What a silly column
Thapar and Hollande at the private lunch thrown by Analjit Singh
I have written in The Hoot earlier about how some columnists are so far past their sell-by date that all they do is produce mould. I mentioned some by name and the Sunday Hindustan Times columnist and journalist Karan Thapar was one of them. In last Sunday’s edition of the paper, however, Thapar surpassed his own earlier records by writing possibly the silliest column of the decade.
The subject was French president Francois Hollande and his visit to India for Republic Day. Written in Mills & Boon-style, Thapar waxed lyrical about Hollande. What a lovely man. What a nice, charming, chatty, relaxed, interesting man. What an extremely likeable man. What an extremely nice man. Goodness, he is also well-informed. He talks effortlessly.
It pains me to continue listing Thapar’s inanities but I must put Hoot readers before my own well-being. Gasping like a teenage girl suddenly thrust into the presence of her pop star hero, Thapar praises Hollande for his wicked sense of humour. Actually, his exact words are delightfully wicked’ sense of humour. And his smile! Mon Dieu, his smile - it was bewitching.
The occasion at which Thapar was smitten was a private lunch held for Hollande by Analjit Singh. Thapar describes how Hollande talked and mingled with the other 30 guests. Thapar cannot believe his eyes. He was witnessing a miracle. No, Hollande did not levitate. He ‘walked from group to group, often on his own, to talk to different sets of people. He listened avidly, smiled a lot, laughed often and made them laugh a lot more. He seemed to have all the time in the world.’
The first part of this sentence is worth italicizing. He walked from group to group, often on his own, to talk to different sets of people. Presumably Thapar means that, unlike some statesmen who hold court while standing on the same spot, forcing others to approach them, Hollande moved around. That was nice of him, very nice of him but is it worth mentioning?
It is not my argument that private lunches are not worth writing about. My point is that if the journalist in Thapar had generated some insights into Hollande as a politician, some hitherto unknown details about the Rafale deal, or an insight into Indo-French relations or even something about France under Hollande, it could have made for good copy. Instead, he blathers on fatuously about his niceness.
In fact, for the guests at Analjit Singh’s lunch, an account by the President of the recent terrorist attack in Paris would have been compelling – perhaps some exclusive piece of information or perhaps how Hollande dealt with it emotionally. But Thapar is too awestruck to take this line of inquiry. All he gives us is: ’But what fascinated us was his account of the terror attack at the Stade de France last November. He told it like a story, graphically and grippingly. Everyone stopped eating, listening intently to every word.’ Hmm, yes thank you for that, turning the carnage into an excuse to lavish some more praise on the man and his powers of narration.
The only other way this column could have been redeemed was humour but it has none. Every word of it is fawning, juvenile drivel. What possessed Thapar to present his rapture over Hollande as political commentary instead of keeping it where it belonged - as a private joy kept deep in the recesses of his heart – is a mystery.
The most shocking thing about Thapar’s column is the first line. ‘You get to know a man only when you meet him’. Let your mind rest on this for a moment. Let it sink in. Observe its…..its…utter, unbelievable triteness. What does the Hindustan Times sub-editor do with it? He or she elevates the puerility to the headline: One Does Not Get To Know Hollande Until One Meets Him.
The only suitable response is to sink your head in your hands and groan.
(Amrit Dhillon is a freelance journalist in New Delhi).