Adieu, Sir
“Sanjoo...” Will you call me that again? Weeping kin carrying your lifeless frame pass by me to the waiting funeral pyre. Tears brewing behind my eyelids, I stand watching you who, once upon a time, would have run up to me with a smile on your face and open hands.
Vijayan Sir, Chennai, with you, had been joy for us – me and the many friends who saw in you the quintessential friend, philosopher and guide. Remember, Sunday mornings at my little den in Triplicane used to reverberate with activity and you were at the presiding slot. We discussed Marx and Mohanlal in the same vein. We sang, and listened to, songs that stirred in you nostalgia of the emotional kind. You made merry with us when we sang; You were with your daughter, mother and wife when you listened to the songs by the masters.
Salimbhai's chicken curry, Joe's maverick sportiness, Sunesh's unique toddy-tapioca tales, Unni's measured, shy smile and Jimmy's stuttered utterances in Mallappally Malayalam – all evoked one liners of the best kind from you. It was revelry in your company. Oh, the way you loved it, it was like Sundays grew better week after week for you, for us, and for the paper we made the next day, week after week.
“Sanjoo, a spoon and a plate of chicken”, you would call out, every time I leap to the kitchen to see if the rice has boiled. Hunger for home made food was sure ignited in every one when you had your first spoonful. The chicken curry is ready to be devoured, you would proclaim. Once in a while, Prem would arrive from Trichy in his inimitable style. You just loved being in the midst of us – eating drinking and making merry. Between the cup and the lip, we had our fill of Express days of yore, the Emergency, the past and the present as you told us what journalism used to be once upon a time.
Even as the bosses played truant, you worked with a smile. You corrected and guided the erring Sub. You re-wrote the incorrigible reporters so that they could smile the next day. You recast headlines making even the bosses writhe in envy.
Long back, in Srini’s tiny little lodge room in Kochi, remember, you had left us all in awe when you told us tales of an Indian Express that ceased to be. You then told us of the editors who knew what journalism really meant, you narrated to us the way reporters shook regimes. You made us believe in socially-committed journalism, you made us write, you made us all think and dream of good journalism.
As you fade into oblivion, my heart goes out to Express, who will miss you. Express has always been proud that you would walk in every day to make her look so attractive as she sails out of the press. She had always turned lovely when you touched her. The magic of your deft fingers on the key board and the command of the stern mind had always ensured that Express came out every morning so luring. Express will miss you. Journalism will miss you. Sir, hope you know, you were the best that Express ever got. The best ever.
Even as the pyre is lit, I await your Sanjoo call. Yes, I hear you call out to me to say good bye. Good bye sir, I’ll miss you all my life. My tiny efforts at good journalism will miss you.

Clowns in the tube
JOURNALISM has its own damn truths. As a scribe, you stand the chance to be pushed into a situation you never want to be. I am in one. I now sit in a newsroom that sports a television, of all things! Duh. Mind you, it's not the television that's making me tear my greying hair off my fuming top.
Being in a bee hive with no helmet on would have been better compared with the situation I'm in right now. Half-baked weirdos who call themselves political newscasters eating, drinking, sleeping, dreaming and puking uncooked politics and deliberating on how to bombard the reluctant viewer and the even more reluctant listener with dickheads of the silly political kind abound. Pinaryis, Azheekodes, Achoos and the so many bloated Chennithalas and Jayarajans and their doings day in and day out dominate the tube. Kudos to the genius, whoever he / she is, who called the telly the idiot box.
Has journalism ever sounded or looked so silly? I'm talking of Malayalam news channels and the journos who nauseatingly hold fort. Almost all of them sport the looks of the been-there-done-that news analysts with no analysis ever brewing anywhere in their top storey. To give them company are the self proclaimed political observers, who have of late taken up yet another pastime to entertain the telly buff. They have started calling others names! While one calls another dumb, he retaliates by yelling dumber. Meanwhile, one of the players of the political arena accuses another of phoning him up to extend a farcical brawl, another believes he was termed a doggie that too a diarrhoea-inflicted one. The newscasters have a field day, all the time. And, the saddest part is that I, and I'm sure many of my ilk here, are forced to endure nonsense 24x7. The dumb talk and dumber counter talk ring between my ears even while I drive back home. What nonsense! It's a fuckin' bloody weird world of dullards on television.
Journalism indeed has its own damn truths. Newscasters turn producers of skitty skit and you need to endure them too! Easy ways of filling telly wave space, you know. Post elections, and the controversies thereafter, tube space-filling seems to have taken a skitty route. While clippings from many a political event are stitched together with a funny song in the background, it is political analysis taking a different route.
There are some other weirdos too who make it a point provoke the viewer to call him names. I have done that many a time, out of loss of self control. Chat shows are favourite domains to these clowns. While one almost forces the participants and viewers on this side of the television to find the way to his house and shout the worst abuses ever on him, another succeeds, unknowingly, to make the men and women watching him smirk with embarrassment. There's another one who excels in intimidating the chat show audience who come armed with valid queries, while another hops around like a sambar deer with a 'Im the best' visage. Sad, these dudes and dudettes think they are the best. Weirdo buffoons all. Ignorance is bliss in god's own tube cast.
I'm forced to watch this buffoonery all day. I have been trying hard to find at least one who is really made for television. Lemme end this on a brighter note. I have, in fact, found two who really know their job. Asianet's TN Gopakumar and Manorama News' Johnny Lukose. I guess it's time the kids learn to be adults for once, by just watching these two gentlemen carry their expertise in the most admirable manner on TV. What say?