Raju Korti
If there were to be a University for Cynicism, I would be its Dean for lifetime. This rare qualification came to me from my father who died without making a will, but he bequeathed this property to me as his sole heir. He would often tell me: "You see son, there is always someone who is worse than you" and my response invariably would be "so what?"
A cynic is a person, who when he smells flowers, thinks there is a coffin around. The Oxford Dictionary couldn't have found a suitable mascot for the word. It is not easy to be convinced and sceptical enough to believe that the future is bleak and people act only out of self interests all the time. I am waiting for the day when friends and relatives who keep bombarding me with motivational quotes and essays on positivism day in day out, scratch the cynic in me. They will sure find a disappointed idealist.
A journalist which I have been for more than half my life, requires a fair tempering of cynicism. It is a scientific temper of a craft that often calls for keen observation of people and surroundings in every conceivable situation. It is also a touchstone of a journalist's alchemy through which he hopes to discover a non-existent bunkum called objectivity. The only true objective journalist is the dead one.
Having banged my head in the profession for more than three decades, I have come to realise that cynicism is a shield which a journalist wraps around himself for protection. There is no one more enlightened than a disillusioned journalist. Not that there is anything special about the people who deal with news. They are as dishonest, noble, cowardly, mean, ridiculous, courageous and truthful as the ordinary run of the people but in their case, cynicism also masquerades as wisdom as it has done in my case.
The trigger for this diminutive blog is a post I wrote on Facebook today, the Independence Day. I wrote "Hail our martyrs for one day. Debate their credentials for the rest of the year." Friends "liked" it but I am not too sure they appreciated. Truth and choice do not necessarily make for great companions. Knowing me as a die-hard cynic, they have probably given up on me as a bad joke. That spurs my cynicism to newer heights. Or newer depths.
It takes a clever man to turn a cynic and a wise man to be clever enough not to.
If there were to be a University for Cynicism, I would be its Dean for lifetime. This rare qualification came to me from my father who died without making a will, but he bequeathed this property to me as his sole heir. He would often tell me: "You see son, there is always someone who is worse than you" and my response invariably would be "so what?"
A cynic is a person, who when he smells flowers, thinks there is a coffin around. The Oxford Dictionary couldn't have found a suitable mascot for the word. It is not easy to be convinced and sceptical enough to believe that the future is bleak and people act only out of self interests all the time. I am waiting for the day when friends and relatives who keep bombarding me with motivational quotes and essays on positivism day in day out, scratch the cynic in me. They will sure find a disappointed idealist.
A journalist which I have been for more than half my life, requires a fair tempering of cynicism. It is a scientific temper of a craft that often calls for keen observation of people and surroundings in every conceivable situation. It is also a touchstone of a journalist's alchemy through which he hopes to discover a non-existent bunkum called objectivity. The only true objective journalist is the dead one.
Having banged my head in the profession for more than three decades, I have come to realise that cynicism is a shield which a journalist wraps around himself for protection. There is no one more enlightened than a disillusioned journalist. Not that there is anything special about the people who deal with news. They are as dishonest, noble, cowardly, mean, ridiculous, courageous and truthful as the ordinary run of the people but in their case, cynicism also masquerades as wisdom as it has done in my case.
The trigger for this diminutive blog is a post I wrote on Facebook today, the Independence Day. I wrote "Hail our martyrs for one day. Debate their credentials for the rest of the year." Friends "liked" it but I am not too sure they appreciated. Truth and choice do not necessarily make for great companions. Knowing me as a die-hard cynic, they have probably given up on me as a bad joke. That spurs my cynicism to newer heights. Or newer depths.
It takes a clever man to turn a cynic and a wise man to be clever enough not to.
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