Who Tells India’s Story? And Who Stops to Ask If It’s True?

Journalism isn’t about serving subscribers, but about serving the truth even when it rattles those in power.

The first lesson I learned as a subeditor at National Mail (the now-defunct English paper of Dainik Bhaskar) had nothing to do with grammar or page layout. It was a question posed by my editor after I spent hours scrolling through reels of reportage: “Will your piece get people to think?”

Back then, I was tasked with the invisible but critical job of distilling chaos into clarity by identifying what was newsworthy, editing for tone and truth, and giving it a headline that hit hard but didn’t stray from the facts. That question about making people think has stayed with me over the years.

I also remember the sheer rigour with which my stories were treated. The writings of reporters, especially investigative pieces, were read through with scrutiny that felt like getting past Z plus security at Raisina Hill. Every word weighed, every phrase tested for balance, implication and clarity. The editorial desk was akin to a firewall. I knew my story would not be printed unless it could withstand layered questioning. I wonder if the same standard holds today, at a time when speed often Trumps (pun intended) scrutiny, and a viral byte is mistaken for verified news.

I cannot help but recall a scene from a political drama I once watched, where two journalists discuss the difference between a person and a corporation. One of them makes a sharp observation: when a person holds a door open for you, they don’t ask for money first. That simple act of unprompted generosity is what separates human intent from corporate interest. It struck me then that if a news agency, meant to serve the public good, demands payment before sharing facts, hasn’t it already crossed that line?

It is also the difference between journalism and something that only pretends to be. When a news agency demands payment before sharing facts, it undermines journalism’s core purpose which is access to truth. The ANI controversy reveals a deeper issue: political bias and a lack of competition. No serious challenger has emerged, exposing a troubling void in India’s media independence and journalistic sustainability.

In a world where anyone with a phone becomes a journalist, raw inexperience often brings unfiltered honesty. But while individuals may earn our trust through their flaws, can the same leniency apply to a powerful news agency? Accountability, not innocence, must be the standard when scale meets influence.

India’s news agencies, the backbone of daily journalism, have always sat in that uneasy space between reportage and relay. Long before the internet, Twitter and debates on prime time turned into political theatre, we had news agencies - the silent news suppliers to hundreds of publications. If journalism was a conversation with the public, they were the first to whisper.

But who whispers first, and what they choose to say, matters. I came into the industry at a time when the Press Trust of India (PTI) still carried the dignity of a national institution. United News of India (UNI) was still competing. Asian News International (ANI) was growing but still finding its place.

Today, ANI dominates the screen space. Its video clips, byte feeds and ‘source-based’ updates shape the day’s discourse before most journalists log in. But that dominance comes at a cost that many are now questioning.

The ANI controversy is essentially one between power and public interest. Many allege that ANI has blurred the lines between journalism and public relations. The accusations are not just about editorial slant but about access, agenda and the slow erosion of scepticism. While PTI has drawn the government’s ire for publishing reports that question official narratives, ANI is often considered the government’s preferred conduit. In a world where access is currency and algorithms reward repetition over rigour, what happens to the craft I was taught? Of sitting with a reel, observing and choosing what will make people think?

To understand where we are, we need to rewind. Colonial India depended on the British-run Associated Press of India, a subsidiary of Reuters. Indian newspapers, even nationalist ones, got their news through that lens. Independence brought with it a demand for self-representation—leading to the creation of PTI in 1947 and UNI in 1959. These weren’t just agencies; they were ideals.

That ideal cracked during the Emergency when the government forcibly merged PTI, UNI and others into one state-controlled agency: Samachar. It was a short-lived but chilling reminder of how easily truth can be nationalized.

The irony is that we no longer need censorship to shape narratives. All it takes is dominance. A single agency - widely subscribed, politically aligned and visually omnipresent - can tilt the balance of perception. It can decide which byte gets cut, which quote gets amplified, and which silence becomes the story.

News agencies may not carry bylines, but they have consequences. They define the day’s agenda for editors, anchors and audiences. They frame the first draft of every breaking story. When these institutions lean too far in one direction - whether toward state power, corporate interest or ideological zeal - they stop being news agencies, becoming instruments instead. I may have left National Mail years ago, but that lesson in editorial judgment of choosing what matters, not what sells feels more urgent than ever. Journalism is not about holding the door open only for those who pay. It is about opening the door for truth, even when inconvenient. As India’s media shifts under pressure, the question isn’t who tells our story but who stopped asking if it was true.

(The writer is learning and development professional. views personal)