``Young people are more engaged with the Internet.'' ``TV and Internet would leave little time for newspapers everywhere.'' These are the prophetic words of Marcus Brauchli, managing editor, Wall Street Journal.
I dont know anyone who will disagree with this fundamental truth. Ever since TV invaded media turf in the early nineties, we were periodically warned to keep pace or fade out. ``We are competing with TV, dont forget,'' the editor would say gravely time and again.
That ended up being THE trigger behind the regrettable dumbing down of journalism in print. Most bosses fought shy of publishing a story/ article that was serious, long, academic, doomsaying, or, worse, all of the above. ``Readers want a quick read, they are now used to TV'' they would argue. Cut your marathon by half, I would always be told. `Say your thing in 250 words,' is the new mantra of new age journalism. And while at it, keep it light, fluffy and smart. If it also has any merit by the way, so be it.
No editor wants to play God and miss the bus. There were honourable exceptions like the late C R Irani, owner and editor of The Statesman, which at one time was a revered Bible for those who wanted to learn English. Amar Singh (ya, the same) once told me how he was advised to read The Statesman (the Junior Statesman was a hot draw) to improve his English. I dont know if it helped or being with the impeccable Amitabh Bachchan only brought home his lack even more. But at least a few dozen people told me the same thing about the paper.
Even today, there are a number of amazing Anglo-Indian journalists working with the Statesman. During my time, even their telephone operator sounded classy. Each time Willy (who has since retired) answered the call in his rich baritone, in the right accent and just the right inflection of pride, `Statesman,' my heart would do a flip-flop. A pity both of us were married. (If not Amitabh, Willy came a close second.)
Irani was a task master, a perfectionist and above all, a journalist to the core. The word `journalist' today does not inspire the same awe as it did when I started out. It implied an extremely knowledgeable mind, sharp intellect, uncompromisable integrity, unwavering commitment, raw guts, relentless drive, unbiased attitude and responsible reporting. I leave it to you to find out which parts have since fallen off its dictionary meaning.
Irani, though, had all of these and more. Ironically, he was the owner of the paper as well, which means he stood to personally gain from every ad placed in the paper. But unlike today's editors, he was first and foremost a journalist. I remember a highly controversial story a colleague and I had broken in The Statesman about a supposedly ``missing'' CBI report indicting one of the biggest Indian companies. We dug out the report and showed the world it was not missing. The next thing we knew, the company concerned had pulled out of a huge ad campaign (and not a one-off ad) it had planned with The Statesman space selling team.
As I was pretty new in the paper, I got a bit nervous when I learned of this. A month later, Irani walked into the Mumbai office, and called for me. As he had never met me, I panicked. ``There goes my job,'' I muttered to myself and braced for the battering ram. He'll holler at me for daring to write so brazenly and throw me out.
I knocked and entered his imposing cabin with sweaty palms. He looked up, grinned when I introduced myself and gestured to sit down. Very warmly then, he told me we had done a great job and that he was proud of the story. ``You must follow it up, keep an eye on it,'' he told me passionately. Still not sure this was happening, I said I would. Then, he launched into a long session about his pet peeve: Bofors. How the Gandhis and Quattrochi are bullshitting everyone, etc. etc.
During the hour-long chat, not once did he mention the word, ``ad''.
He couldnt care, explained my bureau chief. He cares only for news, and journalism of the old order. Personal profiteering over professional integrity was for the lesser mortals.
I have still to met someone with an intellect as sharp as his. Once he called to convey an extremely complicated story about an airline booking racket. After communicating the brief in three lucid lines, he asked me if I had any questions. I had none. It was only when I began working on the story, I understood how difficult it was to explain the story to people. Even after laborious explanations, most people I approached would still have queries. Each time, I tried, sighed and mentally invoked Irani's clarity of speech.
Over time, I grew to understand that Irani not only cared about news, he was extremely disgusted with the pettiness he saw all around him. He never let personal likes and dislikes come in his way. It was fine by him if he lost a few lakhs or crores of rupees in the process of chasing a good story. In his eyes, it was a good deal.
Though reputed to be tough as nails, he softened before people whom he valued.
I dont remember a single occasion he came down hard on me; he kept encouraging me at every opportunity and sought me out a couple of times he thought a good story was waiting to be told.
When I hesitatingly wrote to his personal email ID (which was taboo) proposing to write for the Edit page, (I was already bombarding the Op-Ed page regularly), he wrote back saying I should. I wrote one on a Harshad Mehta development and it was carried by the hawk-eyed editors practically without any change.
On his next trip to Mumbai, Irani walked into office and first called for me. When I entered, he beamed, jumped out of his chair, and actually came around to hug me. The peon serving him tea stared open-mouthed. Soon, word spread and I felt like a heroine. What did he say? Well, he was simply happy at my enthusiasm and with my first piece.
Irani was a rare editor who took personal pride in his employees. To him, we were not fulfilling a contractual obligation, but serving the larger cause of journalism as his flanks. Even after an illness restricted his movements, at 74, he continued to be driven as ever, more than any one I know or have heard of. Newspapers were a form of crusade for him, not en enterprise as it has become for everyone else I know.
When I quit Statesman, it was only because I felt I should also look at the material side of things. After all, I was no Irani-an. The one memory that still disturbs me to this day is his bitter response to my resignation. I never got in touch with him thereafter.
Today, The Statesman may not be the same but in my heart, it embodies the ethics of journalism as no other paper does because of a single man who lived by his values and died by them.
To me, Irani will forever be the true Statesman. May his soul rest in peace.