Why we love to hate Arnab

Recent research shows that every TV viewing person in India knows at least three people who hate Arnab Goswami. If I was not a statistician, I would have imagined that the total number of Arnab haters in India are more than the total number of people in India. Three times more, to be exact. So that obviously made me wonder - how has Mr. Goswami managed to get such large, loyal and devoted hate club. And yet manages to rake in the highest TRPs every night.

With that intriguing question in mind, I went on to do what any good researcher does - collect primary data. At the next office party, I asked a bunch of friends why people hate Arnab so unflinchingly. My question was almost a whisper in the crowd, but what followed was an uproar. Nearly everyone had an opinion, and boy, did they want to express it. Everyone spoke at once.

“So obnoxious”, somebody commented.

“The intimidating and opinionated moderation is so biased”, went another.

“The mockery and arbitrariness is humiliating”.

“He calls his guests liars, sycophants and cowards. Wonder why they come to the show?”.

“It is a mad crazy circus out there. What’s there to like in it?”, someone pleaded.

The conversation grew a life of its own. My friends started discussing yesterday’s episode where Arnab talked about MPs receiving microwaves and suitcases as gifts. He had bullied his panel and mocked them, saying, ‘while India goes to sleep after a cold meal, you need hot dinners to work for the people’. And then there were the episodes on JNU sedition charge and JAT reservations. And the BRT corridors and Odd-Ever rule in Delhi a few months back.  Each one, full of screaming and shouting; bellowing and bullying, disagreeing and disregarding. “Reduction of journalism”, was the consensus.

And all along, I was thinking- for a program that everyone claims to never want to watch, they sure seem to watch lot of it!

So why does India love to hate Arnab? For one, he has mass appeal. He takes the higher ground - and the mic, at the same time. Every weeknight he picks the subjects that can be directly blamed on the MPs, MLAs and their chamchas. Then he sits them down, interrogates them, gives them a shout, tells them how India is appalled and horrified at their noxious actions and dubious intentions. He demands apologies and resignations. And on the screen are the head shots of the pickled participants, for us to enjoy their discomfort and chagrin. He is the venting machine for an average middle class salaried viewer. We disrespect our politicians and he trashes them for us; we love belittling our neighbor Pakistan and he does it for us on TV; we love to hate and he sure knows how to make us relish our hatred.

In the polarized world of today everyone has an opinion. Look at your Facebook page, and my guess is four out of five original posts are opinions. Scroll through the comments section and you will realize that everyone has a viewpoint and they are voicing it vociferously. Without concern for other’s sentiments and without regard for correct language, opinions on social media are about one thing and one thing only - getting heard! Arnab’s debates provide avenue for just that. Take a stand, fight for your side and see the opponents being crushed! Unlike the friendly sophisticated discussion panels where story-angles are democratically deliberated and arguments are lost in the spirit of inclusiveness, Arnab’s debates are the comments section on social media. Brief, opinionated and full of spite! And like a boxing match, we are there to cheer our side and enjoy the spectacle along the way.

Arnab’s staunchest, most-boisterous haters are those enlightened souls who know it all. These are the pundits who could give you lessons on the anthropology, sociology, philosophy and all the other –ologies. While inside they may cringe at your ignorance and gullibility, outwardly they are ready to humor you as an equal. Because that’s what a free country means. Their secret sinful desire of name calling, fist fighting, mocking and venting is restricted to snubbing, dismissing and watching Newshour. Arnab’s debates are the soap opera of the pseudo-intellectuals where they can see their polarized opinions mirrored on screen – when Arnab takes their side, they love him, when he doesn’t they simply junk him for being a rustic, belligerent, ignorant fool!

And so it turn’s out, India doesn’t hate Arnab. If anything, we are thankful to him-for saying what we can’t say, to those we wouldn’t be able to and in a way we that’s beneath us! Arnab Goswami fuels are love for hatred and as loyal audiences we comply - we love to hate him.  

 Views expressed on the blog are solely that of the writer.  Join me on FB group PonderLust.

