Journalism is not a mere profession to involve words and genius storytelling. I believe, it is a discipline that sets your brain to an absorption mode for life-long ingenuity.
I've moved on from the adored profession, nevertheless, 'once a journalist, always a journalist' - I distinctly remember an editor-speaker say this at the World Editors' Forum 2009. Awestruck I was when senior editors made clear how the journalism discipline works. There was no magic; just simple, basic rules. "You don't need a journalism degree!" an editor-in-chief told me once, "just a nose for news and decent English to get by." He was speaking more about print, than the glamorous electronic media.
If you've been following television and social media news out of India very recently - there was so much willingness to unanimously 'sacrifice' news anchors at the borders in exchange for a well-respected package. Sad. Very true but. The journalism I once knew is becoming a rarity; the sheen is now gloss; investigation is now in tune with interrogation; moulding public opinion is now blast freezing for shelf-life.
I could go on, but it is rather depressing. Instead I would tell you the three lessons I have picked up -- engraved in me so deep, they've become the rules with which I lead my routine life. Should this not bring back a flicker of hope for the esteemed profession? Perhaps the time is ripe to build a castle in the sky for journalism.
Lesson No 1 - never assume, always ask. Assumptions are the mother of all fuck-ups.
I must have taken this a little too literally, because I ask (too) many questions, and people don't have answers most times. Silences speak too, and the pauses -- pick up on these and you will gain much more insight than the words reveal. You can't report all that you sense, and it is definitely these 'extra' things you gather in the profession of writing that broaden your perspective of the world around you. As you see it -- or, rather -- as you think you see it: is the best form of education one can hope to receive, in my opinion. I remember the sudden awareness that came to me when I began writing - an overnight feeling actually, a quick bloom at first and then gradual opening up. My mind's eye saw clearer -- the world of connected dots became obvious just like how John Muir - the 19th century mountaineer, observed: 'When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the universe.'
Lesson No 2 - stories surround you. Everyone has something to say about everything.
Lucky journalists we are! Everything, absolutely anything can be told and retold several ways and with a variety of mediums. We simply need to use our discretion. Easy indeed. The audience -- your readers, listeners, viewers -- are paramount. They trust you, and thus tend to see the world through your mind. Listen to everyone and watch everything, only because you are surrounded by fact and fiction, mostly woven into thinner fabric than you could have ever imagined. I've been caught in this fabric of fakness a couple of times. It feels rotten when you find it out; guilty that you didn't apply enough caution; but grateful that it came to light before causing much damage. Gosh! The responsibility weighs heavy for those who choose to stick to principles and not dramatise every time the curtains part. Who would have guessed that the pressure of sifting propaganda from journalism could turn out to be an exquisite art in the 21st century! Fakeness now engulfs your stories more than ever -- the need to be genuine has never been so much in demand, I think.
Lesson No 3 - never be married to your words. The editor knows best.
'A journalist can be a journalist only to the extent his or her editor allows' - read this someplace and it has stuck in my head ever since. My first copy was thrashed - I've told you the story. A subsequent news report was reduced to three lines -- it carried my byline, and I was totally embarrassed. I learned slowly and rather painfully, not to be attached to my copy -- the words that I took a couple of hours to put together as a cub reporter were precious, but editing in the end did make my story look much better. I suppose it is the same thing for anybody learning an art form for the first time. A cub painter (don't know if they call them this in the artist world), must love the strokes he or she creates, must be very attached to the canvas of the first decent piece of work according to him / her, must want to believe that it is a master-piece until of course the 'master' walks in and trashes it. The point is however, not to drown in disappointment but to reach higher and perform better by learning the ropes. Building 'castles in the sky' after all is about trusting in one's ability to dream bigger and better things, keeping in mind that there are good souls in this world -- they mean well even if they are rough around the edges.
I've moved on from the adored profession, nevertheless, 'once a journalist, always a journalist' - I distinctly remember an editor-speaker say this at the World Editors' Forum 2009. Awestruck I was when senior editors made clear how the journalism discipline works. There was no magic; just simple, basic rules. "You don't need a journalism degree!" an editor-in-chief told me once, "just a nose for news and decent English to get by." He was speaking more about print, than the glamorous electronic media.
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I could go on, but it is rather depressing. Instead I would tell you the three lessons I have picked up -- engraved in me so deep, they've become the rules with which I lead my routine life. Should this not bring back a flicker of hope for the esteemed profession? Perhaps the time is ripe to build a castle in the sky for journalism.
Lesson No 1 - never assume, always ask. Assumptions are the mother of all fuck-ups.
I must have taken this a little too literally, because I ask (too) many questions, and people don't have answers most times. Silences speak too, and the pauses -- pick up on these and you will gain much more insight than the words reveal. You can't report all that you sense, and it is definitely these 'extra' things you gather in the profession of writing that broaden your perspective of the world around you. As you see it -- or, rather -- as you think you see it: is the best form of education one can hope to receive, in my opinion. I remember the sudden awareness that came to me when I began writing - an overnight feeling actually, a quick bloom at first and then gradual opening up. My mind's eye saw clearer -- the world of connected dots became obvious just like how John Muir - the 19th century mountaineer, observed: 'When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the universe.'
Lesson No 2 - stories surround you. Everyone has something to say about everything.
Lucky journalists we are! Everything, absolutely anything can be told and retold several ways and with a variety of mediums. We simply need to use our discretion. Easy indeed. The audience -- your readers, listeners, viewers -- are paramount. They trust you, and thus tend to see the world through your mind. Listen to everyone and watch everything, only because you are surrounded by fact and fiction, mostly woven into thinner fabric than you could have ever imagined. I've been caught in this fabric of fakness a couple of times. It feels rotten when you find it out; guilty that you didn't apply enough caution; but grateful that it came to light before causing much damage. Gosh! The responsibility weighs heavy for those who choose to stick to principles and not dramatise every time the curtains part. Who would have guessed that the pressure of sifting propaganda from journalism could turn out to be an exquisite art in the 21st century! Fakeness now engulfs your stories more than ever -- the need to be genuine has never been so much in demand, I think.
Lesson No 3 - never be married to your words. The editor knows best.
'A journalist can be a journalist only to the extent his or her editor allows' - read this someplace and it has stuck in my head ever since. My first copy was thrashed - I've told you the story. A subsequent news report was reduced to three lines -- it carried my byline, and I was totally embarrassed. I learned slowly and rather painfully, not to be attached to my copy -- the words that I took a couple of hours to put together as a cub reporter were precious, but editing in the end did make my story look much better. I suppose it is the same thing for anybody learning an art form for the first time. A cub painter (don't know if they call them this in the artist world), must love the strokes he or she creates, must be very attached to the canvas of the first decent piece of work according to him / her, must want to believe that it is a master-piece until of course the 'master' walks in and trashes it. The point is however, not to drown in disappointment but to reach higher and perform better by learning the ropes. Building 'castles in the sky' after all is about trusting in one's ability to dream bigger and better things, keeping in mind that there are good souls in this world -- they mean well even if they are rough around the edges.
Marvoulus piece of memoires if i may say
ReplyDeleteThanks Afzal! Nice to hear from you :-) Hope all is well!
DeleteSangeetha it's time you moved from reminiscences and goy into articles on current events S Murari
ReplyDeleteMurari, we have plenty of people writing good articles already with a hope that good sense will strike like lightening someday :-)
DeleteExcellent & a very good simple guide. Keep it up .I will read your other articles ExNoRa Nirmal
ReplyDeleteThank you Nirmal! :-)
Delete