Arnab's Prime-Time Noise Pollution

Arnab Goswami. Just hearing his name can make you reach for the mute button. On Indian television, he likes to think of himself as a crusader for truth, wielding his microphone like a sword. But when it comes to the 2025 Aravalli controversy, he looks less like a hero and more like someone caught in his own drama.

To understand the 2025 ruling, we must go back to 2010. Ashok Gehlot’s government had proposed the “100-metre formula” to protect the Aravallis while allowing mining. The Supreme Court rejected it because it was too weak and left most hills unprotected. That was a clear signal: serious rules, backed by science and law, were needed to safeguard the fragile ecosystem. Yet Arnab ignores this history and treats the 2025 Supreme Court ruling as a sudden attack on the hills and people’s livelihoods.

The 2025 ruling is actually reasonable. It applies across four states and protects hills that are 100 metres or taller. Smaller hills may lose protection, but the major, ecologically important Aravallis remain safe. Mining has **not been completely banned**—only illegal or unapproved operations are restricted. Legal, government-approved mining can continue in permitted areas. But Arnab sees only drama. “Death sentence for hills!” he shouts. “Red carpet for illegal mining!” Facts don’t matter in his world.

His outrage is selective. He criticizes the timing of the judgment, calling it politically motivated, forgetting that the ruling was years in preparation. Science, law, and careful planning guided the Court. Arnab relies on noise and theatrics instead of reason.

He also exaggerates the economic impact. Miners affected are mostly those operating illegally. Yet on TV, he makes it look like entire communities are ruined. Fear, not facts, drives his narrative.

And then there’s hypocrisy. Arnab pretends to be a fearless champion of the people, but he ignores history: the Supreme Court’s rejection of Gehlot’s plan, scientific mapping by the Forest Survey of India, and the pan-state nature of the 2025 rules. He treats every law as a conspiracy, every policy as a scandal.

The question is simple: what do the Aravallis need—loud shouting or law, science, and careful governance? The hills will endure as they always have. Arnab’s theatrics are temporary, like echoes in a desert. They make noise, but in the end, they change nothing.

Arnab thrives on fear, drama, and outrage. But compared to facts and history, his arguments collapse. The Aravallis deserve protection, not television melodrama. And the public deserves news, not endless theatrics.

In Indian journalism, Arnab may roar and strut, but reason eventually wins. When it does, only the hills—and history—remain.