A deskperson speaks

Being a deskperson sucks. We are the ones who toil away at the uncut stone of 'bad writing' and nurture it into the diamond of good newpaper reportage. We are the ones who deserve the byline, not Mr I-got-the-news who just gave us a couple of flashes from his news sources. After all, we are the ones who fashioned his crap into a full-fledged story.

I know you think this is the grouse of a deskperson who's just had a bad day at work. Maybe you are right. But don't you agree we should at least get some credit. And not remain some faceless entities in the background while Mr and Ms I-got-the-news soak up the adulation and adrenalin rush involved in hands-on news gathering.

I have a compromise formula. How about a double byline for news stories? Maybe Mr I-got-the-news and Mr I-made-it-into-a-story could share the limelight together. Isn't that a reasonable demand? But then who listens to a deskperson.

I am not complaining. I have had my share of reporting (the once-in-two-months-go-on-a-junket kinds) and the results are what you see on the right-hand side of this blog.

People often accuse me of looking for publicity by putting up stuff I have written on my blog. That may be true. But then, these 30-something stories are all that I have achieved in three years of journalism. Reporters notch up 300 bylines in the same timeframe apart from all the 'unbylined' stories they dish out.

Don't you agree? Anybody buying that 'double-byline' theory of mine?

Why it's okay to rape Indira Ishwarlal Thakur?

Fellow blogger Vulturo has quite a different take on the reservation issue -

Let me tell you a little story. It is a bit gruesome, but quite interesting nevertheless. And there is a moral too, in the end. If reading about the illtreatment of women and violence against them makes you feel funny in your intestines, then this post is definitely not for you.

There was this unbelievably beautiful girl, Indira Ishwardas Thakur (You could call her Ms IIT for the sake of convenience), who used to live in this pretty interesting locality called Indrakumar-Natwarlal-Durgadas International Avenue (you could call it INDIA, for the sake of convenience). INDIA was interesting because it was full of diversity. Read more here

The ghost who likes music

Finally! One good reason why you shouldn't listen to Himesh Reshammiya songs. Read more here.

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My spammer name is Robust I Pawnshop

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'Poomphet' has me stumped

Journalist Chidanand Rajghatta's 'Indiaspora' column in the Sunday Times is usually a good place to find and learn new words. But this week's column had me stumped.

Elaborating on the scarcity of Indian nurses in the US, Chiddu writes that Indians do not hold nurses in high regard.

"While we poomphet endlessly about our emigrating geek army and doctors fantastic, I have never heard hosannas for the nursing brigade..."

Hello? What is 'poomphet'? Intrigued by this funny sounding word, I checked the Oxford English dictionary, I checked the Net, scoured Google and online dictionaries - in short, wasted precious minutes of my time. But 'poomphet' was nowhere to be found.

Perhaps it's a misprint. Or maybe Chiddu is just trying his hand at inventing new words a la Salman Rushdie. Perhaps the readers of this impromptu post about this one funny word might be able to suggest a solution. Any answers?

My choice the new American Idol

Yes! Taylor Hicks is the new American Idol. And why am I so happy? Coz he was my choice from Day 1.

In scores of talent hunts and similar programmes over the years, I invariably backed the loser but I hit the bulls eye this time around.

From the moment the mop-haired guy from Birmingham, Alabama walked into the American Idol audition room some months ago - I knew he was the one. And last night, the Soul singer won a closely fought finale with the very beautiful Katherine McPhee. Whooppee!

Tony Tattle

What is so inscrutable about the name Tony? Why do people invariably roll their eyes in disbelief when I introduce myself. Is your real name Antony, they ask. No, it's not! It's plain and simple Tony. Nothing more, nothing less.

Haven't they ever heard of British PM Tony Blair, cricketer Tony Greig, television character Tony Soprano and the like. What about the Tony awards, eh?

For God's sake, even the new White House Press Secretary is a certain Tony Snow. Our desi Jassi was the brainchild of television producer Tony Singh. Not to mention the innumerable other Tony Singhs wandering around in the wheat fields of Punjab. And don't you dare forget that the gun used in the Jessica Lall murder case was found in the house of a certain Tony in Chandigarh.

Granted that Christians are a minority in India but I have never heard of anyone getting flabbergasted by the presence of a Michael or a George in the workplace. Then why this fixation with Tony.

And it's not even a rare moniker. In school, there was another Tony in the same class and teachers usually got flummoxed when both Tonys responded to their bidding.

But somehow when I moved on to college and the workplace, people didn't take too kindly to my name. They would inevitably cup their ears to make sure they heard it right. Tony? It was almost as if they felt they could deal better with a Sony, Ronny or even a Dony.

Their next question - what does Tony mean? In the great Indian tradition, every name has to mean something and I am usually ashamed to admit mine doesn't stand for anything. But I never fail to point out that in the English lexicon, tony as an adjective stands for someone stylish, fashionable or elegant.

Not that I am claiming anything by that but Tony is certainly a better appellation than my dad's name John which has various unpleasant connotations - a toilet, a prostitute's customer and an elongated piece of underwear.

Now that you have patiently listened to or rather read my harangue, let me clarify that Tony is indeed derived from the name Anthony or Antony. And that my parents named me after my maternal grandfather.

Why maternal? Well, it seems that to do his bit for India's population crisis, my dad wanted to limit the number of his offspring to ONE. When I was born, Dad gave Mom the privilege of naming me after her father.

But three years later, when my obnoxious brother appeared on the planet, Dad gave the new born babe the moniker Jose to honour my paternal grandfather Joseph.

I sometimes wonder what would have happened if Dad had stuck to hierarchy when it came to naming unsuspecting babies after their grandfathers. I would have been named Jose and my brother would be Tony instead.

Nah! I like Tony much better. Jose is such a common name in South India. In fact, if you throw a stone in Kerala, you can be pretty certain about it landing on a person named Jose, or someone having a friend or a sibling named Jose. Now just don't start throwing stones at me.

Laptop-wanna Blues

As I continue harping on the need to get myself a snazzy new laptop, I must tell you what one my distant cousins Robins Tharakan went through. Better still, go read it yourself. He's posted all about his traumatic experience (with a new Dell machine) on his blog here.

Looks like I would need to do a lot of soul-searching before I get hoist by my own laptop.

Of siblings with football injuries

My brother has gone right ahead and destroyed his toe nail. Well, not deliberately. It seems he was playing football with no boots on when the incident occurred.

Being the blockhead that he is, he didn't pay much attention to it till this morning - by which time the semi-detached nail had assumed the proportions of a lightbulb, what with all the pus accumulated under it.

The poor dude had to endure what he termed "the worst ever experience of his life" when the doctor literally tweezered out the toe nail and all the attached pus. Now, he walks around with a bandaged toe and a wistful expression.

I bet he's having second thoughts about playing football without appropriate footwear. Wotsay?