“I’m diggin’ up bones, I’m diggin’ up bones

Exhuming things that’s better left alone

I’m resurrecting memories of a love that’s dead and gone

Yeah, tonight I’m sittin’ alone diggin’ up bones”

— Randy Travis (“Diggin’ Up Bones”)

You may be aware of the case in West Bengal, where someone was recently found living in squalor and deprivation, surrounded by decaying mementoes of a happier past, physically and mentally dissociated from present reality, mechanically going through the motions of “normal” existence.

Sounds like most traditional Bengalis in Calcutta (my bad – Kolkata), who watch the city progressively fall apart around them, seek solace by hanging onto memories of Rabindranath and Sarat Chandra, and eagerly hope that Netaji—like a less musical and more fascist Elvis—might still be alive? Which may explain why Calcuttans are currently so fixated on the case of Partho De and the corpses in his house.

Whether such interest results from the intellectual Bengali’s ability to grasp the metaphoric connection between De’s existence and their own, substantial credit must also be given to the media. A media, which has covered the case with the sensitivity, judgment and journalistic integrity that it habitually displays. To ensure that its audience can identify the case instantly, rather than utilising boring and trite titles such as “the Partho De case”, they simply labelled it the “house of horror” or, alternatively, the “Kolkata corpse case” (which would have been more alliterative if we hadn’t changed the name of the city). The media portrayal and examination of the case is precisely in keeping with the subtlety of this packaging.

If you misunderstand the role of the media, you might argue that they have missed the myriad opportunities that this case provides for serious social commentary—such as a discussion on the lack of support for mental health issues, or consideration of the deleterious effects of evangelising god (wo)men from India and abroad (like Joyce Meyer, whose sermons were played through the house) on credulous individuals. But, as we have grown to realise, this is not what mainstream Indian media is for. It seems to exist to provide the most salacious information via the least mentally challenging sound/word bites, heavily layered with innuendo. This can be cooked up quickly and swallowed effortlessly, before people ruminate over the story with neighbours while it sits in their heads like a lump of lead. (No, this is not a Maggi metaphor.)

Consider what is more interesting—(a) sympathetic analysis of Partho De’s mental state or (b) detailed coverage (as provided by The Indian Express) of requests by the father for his “preferred toothpaste and toothbrush” and for “spoon, fork and towel at the breakfast table”, as well as that he “played ludo for a while … and doodled on a piece of paper”. The answer, if you go by the reportage, seems to be (b).

Would most of the public really care to see an (a) exploration of the endemic problem of sexual assault and molestation within Indian families or (b) a series of broad comments about the “lurid description of bizarre sexual acts in Partho’s writings” and the “possibility of incest” (from the Times of India). Yes, the answer is still (b).

Luckily for the media, the Kolkata police have aided it by releasing detailed information about the investigation with an alacrity that would turn Edward Snowden green with envy. Rather than testing the public’s willpower by waiting until actual facts emerge, cops seem to have provided the media with complete access to any and all discoveries.

Excerpts from Partho De’s diaries are quoted liberally in print and even on Television—I discovered precisely what confidentiality means in Indian journalism when I saw quotes flashed at the bottom of the screen during a news segment on Star Ananda. Similarly, when notes by Debjani, Partho’s deceased sister, were discovered, police sources rushed to state that the “handwriting is definitely that of a woman”, revealing incredible secrets such as that she was “very organised and had a clear thought-process” and that it is clear that “she held a grudge”  (as covered by the The Times of India), though they have no idea against whom. Law and Order: SVU would be proud.

Nor are the police the only ones staking their right to liberally share dubious information in an overly excited manner. Even a psychiatrist who spoke to Partho De, immediately apprised the public of the stunning discovery that he is “clearly mentally unwell” (according to The Telegraph). Having warned that “we can’t jump into conclusions on the basis of his testimony”, the psychiatrist proceeded to opine that since Partho was “very upset and tearful … [with] nails [that] were long and scruffy and his teeth had not been brushed for a while”, he likely had a “psychotic illness that could be schizophrenic or affective”. A diagnosis that bodes ill for most Indian students during exam season.

The media is, naturally, exercising careful judgment in providing and framing such, ahem, authoritative information. In the aforementioned article, The Telegraph states that it is “withholding the purported excerpts from the diary” owing to unclear circumstances. This dull warning is, luckily, buried within paragraphs of speculation about the relationship between the family members—based heavily on the unquoted excerpts.

Similarly, the rare police comment that might squash such delicious rumors are constantly undercut. Another Telegraph article subtly sandwiches a police statement that they found absolutely no evidence of incest, between comments by the writer that Partho’s “diary entries did carry sexual overtones” and that “several notes scribbled by Partho carry sexual connotations, including incest”. After all, why should police opinion about a case rob the public of the entertainment they deserve?

Average Kolkatans too, displaying the enthusiasm with which they embrace bandh days, have quite proactively found their entertainment with the case. An NDTV article notes that people have been rushing to the house to take pictures of it (and themselves). After all, living with a corpse may be unnatural, but taking selfies where a random stranger did so is totes natural. Ironically, though, appearing on one of many forums focusing constant attention on the case, the article asks, “Why has this macabre incident consumed public attention?” The same psychiatrist mentioned previously opines (in The Telegraph) that this behavior is a result of “social pressure” and that the “need to announce ‘I’ve been there’ to the world comes from a sense of not being able to ventilate feelings with friends in a social gathering, like in an open adda”. Nothing there at all about the media influence.

Of course, if the media questioned and analysed its own role in creating and feeding on the phenomenon, that might become far too meta — and challenge their viewers and readers, so this too is probably just a kindness on their part. Blaming Facebook is so much simpler.

So, if it isn’t clear already, I think we should all be deeply grateful. One sometimes forgets that sorrow and alienation are key elements of the human condition; that most people can be delusional and lack self-awareness; that empathy and sympathy are more difficult than mental disengagement; that people are happy to ghoulishly probe other humans with a degree of schadenfreude, secretly pleased that the suffering of another makes their own situations seem better in comparison. The Indian media, the Kolkata police and much of the city’s populace have worked hard to remind us of these valuable facts.