5 Must-Read-Secrets Of Overachievers and All-Rounders

Remember that kid in your class who was good at everything. He got good grades, did well in sports, was interested in music and had a bunch of cool friends. He even got selected for the school play. And whats worse, he always appeared to be having a whole lot of fun. And you wondered (and quite frankly I continued to wonder till very recently) how on-earth did he get time for everything.

The mystery confused me when I was younger. And then it faded off in the some dark corner for many many years. Only to reappear and haunt me.  As my son headed on from one grade to next, I probed further to solve this puzzle. I discovered the five secrets that are the making of confidence, performance, passion and personality. Here they are:

Play: There is some wisdom in the saying: All work and No play makes Jack a Dull Boy. So allow for play and hobbies. Play nourishes the mind. And hobbies teach kids to think about problems and formulate possible solutions. Skills that are valuable not only for school work but also for life. It empowers them and improves their self esteem. Just like you need to eat breakfast to loose weight - children need to play to focus on studies.

So, Don’t compromise and don’t negotiate on Play Time even during Exams.

Taste Success: Can you bake a cake that you’ve never tasted? Or wear a dress that you’ve never seen. I guess not. Then how can children strive for success without tasting success.

Victory is a unique experience- the elation and happiness; the pride and euphoria; the moment of being a Hero. And a child deserves to experience it- over and over again- before he can strive for it.

I know this sounds like a paradox. How can you experience success before being successful. But fear not. Help her achieve her first few successes. Gift them to her. Help her win a small friendly race. Prepare her for the poem recitation, write the best homework essay with her, or the nicest project work- and let her feel the elation of being a Hero! And ehe will take the next leap all by herself. Soon- it will become a ‘bad’ habit. She would work harder and longer and smarter- just for that feeling of victory.

Concepts not Chapters: Spend time and teach your little one. If she is not in senior school you still can teach her. Focus on discussing concepts. Go beyond the school text. Share a few interesting trivia. Watch youtube videos at night. Stay involved and learn together. School work will become a cake-walk. And your child would understand the underlying logic of the lesson. It will stay with her much longer than the final exams!

Let Go: Inspite of all the efforts, there would be times when reports are bad and morale is down. These are times of introspection and correction. Don’t take the convenient route and blame the child or the teacher. Be ruthless in pointing areas where she needs more work. And then forgive old mistakes. Just like that- turn a new leaf and go back to the grind.

Work Hard: Yes. Have a work regimen. Fix a time of day for work. And Work Hard. The best are those who have worked the hardest and worked the longest. So in the hour or two that she studies everyday- make sure she is focused. 

But most importantly, remember that she is your special one. She is unique and beautiful.  Don’t compare and contrast, because no one can be as perfect as she already is!

Voyeuristic Pleasures of a Housewife

I love Dr. House. His idiosyncratic, abusive, narcissistic, annoying, intrusive mind with the wrinkled limping, disheveled body is the sweet poison that I have quite enjoyed for all of the eight seasons. And I must add, I have envied his hot steaming lustful relationship with the thong wearing, cleavage showing Lisa Cuddy. Like many-many relationships of younger women with much older men, he has taught me about important life lessons, those about hallucinations, distrust, pranks, pity and depressions but mostly about Vicodin- the pain relieving, mind altering white pill that can take away all troubles. 

I have watched many popular medical dramas including the popular E.R and Grey’s anatomy. But nothing held my attention beyond the first few minutes.  Perhaps it was the clutter breaking absence of ‘white coats’ that Dr. House resolutely refused to wear. Or the lack of saccharine dipped drama with the cloyingly agreeable heroines that removed one from the heart of the medical mystery to be unraveled. Or the brilliance pitted against the chaos of his own mind. All of it made Dr. House very watchable. But mostly, I was in it for the detective and his  obsession with his mystery. The fact that Dr. House was pitifully miserable heightened the drama. No props were required.  The struggles with addiction of the vacant soul in its wretched existence has given a woeful depth that begs empathy. After every episode, I went back for more, feeling sorry for the brilliant doctor who never got his due. And the chemistry with the sexy-sharp-boss who made him beg, was explosive.

