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Aparajita Saha |
A month ago, all I knew about Jhumpa Lahiri was that a. she is a woman, b. she wrote a book called Interpreter of Maladies and c. the book won the Pulitzer. Now I am a veritable treasure trove of Jhumpa trivia. I am well versed with her husband's family history. I have studied, in detail, the geography of the wedding venue. I know the colour of her eyes and that of the saris she wore. I can vividly describe the menus that accompanied the festivities. Of course, it goes without saying that I know the name of the caterer who supplied the food. If this isn't enough, I have the address of the guesthouse she stayed in Calcutta, and the houses of her maternal and paternal aunts and uncles (with their phone numbers). I also know the places she graced in the city and the Bangla khabaar hubby dear loves. How do I know all this? Because I read the rediff.com coverage of the wedding right? Wrong. I know because I covered the event for rediff.com. I wrote the perspectives of city intellectuals -- most disinterested, some amused -- about her, her literary prowess and her choice of husband. I attended her wedding in a sari, et al, incognito as the guest of a guest, and took pictures (after all, who wants to read a story without pictures?) of an affair that was intended to be seen only by family and close friends. I waited outside the couple's guesthouse for over two hours and shadowed their car to the undisclosed venue of her wedding reception. I also know one more thing about Jhumpa: that she didn't want any media coverage of what was the most significant and personal event in her life. So what does all that make me? Meddlesome? Obnoxious? Thick-skinned? Not quite. It makes me someone who did the best she could with a job assigned to her. Ever since the wedding, mails have been pouring in. Mails that condemn, appreciate, snigger and rebuke. Mails that ask questions that are echoes of the ones in my head. Questions that I have no answers to. Why should anyone's personal life be someone else's business? Why can't we draw the line between information that is elucidating and that which is irrelevant? Why should the media cater to insolent curiosity? Aren't there more vital issues to be tackled than the wedding of someone who doesn't even consider India her home? Are we so in need of frivolous banter to take our minds off harsh realities? These questions have haunted journalists of all ages and temperaments. The fact is lines have been drawn and redrawn. Ethics defined and redefined. Because, for every person that scoffs at a printed word there is one who relishes it. Because, for every person who skips it there is one who rereads it.
And until such time a consensus is reached, weddings and national elections will vie with each other for front-page coverage.
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