Sarcasm of journalism
The sarcastic world of journalism; that is what I call this post. As goes the old saying in Kannada ‘mane geddu maaru gellu’- take care of the home before the world- appears appropriate to quote here for all my fellow journalists who are too busy dealing with the matters that matter to the world than to their life.
This thought was spurred by a story I was told to do by one of the ‘seniors’ in a split-second glance of what the person witnessed at Bangalore International Airport-dogs outside the terminal in an Indian city plagued and mauled by dogs every other week.
‘An international airport like BIA is being mauled by dogs outside the terminal scaring away the firangs who are amused to see their presence since dogs are found as pets in their up market alleys’ was the brief.
This was enough to spark off my always pissed-off mind again. Bloody, I m scared to walk in front my office every night I finish my work because there are a pack of dogs fighting and barking at each other. I fear one of them might jump on to bite his teeth in my flesh in the moment of uncontrollable aggressiveness. I walk close to the compound wall where the guards are posted and carefully watch what the dogs are up to and plan my steps further so as to reach home- un-mauled!
The worst part is I cannot complain on it by writing about. If I want to, I have to complain to the deaf Bruhat Bangalore Mahanagara Palike (BBMP) and feel more frustrated of the system every passing day.
But I have to write on a pack of dogs which are not visible during day but I m told in the nights sniffing baggage without barking or grrrring. My life cannot be more frustrating that this.
Added to my boiling heart was to be asked to write on no-facilities for the poor BIA employees. They have to eat expensive food at the airport because they do not have a canteen. It is another matter that there is a make-shift canteen built after a few months of the opening of the airport which costs Rs20.
This is what I exactly call rubbing salt on the wounds. Bloody, there is no canteen for us (includes poor me) in the office except for a low-quality and watery coffee machine which conks off every other week and I have to shell out more money to eat decent food. Anybody listening to my plight and willing to do a micro-local? I would be grateful to the reporter who does this.
This is what I call sarcasm of journalism, who write on the whole world but cannot write on their plights.
I have gone beyond world limit and my journalistic limits too!
(EOM)
This thought was spurred by a story I was told to do by one of the ‘seniors’ in a split-second glance of what the person witnessed at Bangalore International Airport-dogs outside the terminal in an Indian city plagued and mauled by dogs every other week.
‘An international airport like BIA is being mauled by dogs outside the terminal scaring away the firangs who are amused to see their presence since dogs are found as pets in their up market alleys’ was the brief.
This was enough to spark off my always pissed-off mind again. Bloody, I m scared to walk in front my office every night I finish my work because there are a pack of dogs fighting and barking at each other. I fear one of them might jump on to bite his teeth in my flesh in the moment of uncontrollable aggressiveness. I walk close to the compound wall where the guards are posted and carefully watch what the dogs are up to and plan my steps further so as to reach home- un-mauled!
The worst part is I cannot complain on it by writing about. If I want to, I have to complain to the deaf Bruhat Bangalore Mahanagara Palike (BBMP) and feel more frustrated of the system every passing day.
But I have to write on a pack of dogs which are not visible during day but I m told in the nights sniffing baggage without barking or grrrring. My life cannot be more frustrating that this.
Added to my boiling heart was to be asked to write on no-facilities for the poor BIA employees. They have to eat expensive food at the airport because they do not have a canteen. It is another matter that there is a make-shift canteen built after a few months of the opening of the airport which costs Rs20.
This is what I exactly call rubbing salt on the wounds. Bloody, there is no canteen for us (includes poor me) in the office except for a low-quality and watery coffee machine which conks off every other week and I have to shell out more money to eat decent food. Anybody listening to my plight and willing to do a micro-local? I would be grateful to the reporter who does this.
This is what I call sarcasm of journalism, who write on the whole world but cannot write on their plights.
I have gone beyond world limit and my journalistic limits too!
(EOM)