“Hell breaks
loose through the breaking door
Whining its
splintering, wooden hinges
Claws
wrapping onto the arches beyond
Gnarled feet
pressed on the threshold…..”
It cannot
get more chaotic than this and yet there is a strange sense of silence. Even as
alarm grows in Press circles over numerous job losses and that of few impending
ones, the entire fraternity, rest one or two, choose to remain absolutely tight-lipped.
And some have decided to dwell in self-imposed complacency. Quite in an
Orwellian fashion, the journalists in their confined space resemble zoo animals
from a distance- management a fierce middle white boar, editors a small white
porker and reporters, sub-editors a maddened squealer. Each one displays a
definite set of behaviours: while management plants itself strategically a few
inches away from the editorial side and clamps down its big paws on the
editorial side; the poor editors with their hands tied keep mum and calmly
seeks support from the big brothers. The hullaballoo in Press circles continue
throughout the day and during the long night the voices of one of the few that
rise above the muffled drone is that of one or two gutsy editors, who speak the
truth but then they have to immediately pack their bags and leave. In the
process, the already existing crack between the honest, truth seeking common people
and the Press grow until it becomes a wider chasm.
The road to
perdition only intensifies with the editors slumping at their desks while
yawning, and yelling mindlessly at the journalists or asking them to just get
lost as the management has zero tolerance for any kind of dissent and that it
must have its own ‘mindless,’ ‘yes-man’ as the editor.
So, in a
situation like this, what is the need of the hour? What could possibly bring
back the zing into this much-loved profession? What could breakthrough this hell
of a clutter and connect this entire power cycle in a more synchronistic
manner? A force that is all-pervasive and powerful……..Ummmm……Perhaps, an item
number!! Like say, a Mallika Sherawat or a Kareena Kapoor? With gloss on their
lips, multi-coloured skirts and swaying hips, they could fill up the gap in the
system and put everyone in their places and slowly but deliberately erase all
notions of hierarchy, high and low, light and dark, me and you. They could be
the much-needed change agents to point out the flaws in the system; show the
inter-relatedness of all beings and above all, set out the line of demarcation
between what ‘sells’ and what does not ‘sell,’ what is ‘flesh,’ and what is
just pure ‘spirit.’
Armed with
aides, prodded by jolts from several businesses, racing from meeting room to sumptuous
dinner time at five star hotels to the power hour at the airport, management
has no time to listen to anybody, least of all poor, common journalists. We,
lesser mortals, just gamble with our lives and professions, perennially at
their mercy. The editors are aware of everything and yet they chose to stay in
their safety zones. And then sadly, in the process, the only saviours who could
make everyone turn around and take a notice could only be item women, for
sure!!!
ENDS