For me, Dr. Holmes played Sherlock Holmes- in a hospital. Intuitive, perceptive, impulsive and enthusiastic. With a sharp tongue and a sharper mind, the mystery entrapped the minds of the viewer more than anything. And as the story unraveled, similar to the Sherlock Holmes series, the solutions became more and more improbable and the story even more intriguing. 

Sherlock Holmes’ chemistry with Watson favoured Sherlock in the right light. Dr. House had a confidant and friend too. The unassuming mellow character of Dr. Wilson was used for heightening the personality of House.

And then there is the matter of Vicodin, the temporary but potent escape from the impossible realities. While Heroine and Opium was Sherlock’s drug of choice one can understand House could get his hands on Vicodin much more easily. He was in a hospital after all. 

Mysteries laced with narcotics of self loathing, sex and action have been a staple of many for escape and entertainment. The reality, without high-tension drama and no lives hanging in the balance; without nation-saving and police chasing; without thong-wearing sirens and eccentric geniuses- can be simply described as normal. And normal has been so Boring! Dr. House series has finished. And I need some Vicodin!

Sex and Drugs

I love Dr. House. His idiosyncratic, abusive, narcissistic, annoying, intrusive mind with the wrinkled limping, disheveled body is the sweet poison that I have quite enjoyed for all of the eight seasons. And I must add, I have envied his hot steaming lustful relationship with the thong wearing, cleavage showing Lisa Cuddy. Like many-many relationships of younger women with much older men, he has taught me about important life lessons, those about hallucinations, distrust, pranks, pity and depressions but mostly about Vicodin- the pain relieving, mind-altering white pill that can take away all troubles. 

I have watched many popular medical dramas including E.R and Grey’s Anatomy. But nothing held my attention beyond the first few episodes.  Perhaps it was the clutter breaking absence of ‘white coats’ that Dr. House resolutely refused to wear. Or the lack of saccharine dipped drama with the cloyingly agreeable heroines that removed one from the heart of the medical mystery to be unraveled. Or the brilliance pitted against the chaos of his own mind. All of it made Dr. House very watchable. But mostly, I was in it for the detective and his  obsession with his mystery. The fact that Dr. House was pitifully miserable heightened the drama. No props were required.  The struggles with addiction of the vacant soul in its wretched existence has given a woeful depth that begs empathy. After every episode, I went back for more, feeling sorry for the brilliant doctor who never got his due. And the chemistry with the sexy-sharp-boss who made him beg, was explosive.

For me, Dr. House played Sherlock Holmes- in a hospital. Intuitive, perceptive, impulsive and enthusiastic. With a sharp tongue and a sharper mind, the mystery entrapped the minds of the viewer more than anything. And as the story unraveled, similar to the Sherlock Holmes series, the solutions became more and more improbable and the story even more intriguing. 

Sherlock Holmes’ chemistry with Watson favoured Sherlock in the right light and Watson always played the loyal foundation to display Sherlock. Dr. House had a confidant and friend too. The unassuming character of Dr. Wilson was used for heightening the personality of House.

And then there is the matter of Vicodin, the temporary but potent escape from the impossible realities. While Heroin and Opium was Sherlock’s drug of choice one can understand House could get his hands on Vicodin much more easily. He was in a hospital after all. 

Mysteries laced with narcotics of self loathing, sex and action have been a staple of many for escape and entertainment. The reality, without any high-tension drama; without lives hanging in the balance; without nation-saving and police chasing; without thong-wearing sirens and eccentric geniuses- can be simply described as normal. And normal has been so Boring! Dr. House series has finished. And I need some Vicodin!

The Mischief Makers

I have only one dream for my school-going kid. That at least once before school finishes he is taken to the head mistress’s office for some mischief he made. Anything would do- talking and disturbing the class, teasing friends in the hall, chemical explosions in chemistry lab, bunking classes. Absolutely Anything!

