Vinay Kumar
The moment someone discovers that you are a journalist and writer, something remarkable happens.
They immediately become your editor.
Recently, I saw someone asking Shabana Azmi to request Javed Akhtar to write on a particular subject. The comment was detailed, specific and passionately argued. It struck me that the commenter had already outlined the article. All that remained was for Javed Akhtar to type it out.
I smiled because the scene felt oddly familiar. Over the years, I have lost count of the number of times people have told me what I should be writing about.
They are not an editor appointed by your organisation. Not someone paying your salary.
Just a random citizen who suddenly feels responsible for directing your entire career.
The conversation usually begins innocently.
“So, what do you write about?”
“I write lifestyle and human interest stories.”
The person nods thoughtfully.
Then comes the inevitable instruction.
“But why aren’t you writing about the rise and fall of political parties?”
Sometimes it is more specific.
“You should expose that leader.”
Or:
“You should write about this political issue.”
Or my personal favourite:
“What are journalists doing these days?”
At this point, I often wonder whether people ask surgeons why they are not performing heart transplants while removing an appendix.
Or whether they ask architects why they are not designing airports while working on a residential project.
Yet when it comes to journalism, everybody seems convinced that every journalist should write exactly what they want to read.
This isn’t a new conversation.
Write about travel, food, relationships, workplace culture, fashion, health, or social trends.
Sooner or later, someone will ask why you are not writing about politics instead.
In their view, every journalist should be investigating corruption, analysing elections, exposing politicians, and explaining the state of the nation.
I have heard versions of this argument for years.
The funny thing is that journalism has never worked that way.
Different journalists cover different subjects. They always have.
Journalism is a vast profession.
Some journalists cover politics.
Some cover business.
Some cover sports.
Some write about technology.
Others focus on health, education, culture, entertainment, environment, or lifestyle.
A cricket reporter is not expected to suddenly analyse monetary policy.
A fashion writer is not expected to break defence secrets.
And a lifestyle journalist is not automatically obligated to produce a doctoral thesis on political ideology every Tuesday afternoon.
Yet social media has created an interesting phenomenon.
Everyone now has access to journalists.
Which is wonderful.
But everyone also believes they understand journalism.
Which is less wonderful.
I have often noticed that people assume they fully understand how content decisions are made.
They confidently explain what should be written, what should not be written, what deserves coverage, and what does not.
Meanwhile, the journalist who has spent years or decades actually working in newsrooms quietly listens.
For years, I did exactly that.
I rarely argued.
There seemed little point.
After all, explaining journalism to someone who has already decided they understand journalism is rather like explaining swimming to someone who has watched the Olympics on television.
Technically possible.
Practically exhausting.
What many people miss is that journalism is not a giant collective assignment where every journalist is working on the same story.
Writers choose beats.
Editors assign priorities.
Publications serve different audiences.
A lifestyle story about workplace burnout, parenting, friendships, loneliness, travel, food, or changing social behaviour may be just as relevant to readers as a political analysis piece.
In fact, some readers may find it more relevant.
Not everyone wakes up wanting to debate electoral arithmetic before breakfast.
Some simply want to understand the world they live in.
And that world includes far more than politics.
It includes relationships, aspirations, habits, culture, humour, careers, and everyday life.
The next time you meet a journalist, by all means suggest a story.
Ideas are always welcome.
But perhaps avoid issuing marching orders.
Journalists are not vending machines where you insert an opinion and receive an article of your choice.
And if a lifestyle journalist writes about the style choices of the Prime Minister, the humour of a political leader, changing workplace trends, or modern friendships, that does not mean they have forgotten how journalism works.
It simply means they are doing the job they chose to do.
Which, surprisingly enough, remains their choice.
Not yours.
Disclaimer
Views expressed above are the author’s own.
