Why I refuse to address guests on my show as sir

The question took me back two decades to an interview with David Waddington, who later became Britain’s home secretary. In 1983 he was Mrs Thatcher’s minister of state for immigration. It was going to be my first big high-profile political interview. Samir Shah, now chairman of the BBC, was the producer of Eyewitness, the television programme I was working on, and my boss.

“Remember Karan,” Samir advised as we walked to the studio. “You either call him Mr Waddington or minister but not sir.” The reason was simple. Sir, as understood in British English, is deferential. It would place Waddington on a pedestal, above the interviewer. Yet the assumption (or is it an illusion?) of a political interview is that the interviewer and interviewee are equal. That gives the former the right to probe and differ. It also ensures you don’t hesitate to interrupt or cross-question when necessary.

The interview was about changes in British immigration rules which had disadvantaged the Asian community. It was bound to get tense, even fraught. It was unlikely Waddington’s answers would satisfy my questions. Hence Samir was concerned my approach should not weaken — even in terms of impression — my capacity to toughly question. Thus “sir” was out.

Since then, it’s become my golden rule. Whenever I’m interviewing persons in authority — be they ministers, MPs, industrialists, bureaucrats or dignitaries of special standing — I refer to them as Mr, Mrs or Ms. If they’re in government I call them minister. And let me tell you why. You won’t really carry conviction if you have to say, “I’m sorry that’s not right, sir” but you will if you’re required to interject with “I’m sorry that’s not right, minister”. The first sounds contradictory. The second is plausible.

However, things are very different when I’m doing what I call a chat show interview. This is when the glamour and celebrity status of the guest is the reason why I’m talking to him or her. It’s not a current affairs interview where you’re probing policy or questioning decisions. Instead, I’m inviting the interviewee to share anecdotes from their life, which are designed to reveal their personality and what it’s like to be in their shoes.

To call them Mr or Ms would distance them. It would introduce a note of formal separation that would divide the discussion. On such occasions, I call my guests by their first names. Thus, when I’ve interviewed them, it’s been Javed (Akhtar), Shah Rukh (Khan), Madhuri (Dixit), Sharmila (Tagore), Vikram (Seth) and Sachin (Tendulkar).

However, things can get a wee bit awkward when I interview people I know well who are also leading politicians. Normally, I’d be required to say Mr Tharoor — to take that as an example. Except I know him as Shashi and Mr Tharoor sounds odd. My compromise is either not to take his name at all or refer to his full name i.e. Shashi Tharoor. That still fulfils the required formality without collapsing into the familiarity of first-name terms.

What I would never do is call a minister Piyush or Kapil, even if that’s how I know them. It suggests a chumminess that’s totally out of place in a formal interview. The audience will immediately sense it and, thereafter, will not expect you to be firm, persistent and unyielding.

Now, does that answer the question I was posed? I realise it was a playful query but, nonetheless, one that I could usefully respond to and in the process explain myself. It’s your turn to decide if my explanation makes sense.

Karan Thapar is the author of Devil’s Advocate: The Untold Story.The views expressed are personal

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