I know this might sound rather odd to you but my circumstances have been odd from the very beginning. Let me explain. You see, those of you who know me would recon that I can be quite naughty and have sometimes tested how far the limits can be stretched and rules can be bent. But my son was born with the internal ‘correct-conduct’ compass. And ever since I found that, I have invested all my energies into breaking this internal compass and encouraging him to have some fun! He, like many others, have found my efforts juvenile. My mother has questioned my parenting style. She has often indicated that I might be behaving like a spoilt sibling rather than a mom. His teachers have found my attempts to encourage more fun endearing but misguided. Most of my friends are shocked and appalled. They have mentioned that my behaviour is nothing short of suicidal. But no amount of mockery by friends, preachings by elders and patronising corrections by his tutors has changed my mind! I stand steadfast and determined to make my kid -‘a naughty kid’!

Then, last month we planned an out-station family trip. He was going to miss school for two days. It wasn’t a big deal but he insisted that I speak to his Music teacher. He had been selected for the school choir recently. It was natural that he wanted to inform before missing classes. So one day after school I walked up to the music room at school, with my son trailing me. The music teacher looked slightly alarmed to see me. I wasn’t sure why! Nor did I care. I told him that my son would be taking a two day leave and would not attend practice. The teacher looked at me, then behind me, at my son and  with a mischievous grin said, “ Shall I tell her?” This sounded interesting. I was intrigued. The five year old craving a secret was awakened inside me. I spontaneously said, “What what? Tell me. But the teacher turned out to be more mature than I was. He said, Nothing Ma’am. It’s fine that Aby would miss two classes. He is doing very well.

So, disappointed to be denied a juicy scoop, I left. When we returned home, I asked my son, “What was your teacher talking about?” He finally spilled the beans. He said,“ Today in the music room we were all practicing. My friend and I were sitting. We started playing a game of ‘Tic-Tac-Toe’. We played and played for quite a while. Then I turned around and saw, Music Sir was making our video on his phone. My friend and I were shocked. But I looked at my Sir and immediately told my friend, It’s all your fault!” 

I burst out laughing. I was super happy. And all I could say was ‘Good Going!’. 

You see, there is a logic to my madness. Fun is an important part of personality. To find initiative and courage to do things motivated entirely by ‘joy’ instills the pursuit of happiness. Children today are so busy with academics, competitive in sports, racing for better grades that there has been little time for fun. If we don’t let them taste joy today, they might not seek happiness tomorrow. But thats not all. 

Play and Mischief is a creative process! It is a process of seeing the same elephant but with a different perspective. Once, in my son’s class the Hindi teacher was teaching simple words. She wrote ‘banana’ which means ‘to make’ in Hindi. One of the boys shouted “Banana- ma’am Minions”-(from the movie ‘Despicable Me’ in which Minions loved Bananas- the fruit). The whole class burst out laughing. The lesson stopped. The teacher frowned. He was told to stand outside for the remainder of the class. 

You might think of this as a disruptive incident or if you are in a gracious mood, ‘a naughty kid’. But the boy thought laterally and connected a sound of a Hindi word with something he watched and enjoyed over the previous weekend. If he would've made such a connection in a Science class, drawing from his knowledge of Math, perhaps he would have received praise. But the point remains, he got creative and had some fun! 

It eases social connect and builds character. Fun and play strengthen our emotional quotient. It encourages experimentation, trust, friendship, loyalty and commitment. We all know the crazy things we did and trusted our friends to never tell. 

And hence, my son’s fun-time is no joking matter. I stay devoted to his mischief making. And I encourage you to do the same!

The Overachievers

So we thought that with the dawn of new age global schools, extended days, after-school classes, we could kill two birds with one stone. For progressive moms like me, this was all good news and then some more. I could pursue my job, passions and endless list of chores while ensuring that my kids were on a round-the-clock regimen of learning, exploring and growing. 

