Uff! boys will be boys. Just look at my forehead. They have painted faces all over. That was the day they came out with the Budget blockbuster. Theboys worked on me for a month. On puppets and jokers. These Band of Boys, I tell you. Everyone calls them BoB. Quite like the Mob. A very unruly bunch. Forget the veterans, they don’t even listen to their peers. In fact, to get me painted, they locked me up in a corner room and put designers to work on me 24x7. In utmost secrecy, pasting brown paper all over the glass to keep Peeping Toms out. And then they unveiled me five days in a row. First, for the Economic Survey, setting motorbikers to race. A digital train ran straight down my forehead for railway budget the day after. Next, they painted comic renderings of Hollywood blockbusters on Mon day before unleashing the full force of tamasha art for Budget Day. And as if that wasn’t enough, just flip this issue back to the cover. They have launched a full-scale Invasion.
Uff, have I had enough of this body paint job? Thank God for small mercies. It’s a holiday on Holi. Or else they could have even gone berserk. But the Boys, you can never complain. They are having Fun and making a habit of it. The first time, they pasted cartoons on my forehead on B-day, thenposted Yashwant Sinha at thandagaram.com. Next, they painted me in the colours of the Kumbh — pot, naga babas et al. And then came Lagaan. It’s been going from bad to worse since then. Once they even took off JaswantSingh’s shirt. You remember that grotesque body? And last year, they put Chidambaram on a Formula 1 car. Ridiculous! How worse can it get? I’ve tried telling them that, but they hardly ever listen. From once a year, they do it at the drop of a hat now.
To be honest, I’ve come to like the body paint somewhat. Never mind the jibes. Every year as they attempt something more outlandish than before, many more readers get to hold me in their hands. It’s been a blockbuster this year, with record copies sold. The press wouldn’t stop running for hours.
Will the Boys ever grow up? I don’t quite know. Every time I ask them, they say their calendar art is serious business. Just like the Budget. Which is why come B-Day, and they unleash the full force of their collective imagination on me. I know you’ll laugh at this, but the Boys are deadly serious. Two months before B-Day, the Boys get down to work. That’s just about the time the FM sits down to meet various interest groups with their Budget memoranda. To begin with, it’s a huddle of sorts out here. Old ideas are trashed, and new ones emerge, page layouts are planned, information graphics panned, story ideas are generated, backgrounders prepared, guest writers invited, and Budget announcements anticipated by serious beat reporters doing the rounds of North Block. It’s a multi-city exchange of ideas.
Even as the FM runs through his tax proposals working out what to ax and what to hike next, the Boys settle down at work. Day after day, night after night. It’s sheer madness.
And then secrecy descends on the corner room where the Boys get down to painting me pink and blue and in every other hue. They paint me once, then strip me naked and dab a coat of fresh paint all over again, even as visitors are monitored. Just the Band of Boys running amok on huge computer monitors, pouring over documents, making last minute calls, sneaking within calling distance of their North Block contacts, in search of a hint.
It could be rather embarrassing out there on Raisina Hill where the FM gets down to work with his team in total secrecy under the gaze of intelligence sleuths. Day after day, night after night our boys and girls have been sticking their limbs out. One false step and the scoops could dry up forever.
It could be rather embarrassing at Times House too. One small leak and months’ hard labour could come a cropper. Just to sniff one brilliant idea. You never know, I’ve seen the infection catching on. Ever since they did it to me first, seven years ago, everyone else like me has been getting an image makeover. In anticipation of a Great Dream Budget. In anticipation of who gets dressed best that day — colour for colour, theme for theme, Budget sop for Budget sop. In the hope of beating rival papers hollow. But my Boys have been working harder and harder. Anarchy prevails in the State of The Times as I watch the Boys at work. It’s been several years now. And it’s been one helluva dressing up, I say.
Just in case you haven’t figured me out, I am the masthead of The Economic Times for you.
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