Gabeed Liyo: Rajdeep's International Humiliation

I have spent a lifetime around journalists. They are an odd tribe—self-important, loud, and convinced that they alone carry the burden of the nation’s conscience. Give them a studio light and they glow with righteousness. Give them a microphone and they begin sounding like prophets. Every now and then, however, reality walks in and punctures the balloon.

Something like that happened after the recent India Today Conclave. The man who ended up catching the arrow was Rajdeep Sardesai.

Sardesai is a familiar face on Indian television—energetic, opinionated and forever eager to lecture the nation. But if you watch closely, another trait emerges: an extraordinary ability to hold two positions at the same time. He can sermonise about intolerance with great passion, and in the next breath provide a platform to people whose remarks about non-Muslims would make any decent person uneasy. In our part of the world we call this double standard. In television studios it passes for balance.

Into this comfortable theatre walked Laura Loomer, an American journalist who has never shown much interest in polite conversation. She has made controversial remarks in the past, including some about Indians that annoyed many people. To her credit, she later clarified those comments, deleted some tweets, and spoke with people who challenged her. She arrived at the conclave to talk about Islamophobia, and she did so with the bluntness of someone who has never cared much about the approval of polite society.

Sardesai, playing his familiar role, accused her of racism and Islamophobia. In the old days the matter would have ended there—another noisy exchange in a crowded debate hall. But we live in the age of social media, where the real arguments begin after the microphones are switched off.

Loomer responded online, and her response was less a speech than a carefully aimed dart. She questioned the fashionable use of the word “Islamophobia,” arguing that fear cannot be called irrational if it arises from real threats. Then she reminded Sardesai of something rather awkward.

Only a short time earlier he had hosted Mehdi Hasan on his show. Hasan is an eloquent television debater, but he is also known for statements about non-Muslims that critics consider deeply offensive. Loomer’s question was simple: how could Sardesai comfortably host someone accused of describing non-Muslims in such demeaning language, yet accuse others of bigotry when they criticise Islamist ideology?

It was not a long argument. But it landed exactly where it hurt—between principle and convenience.

Soon the internet did what the internet always does. Screenshots circulated. Commentators took sides. Some said a woman half Sardesai’s age had shown more courage in confronting Islamist extremism than many seasoned television intellectuals. Others began recalling the long catalogue of attacks carried out in the name of religious extremism—from New York to Mumbai—and wondered why outrage among certain journalists seemed strangely selective.

As I watched the spectacle unfold, I remembered a phrase I once heard in Jodhpur. The Marwaris have a lovely expression: “Gabeed liyo.” It means someone has caught a flying arrow.

Rajdeep Sardesai caught one that day.

The interesting part was that the arrow did not fly across a television studio. No one banged a desk. No one stormed out. It was a quieter humiliation, the modern kind—administered in a few pointed sentences on the ruthless stage of social media.

Sardesai, of course, has never been shy about unusual personal anecdotes. In his own writing he once mentioned that his father had him circumcised as a boy so that, if communal riots ever erupted, he might pass unnoticed among Muslims and save his life. It was one of those confessions that make a reader pause. Perhaps it also explains his rather relaxed attitude toward ideological contradictions.

The reactions were predictable. Some applauded Loomer. Some circulated the exchange with great amusement. Others looked away politely. The Indian media fraternity has perfected the art of silence when one of its own is caught in an awkward moment.

But the episode did offer a small reminder.

In the age of social media, the authority of journalists is no longer sacred. A reputation built over decades can be punctured by a few inconvenient questions asked at the right time.

Sardesai will survive. Journalists usually do. We are a tough breed with thick skins and short memories.

Yet for a brief moment the tables turned. The man who so often lectures others found himself answering questions he would rather not hear.

And somewhere in Marwar an old man would have smiled and said quietly:

“Gabeed liyo.”

The arrow flew. And he caught it.