The video recounts a journey through experiences of reporting on death, starting with an anecdote about covering the aftermath of a natural disaster in Tacloban, Philippines. The story proceeds to draw a contrast between Western and Asian attitudes towards death, remarking on the more direct confrontations with mortality often observed in the East. Using personal experiences, the narrator sheds light on the initial difficulty and subsequent familiarity with dealing with stories involving death as a journalist.

The narrator shares deeply personal stories that examine the intersection between professional duties and personal life, especially in the context of grief. Recalling their father's passing during a hectic news year emphasizes the ever-present challenges of balancing work with personal life. Through this, the narrative underscores the critical importance of human connection and the struggle to maintain empathy and humanity amidst relentless professional demands.

Main takeaways from the video:

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Key Vocabularies and Common Phrases:

1. grim [ɡrɪm] - (adjective) - Unpleasant or disheartening, often describing a situation that is bleak and unyielding. - Synonyms: (bleak, dismal, harsh)

Theirs was a grim task to retrieve corpses from the devastated and destroyed homes that littered the island.

2. taboo [təˈbuː] - (noun) - A social or cultural prohibition or ban against particular actions or discussions. - Synonyms: (prohibition, restriction, ban)

It was less of a taboo to talk about it.

3. composed [kəmˈpoʊzd] - (adjective) - Calm and in control of one's emotions, especially during a trying time. - Synonyms: (calm, collected, unflustered)

And I was amazed at how composed he was while he carried out his job.

4. pyre [paɪər] - (noun) - A heap of combustibles arranged for burning a dead body as part of a funeral ceremony. - Synonyms: (funeral pile, stake, fire)

His body carried down on a stretcher to the funeral pyre in the open before the pyre was lit.

5. kinship [ˈkɪnˌʃɪp] - (noun) - A sense of connection or relation, often describing a familial bond or shared experience. - Synonyms: (affinity, bond, connection)

But the thing that always gets me in those moments is, what are those relatives going through? What must they be thinking? And the strange thing about that particular day was that I had a strange kind of kinship with all of those people who were also about to lose someone that they loved deeply

6. rambunctious [ræmˈbʌŋkʃəs] - (adjective) - Boisterous, uncontrollably exuberant, often related to chaotic or energetic behavior. - Synonyms: (boisterous, lively, high-spirited)

He was the slightly rambunctious mayor who was caught smoking crack cocaine.

7. emphatically [ɪmˈfætɪkli] - (adverb) - In a forceful way; with emphasis. - Synonyms: (decisively, vehemently, strongly)

My boss put me straight and emphatically said absolutely not.

8. condolences [kənˈdoʊlənsɪz] - (noun) - Expressions of sympathy, especially on the occasion of a death. - Synonyms: (sympathies, commiserations, solace)

And one of the hardest things for me after my dad died was the phone calls that would come in. People offering their condolences, saying that they're sorry.

9. profound [prəˈfaʊnd] - (adjective) - Having deep meaning or significance, often showing great insight. - Synonyms: (deep, serious, thoughtful)

And sometimes a story of death can be far more simple and yet deeply profound.

10. airmail ['ɛərmeɪl] - (noun) - Mail transported by aircraft, especially internationally. - Synonyms: (postal service, airpost, airborne mail)

I never knew my dad had been to Niagara Falls or another time where my dad would send him airmail letters

What reporting on tragedies taught me about death - Rajini Vaidyanathan - TEDxSoho

Good evening. Have you smelt death before? It is an uncomfortable question, and it was one I was asked. Back in 2013, as I was preparing to cover my first natural death disaster, a colleague was giving me some advice. And he said some people rub Vicks VapoRub under their nostrils to try and block out the smell. But his advice was to not really bother with that, because in the end, the smell will eventually hit you.

Now, about a week later, I found myself in the Philippines on the island of Tacloban, covering the aftermath of a devastating typhoon. Typhoon. And I was walking around with a group of young men who were body collectors. Theirs was a grim task to retrieve corpses from the devastated and destroyed homes that littered the island. Now, I remember walking around with the group and talking to a young man. He must have been in his early 20s. And I was amazed at how composed he was while he carried out his job. And I asked him how he did it, and he said, well, of course I feel sad, but this is just what we do. It's my job. I just have to get on with it.

And in many ways, it was a sentiment that was echoed in other conversations I've had across Asia in the time that I lived there, where it felt that attitudes towards death were much more direct. It was less of a taboo to talk about it. People would confront it head on. I recall going to a funeral of a colleague in Delhi and seeing his body carried down on a stretcher to the funeral pyre in the open before the pyre was lit. And although everyone was moved and upset, nobody really flinched. It was like people weren't looking away from death.

