Fishing

After many days, I again laid my hands on that “something” which I almost religiously avoid these days — the newspaper. Especially the Indian newspaper.

Why? You may well ask.

Take a look at the front page on almost any random morning:

• XXX killed as bus falls off bridge…

• Mumbai bandh called again…

• Navy captures pirates…

• “I am going for Jihad,” he told mother…

• Centre seeks views on adultery law…

I looked at these headlines again, but this time from the eyes of the watchman standing downstairs at the gates of my apartment society.

Every night he struggles through a twelve-hour shift, fighting sleep somehow, just to earn enough to survive on a tiny salary. I wondered what these headlines would mean to him.

Why are buses falling?
Who are these pirates?
What exactly is adultery law?

And more importantly — how much of any of this really changes his everyday life?

Somehow it struck me that our newspapers seem increasingly obsessed with drama, conflict, outrage, politics, sensation — everything except the quiet ordinary struggles that shape most human lives.

Why is that?

And then another uncomfortable question came to me:

perhaps because that is exactly what we ourselves want.

Why do idle political arguments excite me more than actual work? Why does every discussion on Indo-Pak tensions suddenly fill entire groups with passion while practical questions of education, productivity, civic discipline, economics, or public behavior quickly become boring?

Perhaps our newspapers are merely reflecting our collective taste.

We seem to mistake endless discussion for action itself.

And our media understands this very well.

So here comes another dramatic murder story narrated like a family soap opera. Another sensational scandal. Another emotional headline carefully designed to provoke excitement more than understanding.

We are served exactly according to our palate.

And perhaps as a nation we quietly pay a price for this habit.

Real issues demand patience, thought, research, discipline, and long attention spans. Sensation demands only reaction.

One spreads understanding.
The other spreads noise.

Slowly I realize that my frustration is not merely with newspapers. It is also with something inside ourselves — that strange fatalistic tendency:

“What difference does it make to me?”
“What can one person do anyway?”

I can feel those darker thoughts creeping in sometimes.

But somewhere deep inside I also know that even one person thinking differently matters.

Still…

no newspapers for me, please.