Silence is a feel-good way to spend some time when you are upset, but not until you start suppressing your agonies and hardships. This is when you become a stoic. You think a million times, overthink and rethink before you say something. And by the time it starts choking you, you’d regret not having expressed it earlier.
It’s the little things that bother you to an extent nothing else does. It’s the little feelings that are hard to decipher and hard to tame. It’s difficult to get people to understand you, sometimes it’s difficult to understand yourself. But writing them down can make your heart feel a little lighter.
by:Vrushali It is World Press Freedom Day and what better country to talk about it than India? Instead of how we usually talk about what Indian journalism is (and the degrading quality), let’s talk about what Indian journalism is allowed to be. India has managed to remain at the 142nd position out of 180 countries in terms of the Press Index by being one of the highest scorers in terms of press abuse. It reflects the degree of freedom that Indian journalists, print media and news channels, and netizens on social media have. This rhetoric compels me to imagine the rank of India if the index accounted for human rights violations and the quality of our journalism. I’d rather refrain from thinking anymore. Not that it concerns anyone anymore but let’s talk about the Indian Press and freedom of speech and expression. With the insurmountable Covid-19 crisis in India, the…
by:Rithika I will let you know in the starting itself that this piece isn’t going to be a professional writing about the World Press Day, neither is it well researched. It’s just going to be about what I think the press is and how it affected me. Not being much of a newspaper enthusiast, I’ve never watched or read about politics. But the idea of journalism always piqued me. Even when I was little, sometimes glancing accidentally at the TV when news was on, I very much stared at the people who were in the scene, holding a camera or a microphone. But later on, I knew what drew me were their words. The actual journalists who were behind the picture. I used to make up scenarios of accidents or robberies and used to report those incidents to my family. My Dad seemed very impressed, just like any other father.…
If those who spin fiction are awarded by those in power, and those who tried to rectify the narrative are now buried in their graves, where does that leave us?
Our journalists are not free. We are not free.
Happy World Press Freedom Day. And may the odds be ever in your favor.