Don’t get me wrong. Like so many others in my generation, the one thing I always am short on is time. I am smart and open to consider all and any ideas that short-cuts the ‘means’ and still achieve the ‘ends’. So YES to the pre-fermented dosa mix, online grocery shopping and annual subscriptions. And when my kids became part of the school choir or when they returned with medals for winning swimming competitions, I knew that the after-school music classes and extended-day swimming practice was paying off. They were developing skills and receiving accolades. I was proud, as I should be. 

I had found the right balance. I grew in my career while my kids were already turning into independent rollers. Every week night we would return exhausted with the toils of the day, with bags full of our stuff and plonk ourselves into the nearest comforting couch just to let the muscles relax, mind collect the lessons of the day. I knew that in a decade or so, when my kids would be in college or more, this grind would give them a big leap and it would be all worth it.

On one of the rare occasion, when we took a holiday, we went to Pune for a wedding. I dreaded it. You see, we did not have any guests- with good reasons- we did not have much time to receive guests. But worse still, the outstation wedding parties include living at close quarters with so many of your family and friends, sharing bathrooms, getting dressed without the privacy and indulging with people you would some times avoid. Any how, we were there and we were in for the ride. Everyone we met was very warm and generous. they were interested to know what and how we had been doing. The food was delicious and we were stuffed beyond the happy-point. My kids, 10 and 12 were bored though as there were not many in their age group. In the evening more family arrived and with them arrived kids. I was happy to see that my kids would have some company. they hung out together that evening. At bed time I enquired about their new friends. Both were nonchalant. “ They just go to school and don’t do anything else”. We have no common interest. Nisha is learning to swim now. Mom, she is 11!, mentioned my 10 year old son in shock and disgust. And do you know whats more, they go to park to play cricket and swings and some such other silly thing in the evening. 

I was quite surprised at this review. I had seen the kids all evening. They were polite and curious. Both were calm and considerate. In fact I had seen their mom forbid ice-cream after dinner. Well everyone was having it, inspite of it being nippy. They wanted to have a scoop. Their big eyes did not hide their appetite. But they had not argued and seen the wisdom in their mom’s decision. I let it pass thinking that the children would click on their own and I should not fix whats not broken.

The next day was 'Sangeet' ( a pre-wedding dinner party) and my daughter, 12, wanted to wear a beautiful lehnga (Indian long embellished skirt). I preferred she wore it for the wedding dinner. Atlas thats how I had planned the wardrobe. What began as a simple choice of dress among only 5 dresses quickly escalated to a big war about looks, hairpins, dresses and matching sandles. I was furious. The screaming match was reaching a crescendo when I finally gave an ultimatum and expected obedience. What I got instead was disbelief. Finally she said, I have to be the best looking or I am not going! I let her do what ever she wanted. I felt defeated. The other kids were is simple and comfortable dresses. With enough room to run around it and play.  

I realised that in my race to make them super-men I have perhaps robbed them of childhood. I longed the dependence that children have on their moms; and the priceless joy moms get by fixing little things for their kids. Instead I am converting them into snobish tyrants who are disrespectful to everyone, who believe it is 'their way' or 'the highway'. How would they succeed with these ethics. Did I forget the class of family value and ethics and manners. Did I forget the session on sharing and team work. I guess these softer winning qualities were always my job that I have forgotten.

Perhaps I would need to reinvent the winning model. And time to remember that my kids are not trophies. They are my future and they need to make me proud by their conduct before impressing anyone else by their achievements.

Tough Love

My son and I did not share a word on our way to the school. He had turned off the radio, much to my chagrin and had immersed himself into his book. I felt the uncontrollable itch to make conversation but knew it will be received with disapproval and disappointment. The car stopped and he bookmarked his book with a pen, tucked it under his arm, pulled his almost empty worn out school bag from behind and walked off. I shouted, “Good Luck” but he did not turn around and I would never know if he heard me at all.  

As the bell stuck 8, students were pouring in, some with books and note books under their arms hurrying off to the classes, others in deep discussions about dates and names and chemical formulae with their peers. These were the same bunch I saw every morning and afternoon while dropping my son to school. They were always a  cheery-chirpy group, with boys in ever new hairstyles and girls in ever shrinking skirts, chit-chatting without a worry, strolling towards their respective classes. 