And it felt like a real contrast to me growing up in the west, who used to squirm at any conversation around death. And many people around me were the same. They would avoid conversations about death. It would just feel really awkward. We were always told that we should live life to the fullest. Well, I'm here to tell you to live death to the fullest. Now, in my line of work journalism, death is part of the currency of what we do. Whether it was me in local news reporting at the scene of a murder or after a road traffic accident, or moving on to my life as a foreign correspondent, where, as I mentioned just then, I'd covered the aftermath of natural disasters or indeed the aftermath of conflict.

Well, the first time I ever went to a funeral was in fact for work. And I remember before I had to go wondering what I was supposed to wear and how I was supposed to act. Now, I was in my early 20s. And it was back when I was in local news and I was sent to cover the funeral of a firefighter called Bob, who died on duty about a week before. I'd actually interviewed one of Bob's friends. And then when I was at the funeral and there were hundreds of people lining the streets of Leicester, I saw that man that I'd interviewed as part of the funeral procession. He was walking alongside the coffin, and even though he was grieving and even though he barely knew me, when he walked past, he stopped. We locked eyes, he smiled and he kind of waved his hand a bit. And for me, it was an early lesson in the importance of human connection, of humanity. And it was a lesson for me as well, that in that moment, I was a human being first and a journalist second.

Now, that lesson was never more important. Many years later, on the 22nd of March, 2016. Now, you all may remember, 2016 was an incredibly busy year in news. It was the year of Brexit and, of course, the year of Donald Trump. And that year I was living in North America as a North America correspondent. So I often found myself running from airport to airport, desperately trying to get to each political rally or wherever else I was being sent. It was usually a mad scramble. Now, on the 22nd of March, 2016, I'd landed from New York's JFK airport to London's Heathrow. And as I landed, news had just broken that there'd been a terror attack at Brussels airport.

Now, usually when I'm scrambling to meet a deadline, my heart's going, the adrenaline is really pumping. I'm trying to think about what I need to know about the so that as soon as I get to the scene, I'm ready to go on air. Now, on that day, March 22, 2016, I was racing to meet a deadline that I didn't really want to meet because I was racing to get to a hospital to see my dad before he was about to die.

Now, in many ways, I blame my dad for the fact that I'm a journalist. He was a news junkie, and when we were kids, he used to make us watch the news instead of letting us watch cartoons. And I remember when my uncle, his brother, visited once from America, he told my dad off. He berated him for making us Watch the 6 o' clock news instead of Tom and Jerry. But I do thank my dad because that gave me so much about who I am now and my work worldview.

So I am racing up the motorway trying to get to the hospital that morning, and I Put the radio on. And I hear news reports about that attack in Brussels. And I have in the past covered the aftermath of terror attacks. I know what it looks like and what it smells like. But the thing that always gets me in those moments is, what are those relatives going through? What must they be thinking? And the strange thing about that particular day was that I had a strange kind of kinship with all of those people who were also about to lose someone that they loved deeply. And I couldn't help thinking about how we were all united in this strange club of grief, because in that moment, I had become the grieving relative, the grieving relative I so often interviewed and always admire.

Well, we finally made it to the hospital, and I have to say, I only really have ever been to hospitals for my job until my dad got sick. Now, when we got there, the doctor told me that my dad only had hours left to live. And in all the time that I've covered death in my job, I'd never seen someone die slowly in front of my eyes. Now, often in my job, I'm used to reading out death tolls. It might be that 30 people have died in a terror attack. And then we get an updated death toll and we learn that 31 people have died. And often, as a viewer, it doesn't feel like it's that significant a difference. It's just one person, isn't it? Except it's not. On that day, my dad wasn't just a cancer statistic. He was my dad.

It was the afternoon wore on, and I was sitting by my dad's deathbed. I got an email on my phone. It was from the press officer for the former Mayor of Toronto, Rob Ford. Now, some of you might remember him. He was the slightly rambunctious mayor who was caught smoking crack cocaine. And I happened to cover much of his political downfall in Canada. Now, the email said that Rob Ford had died of cancer on 22nd March, 2016.

It was a strange and curious coincidence, and I am ashamed to say this in a way, because my natural instinct was to email my boss back in America and say, do you want me to file on this? My boss put me straight and absolutely not. You're with your family in the hospital. Just focus on those last moments with your dad. And in many ways, it's embarrassing to say this in a way, but it was one of the starkest lessons for me about work, life, balance. Because nothing will love you more than your family and most certainly not your work. Now, a few months after my dad died, I did return to work.

