Crabwalk. Gunter Grass. History. India

Looks like history of all nations is the same. In Crabwalk,  Gunter Grass deems it to be a clogged toilet, full of shit that is all things Nazi. Seems pretty damn apt for India of today — in a different way, though — where revisionists are running riot, on occasions literally.

History, or to be more precise, the history we Germans have repeatedly mucked up, is a clogged toilet. We flush and flush, but the shit keeps rising.


Identity matters. Yet again

It was in 2002 when I first read this quote from Imre Kertesz in a newspaper. He had received the Nobel Prize and this quote accompanied his photo in the news report. Somehow it stayed with me. The idea is that identities, which are forced by society, define people’s lives more than anything else. The identities are permanent irrespective of who and what you chose to be. Everything else changes.

I am a non-believing Jew… Yet as a Jew I was taken to Auschwitz

And then there is the citation from the Nobel Committee. Arbitrariness indeed.

(Kertesz gets it) for writing that upholds the fragile experience of the individual against the barbaric arbitrariness of history

Identity matters. Yet again

From The Sense of an Ending

The best books are the ones that are bite-size, the books that can be crunched through in one sitting. The Sense of an Ending by Julian Barnes is one such book. And it helps that Barnes has written it with some love. A few lines:

Because just as all political and historical change sooner or later disappoints, so does adulthood. So does life. Sometimes I think the purpose of life is to reconcile us to its eventual loss by wearing us down, by proving, however long it takes, that life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

From The Sense of an Ending

From Kafka On The Shore

And Haruki Murakami turns the Greek tragedy upside down.

And the sense of tragedy – according to Aristotle – comes, ironically enough, not from the protagonist’s weak points but from his good qualities. Do you know what I’m getting at? People are driven into tragedy not by their defects but by their virtues… Oedipus is drawn into tragedy not because of laziness or stupidity, but because of his courage and honesty.


Postcard from West Bengal

Shot this in West Bengal’s Purulia district. The colours come from the setting sun, the depth from the water, the swag from the boys who reveled in front of the camera, which by the way was a phone called Google Pixel.

Edited in Snapseed. Yet it’s amazing to see how good the phones have become at clicking photos.



Some thoughts on Fake News

Fake news is trending. Like literally. It is trending because people love it and share it on Facebook, Twitter, WhatsApp and god knows where. It is also trending because people are talking about it, what it is and what needs to be fixed to fix it. This is a thorny problem. And people are giving it all the attention it deserves, within the regular, traditional, newsrooms and inside the companies like Google and Facebook that call themselves platform (it’s another matter that they are media companies).

Recently I was part of a discussion on Fake News. Just a casual chat among some people from the news industry. A lot was talked about but I think there was one point that no one brought up. The problem of the fake news is also the problem of diminishing authority of journalists and their vanishing role as gatekeepers.

Never before in the history of news, the news has been defined by readers. It may sound rather elitist, but the truth is that what is news and what is not has always been defined by journalists who have played the role of gatekeeper. That is until now. Now, due to multiple factors, primary of which is the role of platforms like Google and Facebook that treat all information equally whether it is fake or real, whether it is significant or trivial, whether it is half truth or a detailed analysis, whether it is nuanced or sensationalist, the news no longer has a gatekeeper.

Instead of gatekeepers, now we have the guiding lights in the newsroom and one of the these lights that shine the brightest is the page views.

So earlier, journalists used to chase stories or report something with the hope of changing the world. Now they do something particular because that will be read. And what gets read may not be the real news, or the important news. People, the masses in all their collective wisdom rarely care about what you will call “important news”. Instead they care about the news they can use, or something that will entertain them.

This is also the reason why Facebook’s new tool to report fake news is doomed to fail. This tool gives people an option to flag off a news item they believe is fake. Essentially, it hopes to give people an ability to play the role of an editor, who will fact check and ensure that a news story matches some quality guidelines. Unfortunately, readers can’t do it. Not en masse.

As unfortunate as it may sound — or elitist — readers can’t be editors. They just aren’t cut out for it. Not only most of them can’t distinguish fake news from real, for variety of reasons, they also can’t be expected to vote right on a story.

I don’t really know what can solve this issue of fake news. I do have some ideas but whether they are feasible or not, I don’t know. What I know for certainty is that this issue can’t be solved by masses. News is not a program where you can say that “given enough eyeballs, all bugs are shallow…”. News is not software. News is not algorithm. News is something very different, very complex. Newspapers or a website is not something that masses can run because if they do, or when they do, you are always going to end up running into this problem of fake news.

Some thoughts on Fake News

J M Coetzee at his raw best

From Waiting For The Barbarians.

My torturers were not interested in degrees of pain. They were interested only in demonstrating to me what it meant to live in a body, as a body, a body which can entertain notions of justice only as long as it is whole and well, which very soon forgets them when its head is gripped and a pipe is pushed down its gullet and pints of salt water are poured into it… They came to my cell to show me the meaning of humanity, and in the space of an hour they showed me a great deal