When Modi Moves, the Media Forgets to Think

Politics today is no longer about running a country. That is old-fashioned. Almost prehistoric. Today it is about running the attention span of a country—and that, my friend, is far more difficult.

There is an old saying about ignoring barking dogs on the road so you reach your destination. A noble thought. But I often wonder—who is keeping the dogs hungry, and who is enjoying the noise?

Take Bengal. Election season. A convoy moves like a well-fed serpent. Suddenly it halts.

A jhalmuri stall appears.

Now, in any sane world, this is called “break time.”

In modern India, it is called “breaking news.”

Within seconds, cameras arrive with the enthusiasm of relatives at a wedding buffet. A simple street snack—puffed rice, a bit of spice, a squeeze of lime—gets promoted to the status of national interest.

The stall is still selling ₹10 snacks.

But television has already priced it in crores.

And the media, dear reader, behaves like a man who has just discovered fire and insists on burning everything to prove it still works.

Now comes the Prime Minister. A few steps. A few smiles. A few bites.

And suddenly we are told this is “connect with the masses.”

Earlier, leaders needed speeches. Now they need snacks.

I am not sure what Winston Churchill would have made of this. Probably he would have asked for ketchup.

But let us be honest. This is not accidental. This is choreography with better lighting.

Modi, whether you like him or not, understands one thing very well: India does not consume politics. It consumes images of politics.

And he supplies them like a well-run sweet shop—fresh, simple, and impossible to ignore.

Now travel to Italy.

Enter Giorgia Meloni.

Enter Modi.

Enter diplomacy.

Enter chaos.

A gift is exchanged.

A chocolate named “Melody.”

And the universe, always fond of bad jokes, produces a headline:

Meloni meets Melody.

At this point, even Shakespeare would have logged out of Twitter.

Within minutes, the media behaves like a goat discovering a new tin can—banging into it repeatedly just to make sure the noise is real.

Panels erupt. Analysts appear. Experts who yesterday were discussing inflation suddenly become chocolatiers of geopolitics.

And for what?

A chocolate bar and a camera angle.

But here is the real tragedy.

The media believes it is analysing power.

In reality, it is providing free advertising for it.

The more it reacts, the larger the moment becomes.

The more it debates, the longer it survives.

And like a polite guest who refuses to leave even after tea is over, it overstays its own relevance.

Opposition parties, of course, are invited to this feast of distraction.

And like all well-meaning guests, they arrive late, complain loudly, and eat nothing.

By the time they begin to speak, the conversation has already moved on to dessert.

Now, let us be fair.

This is not only about one man or one party. This is about a system where attention has replaced judgment, and speed has replaced thought.

But some players understand the system better than others.

And in this particular circus, Modi is not just a performer.

He is also the man deciding where the spotlight falls.

A snack becomes symbolism.

A chocolate becomes diplomacy.

A camera becomes reality.

And the media, poor thing, keeps running behind it all like a dog chasing a train—loud, exhausted, and absolutely convinced it is in control.

The irony is almost poetic.

In trying to expose the performance, it becomes part of the performance.

In trying to question the illusion, it helps project it.

And by the time it realises this, the next jhalmuri stall is already waiting somewhere on another road, perfectly placed, perfectly timed, and perfectly irresistible.

So what do we learn?

Perhaps nothing.

Or perhaps this:

In modern India, politics is not the art of governance.

It is the art of ensuring that even a snack refuses to stay small.

And the media?

It is the only institution that can turn a whisper into a headline—and then complain about the noise.