Musings

I was introduced to The Hindu when I was about eight. My father was adamant that I read the editorial daily, regardless of whether I understood it. Such was his despotism! Among his many quirks, this particular insistence proved beneficial over time. I must admit, in those days, my reading of the newspaper began with the sports page. As time passed, I came to agree with my father that The Hindu’s editorial was a uniquely well-written piece, distinguished by its language and content. It was akin to the resonant voice of Melville de Mellow, the Indian broadcaster whose English news bulletins on All India Radio were more impeccably English than the English themselves could muster.

Melville de Mellow’s poignant commentary in 1948, articulating the nation’s grief during Mahatma Gandhi’s funeral procession to Raj Ghat—non-stop for seven hours—remains one of the finest moments in radio broadcasting, in India and globally. His command of language, articulate delivery, and sensitivity to the occasion are qualities sorely lacking in the shrieking reporters seen on Indian TV news channels this past week. For these clamorous individuals, a tragedy, a poignant moment, or a solemn occasion rarely shapes their reportage. Their insensitivity and vexing behaviour over a mutilated corpse are utterly deplorable!

As for the media, particularly The Hindu (which remains one of the few sober print dailies), its coverage of the Pulwama attack and Modi’s electoral gambit involving the Indian Air Force’s strike in Pakistan was so poorly reported that no international news agency deemed it even conditionally quotable. To claim that 300 terrorists or JeM militants in training camps in Balakot (PoK) were killed in the IAF raid, when not even a single dead donkey was found in the targeted area, reveals the pathetic state of Indian media and their shameless complicity in peddling the government’s flagitious falsehoods and malarkey.

N. Ram, you owe an explanation—not because of who you are, but because The Hindu is an icon, an institution, a symbol of conscientious journalism to many. The trumped-up jingoistic fervour on various Indian news channels since yesterday morning has been pure rodomontade, evoking revulsion. These outlets may now compete to put Wing Commander Abhinandan under the spotlight, vying to outdo each other for an exclusive on the pilot. This isn’t journalism; it’s voyeurism. When you lend undue credence to a snooty, grandstanding Prime Minister who thrives on falsehood, misrepresentation, and cunning, you rival Faust in a Faustian bargain.

Wing Commander Abhinandan deserves accolades for his resolute conduct in enemy captivity. His return is a profound relief for every Indian. Undoubtedly, we have many such Abhinandans in our military—but so does Pakistan! Our enemy is another country’s hero, and vice versa; valour knows no boundaries. Humans, my friends—flesh and blood, pain and contentment—cannot be reduced to grandiloquent narratives by jingoism, nationalism, or unethical journalism, whether about Indians or Pakistanis.