative brass of the hospital was busy polishing the veneer of the brand and ignored the layers of the rudiment safety. The brand kept getting the gleam but the aspect of safety, being ignored for years, reduced to dust. And one day this dust got livid and choked many lives.

I know such is life… but why it is such?

They knew the hooch is bad for health, despite that they smooched the hooch. It became their last philandering with the intoxicating water. They are gone but the brunt is being born by their families. The wives, mothers, daughters wail but the person who was a husband, son, and father a few moments ago is just a body now, it is bereft of any sensation of relationships. They are gone leaving a tough life ahead for their families.

I know such is life… but why it is such?

They smile like any other child of their age. They have dreams of being engineers and doctors like any other child of their age. They are also the apple of their mothers’ eyes as any other child of their age. But one thing that separates them is that their mothers are a commodity unlike other mothers of the children of their age. She is traded in the market of sordid desires every night.

I know such is life… but why it is such?

They pretend to be gathering at a place for few days to discuss the plight of farmers. The farmers hope that this time they will provide solution for their debt-ridden lives.  They debate, they create din in the house in the name of solving the problem. Days pass by and at the end of the day the result is cipher. After sometime, the politicians get back to the froth in the tumbler, while the farmers get back to foam in their mouths.

I know such is life… but why it is such?

The Real Fun of Life!

Flashback:

In my college days I was cool, I was hunk. Everyone liked me. They always heaped praise on me for being able to cast my spell on girls.

I liked girls and their beauty. They liked my manhood. I was Casanova personified for my friends. I was happy and content with my life. I was ruling the roost in both academic and the aphrodisiacal lives.

I discovered bliss of human body with different girls. The power of flesh enamored me and kept me in its thrall round the clock. On every second day, I was on the hunt for some flesh. After my successful escapades, I would be treated with sighs and a bit of jealousy from my friends. Though they always praised me, I considered my friends losers of the world in a sense that they were ineligible to taste the real fun of life.

Back to today (after 10 years):

Today the womanizer in me has left my body. I am a married man. I have a caring and beautiful wife and a sweet daughter, who is 3 years old. I love my family and they love me. I want every single moment to spend with them.

Now I realize that the happiness got from flesh is nothing before the happiness got from a family. My world resides in the lovely eyes of my wife and innocent prattle of my child.

While I am rapt in the thoughts of past and present, my wife stands before me with the box of medicine and a glass of water. It is time for me to take my medicines.

I am HIV+ and need to take my antiretroviral drugs on time.

I know my wife cries in alone, even if I try to console her about the fact that science is making progress on daily basis and I will get out of this situation unscathed. I, myself, am uncertain about what will become of me; still I try to put a brave face and not to cry before my wife and my child. My daughter arranges marriage for her doll and I am not sure whether I will be able to see the marriage of my doll.

Had my past not been cool, my future would not have seemed so cold.

Today, I have realized who the real loser is and what the real fun of life is. I wish I had missed those funs of life to enjoy this fun of being with family!

P.S: This is a fictional attempt mingled with a tinge of real circumstances that plague us.  

The Scenes of My Life

Scene one:

There is a house beside the tranquil pond with swans splashing in it.  And I am sitting outside the house in a chair with legs splayed on the table across it, in an  evening intoxicated with the ruddiness of the setting Sun .The cool breeze carrying the fragrance of flowers  is touching my every pore and rejuvenating them. I want to soak up this ambience. No work, no worry, no hurry. Only flowers, fragrance and feathers.

Scene two:

It is the surface of the moon and I am wading through the garden of stars with different colors. Here I meet Chanda Mama and he tells me how he was waiting for me to take me through the orchard of chocolates and rivers of milk. He shows me the fairy with whom my mom had promised to marry me off. She is stunningly sultry. Chanda Mama leaves me be alone with her for few hours.  When I go close to her, the meaning of beauty gets a new definition. She embodies the word beauty in every inch of her body. Her juicy lips, curvaceous hips, fragrant hair and skin fare cast a spell on me. I am captive of her existence. I want to clutch her in my arms and become a part of her for the eternity.

Scene Three:

It is a night of Madhuvan, and an adolescent boy with a peacock feather sticking out at his turban is playing a flute. He is lord Krishna with his flute, creating magic and making all gopis (including Radha) and cows go mad for him. I have only heard about this musician’s ability to conjure up a spell that helps one  forget that is trivial(the temporal yearnings) and achieve that is magnanimous (spiritual acme), now I am watching him in person. The sound of his flute is so mellifluous that even sweetness of honey will feel ashamed. For the very first time in my life I am having a taste while listening to a sound. The dark and handsome lad is a sorcerer. When I lift my eyes up to the sky I see something that is unbelievable. The stars and the moon are dancing to the tune of the flute. And all planets are swaying in a rhythm to the sleight of the sound from a person who will recite one day verses to argue the meaning of life and death in this universe.

By now I must be sounding mad to you, but this is what I would like to be in the extra two hours that I get in a day. I would like to be mad and foolish and relinquishing all rational and reason to enjoy a part of life that I might never get to savor if I think practically. I would like to live all these scenes on daily basis with some variations of course to experience happiness that I might never taste amid the demand of the life to be rational and practical.

The way stains are good for cloths a bit of madness is good for mind!

P.S: This write-up is the part of a contest being held by Surf Excelmatic at Indiblogger.

The Journalism that Jars

Yesterday, I was watching the news on Zee News at 10 PM in Hindi. And it had its presenter: Punya Prasoon Bajpai.

There was news on the nose-diving plight of the Kingfisher Airlines. The presenter briefed about the news to the audience and entailed how the crony capitalism has been responsible for the deplorable state of the airline.

Mr. Bajpai was rubbing his palms frequently (that can be termed as his style) and making all roundabout sentences that he is famous for to make the audience understand the occult reality behind the Kingfisher’s plight.

What amazed me was the insensitivity with which he presented the news. He even sprinkled his inopportune smile on the news as well. Though his rubbing palms and inappropriate smile may sound natural and appropriate to many of his regular audiences, but to me it seemed out of the place.

 I mean as a news presenter he should be aware of the fact that such news has two aspects. One is related with the newswallahs being excited about being able to understand the nitty- gritty of a situation (good or bad) that is transpiring or transpired and other aspect is about those people who get affected by the activities related to the situation (news).

What I am trying to say is that when there are talks in the air about the Kingfisher Airlines being on the verge of shutting down, it directly means that there are people who will lose jobs. And such news should be tackled with utter care that it doesn’t hurt when it is informing.

I know that I am not a part of the intelligentsia that these senior journalists are, still I am of the opinion that such news demand sober and sensitive attitude. Patrakarita (Journalism) is not about only informing but also about how it is informing. Feeling elated that you have presented the news and used all your trademark sentences (without caring whether they are intelligible or not) is doing injustice to the responsibilities attached to presenting a news.

Digital age journalists should understand that it is not the omniscient-beard or the squeaky-clean suits that make a presenter worthwhile the job but the attitude adopted towards presenting the news-piece.

I think that the race of TRPs have squeezed the anxiety and restlessness (that a gloomy situation engenders) from the minds of people who were once regarded as thinkers on social upheavals (developments).

P.S: I don’t have anyone, be they relatives or friends, in the Kingfisher Airlines. I don’t have anything against Mr. Punya Prasoon Bajpai at personal level either. The views are just the outcome of the observation of a situation.