When Rahul got personal
- Election LIVE: BJP's third candidate list out, Ram Kripal to contest from Patliputra against Lalu's daughter
- Show us the money, Supreme Court says, refuses bail to Subrata Roy
- December 16 gangrape: Delhi High Court upholds death to four convicts
- India joins global search to locate missing Malaysia Airlines plane
- Shiv Sena hits out at BJP, asks it to follow "alliance dharma"
This is about three speeches, two interviews, some matchmaking and what can happen when you return home after eight years to find that at least one woman doesn't believe you.
General Pervez Musharraf was interviewed by Arnab Goswami about the LoC incident (Times Now) and proceeded to dictate terms like Goswami usually does, in a series of stern rebukes: "Please don't interfere, interrupt when I am speaking... I refuse to answer questions on the internal situation in Pakistan... no questions on Kargil", etc. That left Goswami murmuring respectfully, "Sir, I object, Sir, the anger has tipped over, Sir..."
Lance Armstrong took Oprah Winfrey on the ride of his life (Discovery). Maybe he shouldn't have. She was always going to win this one, even before she climbed on and let him pedal through the seven Tour de France titles he won with banned substances, the hundreds of lies he told to deny taking those substances and all the reasons he did it: just "the ruthless desire to win". By appearing on her talk show, he gave her "the biggest interview [she had] ever done in terms of exposure", as she told CBS. He revealed the "flaws" in his character to her and she almost graciously allowed him to admit his sins. With a mixture of accusation, indulgence and amazement, she converted the two-part inquisition into a morality play. At the end, she asked him if he was a better person now. "Without a doubt", replied he, staring hard with marbled eyes.
Oprah won not because she redeemed him, made him a better human being or because she got him to plead guilty, but because she exuded a human warmth. Armstrong seemed to have iced water running through his veins. At no stage did you feel kindly towards him. Not even when he spoke with softened, moist eyes about his son, Luke, defending him. As he acknowledged that he had lied, cheated and sued people who had told the truth, you felt he was "scary", the word he used to describe his actions. For the first time in a long while, you felt no sympathy for a man who said he was sorry, that he would spend the rest of his life trying to make amends for what he had done. Maybe because there was one question you wanted to ask him that Oprah hadn't: why should we believe that he is truly repentant now when he lied for 10 years at the cost of so many people? Who is to say he's not lying?