Running into The Fourth Estate

by Merlin F. Flower

"I am a Trainee Journalist," I said pathetically.
"At this young age, a Journalist.. unbelievable," the man observed. Clearly, he wasn’t catching my point.

"We have a paper called The Weekly Observer," I continued.
"Wow, Observer?"
"No, Weekly Observer," I clarified in a feeble voice, having remembered my Ethics Class. Never mind the feeble part, "I did clarify," I told myself.

"I have heard of "The Weekly," maybe I wouldn’t have noticed Observer," came another enthusiastic rejoinder from the 'alien' man.

I stopped my stupid clarifications, and started enjoying the new role of being a Journalist. The man didn’t know, and I didn’t tell him that I was a student journalist and ‘ The Weekly Observer’ happened to be our campus publication.

"It was hilarious to find the respect the profession commanded," I thought. How easy it was to manipulate the man, jus' like being a Judge of the highest court.

The pathetic lot of Trainee Journalists begin with some high dreams of changing the world; how and when come only later on. To know why I say "pathetic," read on..

With a dangling name tag and glowing face they march on and around the streets. Stories are everywhere ‘hiding,’ we tell ourselves. For us, the people cease to be living humans and get limited to mere characters in these ‘stories.’

But, there is more fun in this profession. Toil by paying is the first irony giving pain and satisfaction. Being able to save money on health clubs stand on the next level of satisfaction. For voices opposing this, which gym can shape one's body like a good long walk? Learning to get up with a smile, after being thrown on the streets, is a unique adventure in itself. Smiling when you don’t feel like, is something all journalism school enthusiasts learn to do.

Mouths open wide and shut faster, putting lightning to shame in this Department. Working in an 'alien' land (after all not knowing the language of the land makes you an alien) is the summit of adventure in itself.

Standing behind the Lift Manager, I was the witness to some angry exchanges. The lift operator looked very angry while I was lost in my own thoughts. After about 5 minutes, I realized that the Lift Manager was actually shouting at me and that the poor man was trying to explain my ignorance of the language. I had stood directly behind the operator rejecting his safety warnings.

Coming back to the professional talk, a good exercise to deflate one's ego is to go to a place without address. By the time you are kicked out of say, 20 buses and the crowd stands enjoying, your ego is gone. Some say, that’s why a student of journalism is a 'privileged' lot - for they can join any circus as buffoons! Never mind the sarcasm, they can be good fiction writers and if luck permits, become good journalists.

The hardest part of the profession is rejection. If American politician John Kerry had belonged to this part of the world, he wouldn’t have felt sorry for losing the presidential election. Had he been a journalist, by the time he reached 25, his losses would have already counted more than the stars in the sky!

So, the next time you see a bleached and ragged face with a dangling tag approaching, don’t drive them off, but offer a coffee though the dumbo (read Trainee Journalist) is sure to reject it.

Obviously for the Lift Manager, it was his first encounter with us.

[Merlin is from Kannyakumari, India. She has done her diploma from Indian Institute of Journalism and New Media, Bangalore. She loves painting, listening to music, nature. To know more: merlin.flower@gmail.com]