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CRANK'S CORNER

        In journalism, it doesn't matter what you know. Whom you know decides your position in the pecking order. If you know, say, Sonia Gandhi's astrologer's neighbour or had been a nodding acquaintance to the vet of Rajni's dog or can identify Tendulkar's house in a photo, then people take you seriously. Not knowing Sonia's astrologer is a vet or for that matter Rajni's dog is a neighbour (am I mixing things here?), my position in the journalistic totem pole comes very low.

        Naturally I don't get invited to society dos or happening parties (whatever they mean) where trendy people do what trendy people are supposed to do. Which is drink and talk aimlessly.

        Once I was invited, erroneously perhaps, to a meeting. In my eagerness, I rushed in early and the only designer thing available there was the furniture. Now, I was in a quandary. What conversation do I strike with a silken sofa? Should I get bold and take it to bed? I couldn't resolve my mind and the night passed away in a blur as I ended up talking to potted plants, which seemed to yawn through their wilted stems.

        On another occasion, a friend towed me to a designer party where even the ashtray was covered with designer butts of cigarettes while designer individuals let out designer smoke into designer air. I obviously was a misfit there. A toothpick was moving about with busy cheeriness. When about to plunk it to dig out a steadfast panneer tikka morsel stuck in my teeth, I was stopped in my tracks by the alert friend. 'Why are you trying to pull the hostess,' the friend asked with incredulity. 'You mean that is not a mobile toothpick? I asked with startled stupefaction. And it was only when the loose twig spoke in an affected slang was I convinced that indeed it was no speaking reed.

        Since then, the parties have stopped. Only the Bharathiya Janata Party has bothered to send me an invite, and that too only for its daily press conference.

        It is a big slight for any journo. But how do I change the status quo? How do I appear on the last page of a newspaper that specialises in taking pictures of guests, domestic staff and furniture at parties from weird angles? How can I show my acquaintance with likes of Sonia's vet or Rajni's photo (I think I am still messing up things).

        'It is controversies that make people sit up and take notice of,' my friend says helpfully. But how do I create a controversy about me? 'Suppose I say I have a roaring affair with some actress, will I get noticed?' I asked helplessly. 'With whom? K B Sundarambal?', the friend sniggered in disdain. 'It has to be believable.'

        'Suppose I say that I know that so and so political leader is corrupt, and I have proof for that...,' I asked with some hope. The friend sighed in desperation. 'Is this some kind of news?', he said, unable to contain his increasing testiness. 'At least, if you know a leader who is not corrupt, we can try and sell that as a unique story. But venality and political leaders are deader than dodos'.

        What if I claim that such and such a mega serial is going to end and I know its climax...,' I hemmed and hawed. But the friend scotched it mercilessly. 'That is something even beyond the abilities of Nostradamus. You can foresee earthquakes, predict tsunamis, soothsay about calamities. But about mega serials, well, human beings are not that powerful yet'.

        The situation is getting desperate now. The friend now tries to tutor me. 'What makes you to stop and watch when you are channel swapping?' he asks pointedly at me. 'If there is the scroll breaking news or flash news, I stop,' I say truthfully.

        Well, do that, he says with finality and skulks away with obvious relief.

        But how do I break news? How do I get that bit of exclusive information that is not available to others? How do I tap those that have an ear to top secrets?

        Suddenly, the penny drops. Stupid me. How could I have forgotten this? After all, I am in constant touch with something that is very close to our Chief Minister's heart. In fact, the Chief Minister is never seen alone without this company.

        And with this in my mind, I reach for the yellow towel in my closet. Now all I need to do is to show it in running water so as to 'tap' it.

        Breaking news, anyone?