But today was different. The chit-chatting was meaningful. The stride was purposeful and the books that lay un attended to in the bag were out and open. It was the first day of exams and the effort to learn was ernest. Or perhaps, just the desire for respectable marks was sincere. We would never know. One could lead to the other!

The gentle chill was in the breeze and on the tenth day of November, the winds in the school had changed to serious and business. When exam finished, there was a quite and serious discussion among friends about the paper and the solutions. But soon, every one left. 

My son had still not come out when I found one of his friends. I feigned composure. (Inside I was impatient to know how my son’s exam went, check the paper, calculate the expected marks based on his answer, compare his with other kids and approximate his rank. But I did to act of this impulse). How was the paper, Raj? Oh, hello Aunty. It was okey. Not too easy. 

Really! Why do your teachers give such tough questions? I said.

Shrugging his shoulders, Raj thought it best to elaborate. It was lengthy. 

I knew I am not getting anything more from his so changed my line of enquiry. Where is Aby? Oh, he finished half an hour early. I don't know, he was talking to some guys around the atrium. 

Thank you, Raj. I decided to wait. When My son finally came, I had a battery of questions ready for him. In the 7 minutes I had waited on him after my conversation with Raj, I had imagined all scenarios of why my son would finish a 'lengthy' paper half an hour early.But I tried to play cool, with absolutely no success. His first words were, Mom, don’t be hyper! I swallowed. Ok ok just tell me, how did your paper go? Shutting his eyes, he said, I don't wanna talk about it. Im tiered. 

This had the obvious reaction. The same reaction when your kid says, don't worry I know what I'm doing!!

Anyway, there was nothing to be done. I drove home with a knot in stomach while my son decided to compensate the morning radio with very loud rock music. 

The after noon was predictable. We ate a snack and he finally came around to giving some nuggets of insight on the exam. It was fine. I did not know one answer very well. But I wrote what I knew. It was fine. 

I am sure he was being kind but any mom worth her salt will know fine is never (a) fine (answer)!!!

I decided this was the time to look forward. Whats done is done1 So for the second exam I was going to be my usual loving supportive mom creating an environment that is with out pressure and intrusion. After feeding my son 2 glasses of badam milk, massaging oil on his scalp, adjusting the air conditioner to a 'not too cold' and 'not to hot' temperature, asking him every half an hour if he needs anything, checking that he has enough pens and making sure that his school clothes are spotless, I felt I have done everything to prepare for the exam. I knew he would do well. 

So we went to school the next day in the morning to the sea of busybody scholars who were trying to squeeze in the last few grains of wisdom before the exam. In the afternoon, my son’s reply to my standard question of “how did the paper go” was the standard “fine”. This was disturbing but I decided to not have a showdown. He needed a balanced, happy and calm home. 

This went on and only the last two exams were left. For every exam my son had returned with the ‘fine’ rating while his friends had come out of the exam with big smiles on their faces and a bounce on their feet. They also mentioned that they were studying much harder. Some worked till 11 in the night and woke up before dawn to revise. My son was fast asleep before 10:30 and wouldn’t wake up early at all. It was worrisome. I had reached the end of my wits. That night I decided to call the mom of  my son’s best friend to check how he was doing. She said that he was not studying very hard, that he was waking up till late only because he was sleeping in  the day , that he had not prepared for the exams earlier etc. Surely she was lying, I thought. Anyway. The exams were over. The kids were happy. So were the moms. It truly felt like Independence day. A day of Freedom. 

Results were out soon. I was afraid but had braced myself for the worst- 'average marks'! My son, to my utter delight had scored very well and had seized the second position. I was proud. I looked  forward to meeting other moms to drop hints on how well he scored. 

When the original euphoria settled in and I bumped into the mom of the child who ranked first, I started thinking where I missed that my son came second instead of first. And after much deliberation I have realised that next time, I would feed him at least 2 tea spoons of Chawanprash. that would definitely do the trick. Now I look forward to the next exams and come first!