By Satish Aparajit
The recent Indo-Pak offensive wasn’t just a military wake-up call — it was a divine revelation: India is a country blessed with an army of experts, armed not with guns, but with microphones, hair gel, and oversized egos.
Leading this battalion are our beloved TV news anchors — celestial beings who hover just beneath God in the knowledge hierarchy. They can solve anything: from geopolitics to gastronomy, rocket science to romance, particle physics to parathas. If omniscience had a face, it would wear a shiny suit, scream into a camera, and dramatically point at a screen that says “BREAKING”.
To be honest, I usually avoid Indian news channels. Calling them news is a disservice to both “news” and “channels”. What we actually have are party propaganda machines, frothing at the mouth, spreading hate like butter on toast, and constantly targeting a chosen few like it’s a hobby sport.
But what truly left me flabbergasted during the Indo-Pak drama was this sudden transformation of every anchor into a Defence Strategist, Astrological Commander, and Emotional Manipulation Artist. They predicted military outcomes with more confidence than ISRO launching rockets — “Mars se pehle Pakistan girega,” said one, probably.
Desperate for real information, I surfed channels like a man looking for water in a desert of shouting. Instead, I found a theatre festival.
Theatrics –
Over-the-top gestures –
Rolling eyes like classical dancers.
Some anchors could easily moonlight as Bharatnatyam or Odissi performers — the dramatic eye rolls, sharp hand gestures, the sudden turns. If Bollywood runs out of Khans, we’ve got a full backup squad right here, armed and ready.
One anchor changes his hairstyle daily. Yes, daily. Somewhere, his barber deserves a National Award for “Services to Hair and Hysteria”. This man doesn’t just host a show — he sprints across the studio like a caged tiger, flinging accusations, shouting over guests, and probably burning 500 calories per episode. Who needs a gym when you have prime time?
And the fans — oh the fans! From chaiwallahs to chairmen, politicians, everyone tunes in. Because where else can you find someone who shouts down military veterans and teaches foreign policy while rearranging his hair?
Then there’s the ex-army man who had to leave on medical grounds (probably due to exposure to logic). A short-service commission officer turned long-service loudmouth. His signature move? A villain-style hand-slice across the neck, yelling “Kha-laas!” as if he’s auditioning for a 90s B-grade action film.
And what’s a war room without props? Behold, studio sand models! Tiny tanks, plastic jets, and anchors shouting “Fire!” like it’s a game of Risk played by toddlers on a sugar high. Retired officers stood around trying to look serious, while one lady proudly sported every medal she ever earned — I half expected her to pull out a bazooka from her purse.
Best of all? A tray and disposable glasses were used to simulate an actual attack strategy. Glasses were lined up, shuffled around, and voila — military genius! I nearly fell off my chair. But then I remembered: TRPs matter more than GDP, and innovation sells — even if it’s made of paper cups.
In moments like this, I genuinely wonder: Do we even need Generals, Admirals, or Air Marshals? Why spend billions on defence when you can just hire these guys to shout at Pakistan until they surrender?
Then there are the retired veterans turned analysts — ghosts of postings past, suddenly rediscovered. Men who were invisible in uniform but now shine on screen like retired Avengers. They begin every sentence with “When I commanded…” — forgetting they once commanded a jeep and two jawans in 1983. Now, they claim expertise on drones, hypersonic, and 5th-gen warfare — even though their last tech upgrade was a pager.
Some come with Mustaches so thick, they deserve their own zip code. Their voices thunder so loud that even the anchors flinch — momentarily. If you treat them as pure entertainment, they’re gold. Just don’t mistake them for actual defence experts.
So, take my advice:
Switch off the circus.
Spend time with family.
Read a book, play a game, go for a walk.
Because the only real war we’re fighting right now is against misinformation, hate, and mindless hysteria — and our so-called “experts” are winning it, one TRP at a time.
(The author is a retired Wing Commander of the Indian Air Force and a Shaurya Chakra awardee.)
