THE following conversation was accidentally overheard near London’s Piccadilly Circus one evening. A pressing crowd moved at a leisurely pace. The cherubic Cupid, with his bow and arrow drawn, was taking blind aim at the passersby and the colourful neons were flickering to life. Luckily, the sky was not overcast and the great concourse was in a merry mood for the Yuletide stood around the corner. Friends met and hailed each other and fell in step for a short walk together while exchanging news and views, evening newspapers tucked under their arms. Right in front, two acquaintances ran into each other with strange greetings and the tete-a-tete began:
“Hi Jokh Baird! I gather your electronic circuitry is thirsty for my blood. Pray, what have you against me?”
“Don’t be silly, Bill Caxton,” said Baird with a Scottish grin. “Who said you have blood anyway? I believe it has long turned into printer’s ink, and I am told that when blood turns to ink, it defies mortality. We continue to enjoy reading the great masters from generation to generation, don’t we?”
The two of them were soon joined by other two, obviously Thos. Edison and the Italian Signore Guglielmo Marchese Marconi. William Caxton waved to them and chirped: “Hello, you there! Ha-ha! Hail-fellow-well-met! Have you two also had a bone to pick?”
“Evening Bill,” replied Thomas Alva Edison. “Oh yes, we did. But we are great friends now! Full of understanding and goodwill, that’s Old Gug and I. I granted that this chappy was clever enough to chop the wires off my telegraph. Very clever of him indeed! But my dear fellows, if I were born a little later, I might have come up with a penny for his thought! I could possibly have discovered a hide-and-seek agent to eavesdrop on his thoughts, and then play them back to the public on hi-fi.”
Clouds appeared from nowhere and it began to drizzle. The four of them went into a restaurant. Tom ordered a large pot of tea for four. But the tea things were hardly set down on the table when electricity chose to go out. “Ah, loadshedding!” sighed all the four in unison. “Where do our great inventions go when electricity goes out?” said Tom with a deeper sigh. The keeper of the restaurant dashed to fetch and light up an old, trustworthy paraffin lantern.
“There you are, friends!” said Gug Marconi gleefully. “So you see my good friends! A great new invention never eradicates an out-of-date one! The old paraffin burner must live and come handy when power is sucked out from electric and electronic gadgetry. It is like a bullock-cart I noticed this morning. It was towing a jet aircraft from its helpless forced-landing in a cornfield!” “And what does it prove, brother,” croaked Tom Baird. “Does it not prove that people do not have cent per cent trust in all the new-fangled things? Otherwise, they wouldn’t cling to museum pieces such as the paraffin lamps and bullock-carts, or would they?”
“That’s a moot point,” said Gug. “People these days live in the age of brand loyalty! They would rather have a black eye than change their brand! They gladly accept power failures as God-sent opportunities to rest their tired bodies and souls! And so do the overworked electric or electronic gadgets.”
The four of them had a hearty laugh, and Tom Edison said: “Friends, wouldn’t you agree with me that all inventions and discoveries are not serendipitous or hit upon by chance. Outriders and pioneers are also constrained by cultural forces and social circumstances. I do not know who said it, but whatever he said was not very wrong.”
There was a pause. Outside it was raining, but the paraffin lantern burnt dutifully. John Logie Baird broke the silence and addressed William Caxton: “Well, my dear Caxy, are you still cross with me?”
“I never was,” confirmed Mr Caxton. “I assure you, my friend, that I have the fullest confidence in myself and in my capabilities as a printman, and I am not chicken-hearted. Mine is both an indoor and outdoor, in fact a transportable medium. Readers carry books, newspapers and magazines in their pockets and briefcases wherever they like. They exchange copies. They insert bookmarks to quickly find where they had stopped. They cut out clippings for reference and record, and they underline passages with special appeal. Printed material makes popular gifts and greetings. My medium still remains the most economical and effective one to reach the widely-scattered masses far and near. And yet, another important fact. Only newspapers are called national newspapers, not regional like flickering programmes.”
“But I am not complaining,” plugged in Baird.
“Nor am I,” replied Caxton.
“How strange!” said Tom Edison, “We call ourselves mass media. “Let us show how purposefully united we are in the service of our readers and viewers. They are our customers, so we must give them the best for their value. Let us be openminded. Who knows tomorrow might bring a challenge for all of us combined. Didn’t I just tell you that pioneers and outriders are often guided by people’s imagination.”
It had stopped raining but the light had not yet returned until they finished tea. They took each other’s leave with bows and smiles.
