In the early ’90s, we were shown a list of those editors and business reporters to whom a prominent corporate house had gifted shares when they had issued an IPO. An Income Tax official who was about to retire had approached some scribes with the details. Finally it came to me. It was startling. There were many important figures who relentlessly preached media ethics and business morality and corporate responsibility. We all know dog won’t eat dog’s meat. But I tried to push through the information in the form of an article protecting the scribes’ identity and that of the corporate.
“Do you find anything substantial in your piece?” asked the executive editor, rather innocently. He had come to my desk with the hard copy. I told him what I had written was a diluted form and there were names with even PAN card numbers. I showed him photocopies of the documents. He smiled as he went through the lists.
“Come on, Raman,” he said. “Don’t be so naive.” And walked away, waving at me.
Perhaps, the executive editor was right. One should not be so naive. After all, that was the harsh reality of journalism. Many of those executive editors were more of “executives” than editors. Some editors were merely exalted fixers. If one didn’t learn such truth even after moving among them for three decades, it was certainly one’s own fault. However, this writer had the privilege of working with a dozen editors, executive and managing editors and resident editors. Most of them earned high respect and integrity, especially the early ones.
Within a year or so, the executive editor who had suppressed the story left the media group to become vice-president of a corporate house.
AN Prabhu, who was the resident editor of two Delhi dailies – The Economic Times and The Hindustan Times – later told me of his bitter experience with handling share rates carried by the daily. He had got some letters to the editor complaining about higher figures for some corporate shares. After monitoring, the allegations were found true. The practice had continued even after seeking an explanation from the stocks editor.
“This does not fall in our range,” finally the editor told his resident editor. It was just before the Harshad Mehta-led stock inflation hit the market. And the resident editor got the right message. Such things were beyond the powers of the editor.
Some of us had made conscientious efforts to keep away from the murky world of power brokers. But the system is such that it drew every one into its vortex. One day a familiar face in the AICC complex came to me with a request. He thought I could help him get appointed as member of CAPART. A journalist of the tout category had told him “Raman dada” was close to Prime Minister PV Narasimha Rao. It was absurd. Those were the days when my byline stories critical of the government were appearing regularly in The Economic Times. But the guy would not believe it. He thrust a copy of his biodata at me.
Months later, a gentleman in a brown khadi kurta knocked on the door. He was all smiles. He showed me the notification appointing him as a CAPART member. I told him I had not done anything for him but he just won’t believe it. He took out a basket of litchis. Surely there was a conflict of conscience. Could one accept a gratification for something for which one had not done anything? He said the litchis were from his farm in Bihar and it was only a humble gesture. This was the kind of dilemma some of us encountered.
We had a slightly different kind of problem with Jayalalithaa way back in 80s. She had come to Delhi after her good showing in Tamil Nadu. She had not yet been sworn in as chief minister.
After the press meet with lunch, we all got a surprise gift: a Aristocrat suitcase, a rather proud possession in those days.
“What is this?” Some of us asked the officials. “We won’t take such gifts from politicians. That’s plain bribing.” The entire press corps refused to take it. Such a thing had not happened so far. Giving gifts at political briefings would set a bad precedence. There has to be a difference between a gift by an individual politician and a token gesture by a state-run institution like a handicraft board.
In the mid-’80s we discovered another unfair practice. Some ministers were frequently inviting political reporters for lavish lunch briefings, often at five-star hotels. On many occasions, the briefings did not produce any story worth reporting. Then one day the cat was out of the bag. The ministers were forcing the public sector undertakings under them to pay the bill. A senior accounts assistant of a leading private hotel had passed on copies of the reminders sent to the PSU for non-payment of the bills. It mentioned the minister’s name. Enquiries revealed that it was an old practice. The then PMO put an end to the practice after The Indian Express had carried a byline story on page one.
For touts and power pedlars, elections were boom time. Large crowds of ticket seekers from far and near descended on the pavements of Akbar and Ashoka roads, Congress and BJP headquarters respectively. Those from neighbouring states came in big cars and vans along with their entourage. They brought along local lords to demonstrate their popular support. It was a big mela with golgappa-wallas, samosa sellers and ice cream vendors doing roaring business. And that is the prime time for the touts to make a killing.
Some ticket seekers also brought along local journalists under the notion that editors of their mofussil papers had access to the top party bosses in Delhi. Their first task was to find out from the journalist-touts whether their name figured in the shortlist that came up for consideration of the central parliamentary boards. Even if an aspirant fails to get the ticket, names appearing in the final list helped them stake claims for future elections.
The touts’ work began with an imperious appearance before the crowds. Ticket hunters came to them seeking their good offices to influence the high command. This was the early period when media persons’ influence on the decision making of the political parties was overrated. The journalist-touts took their biodata and asked a few searching questions to make things look genuine. The aspirant was called privately and the first instalment paid. Similar deals were struck with others on Ashoka Road.
One stock-in-trade for the smart tout was to go to a general secretary while he alighted from his car and move along with him for a few feet. This would give the waiting aspirants an impression that the guy was pretty close to the leader.
Often the smarter touts would get back to the ticket hunter and seek additional documents in support of their claims. These included a petition signed by a few big men from his constituency, which would strengthen their claim. State correspondents of newspapers often camped in Delhi during the period to lobby for their nominees. The touts usually checked the final list of party nominees. If by sheer chance one of their clients’ names figured in the list, they would seek their share from the ticket seeker.
Excerpted with permission from The Post-Truth Media’s Survival Sutra: A Foot Soldier’s Version, P Raman, Aakar Books.