And one of the first stories I covered was the shooting at a nightclub in Orlando, Florida. And I remember the media had gathered outside a hotel, and inside were relatives of those who'd been at Pulse the night before, and they were waiting to find out whether or not their loved ones had made it. And then the moment came where the doors opened and dozens of relatives ran in different directions. Most of them were crying, some were hugging each other. I remember people rapidly pulling out their mobile phones to make calls. And I'll never forget seeing one man kick the tire of his car repeatedly.

It took me back to that day in the hospital where I wanted to bash my head and against the wall. Sometimes the rawness of grief can be clearer to see when you're feeling it yourself. And I wanted to just tell all of those people, I'm grieving too. Now. Dealing with grief is, of course, a tricky thing to do. And one of the hardest things for me after my dad died was the phone calls that would come in. People offering their condolences, saying that they're sorry. And of course, people mean well. And my friend gave me some really good advice.

He said, the next time someone rings, why don't you just ask them for a story about your dad? Not only does it cut out a difficult conversation, it also brings your dad back to life in some way. And it kind of made sense for me as well, because I trade in stories on a daily basis. And so that's what I did. When my dad's friend Sid called, I asked him for a story, and he told me how my dad had taught him how to cook rice the Indian way. And so I had this visual image of my dad in Sid, an elderly man's kitchen with water and rice and a pan, trying to cook things the right way.

And this is especially funny for me and my family because my dad was far from a gourmet chef. I also remember when my uncle called, the one that told my dad off for the cartoons. And through that conversation, he told me that he'd found some slides of the time that he and my dad had gone to Niagara Falls. I never knew my dad had been to Niagara Falls or another time where my dad would send him airmail letters. Remember those? When he first moved from India to the uk. And in those letters, dad would write about how much he hated the cold British weather.

Sometimes stories around grief can also teach us other important lessons, not just about rice. They can teach us about injustice. Covering the death of Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri. Now, you may remember Michael Brown was the young black man who was shot dead by a white police officer. Well, covering that story for me taught me so much about racial inequality in America. And it can also be something far more uplifting. I remember covering the death of the Queen of Soul, Aretha Franklin in Michigan and seeing hundreds of people wait to see her lie in state in her ruby red slippers.

And not one of those fans was in tears because they were all singing their favorite Aretha Franklin songs. And so that was an example of a story of death being an inspiration. I just wanted to go home and play her music and sing at the top of my lungs. And sometimes a story of death can be far more simple and yet deeply profound. On one of the anniversaries of the Mumbai terror attacks, I interviewed a woman called Kia. Kia had lost her husband and her daughter. They were killed by the gunman as he prowled around the Oberoi Hotel in Mumbai.

Now, Kia, while grieving, told me she wanted to create something positive about their deaths. And so she set up an organization called the One Life Alliance. And it's all about honoring the sacredness of life. And part of that program is a 30 day pledge. And she gave me the book and said, here you go, try it out. And all it is, and it's very simple, is on every single different day of this 30 day program, you focus on one tiny aspect of life that you want to honour. It might be on one day that you just smile more. It might be on another day that you slow things down more.

Or it might be on another day that you practice gratitude, which. Which means that you're thankful for even the smallest of things. And it was that last one that has been the most powerful for me. Even on the day that I lost my dad, one of the worst days of my life, I was thankful. Thankful that I made it there on time. Thankful that all our family were around his bed, a bit like in a Bollywood film. Thankful that my dad was no longer suffering and no longer in pain. And of course, thankful, moreover, for the fact that he was my dad in the first place.

Now, I'm going to leave you with one more story. As I've told you, I've interviewed a number of grieving relatives through my career, and it's not an easy job to do. And I interviewed the widow of a man who died on their honeymoon. He'd been killed by a shark in the Seychelles. And a few weeks after we did that interview, which was very emotional and powerful, she sent me an email. And it went something like this, she said. I wanted to thank you for the way you sensitively covered our story. I'd never really thought about things in the way that you had described them, but the way you reminded me that because my husband and I had just got married, and because that meant that my husband had seen all of his friends and family just days before he died, it gave me immense comfort.

Now, coming close to stories of death hasn't been easy for me, but it's taught me so much. Have empathy. Be curious. Be thankful. Practice gratitude. In the end, it's better to ditch the vapor rub and inhale it all in deeply. Thank you.

JOURNALISM, EMPATHY, GRIEF, EDUCATION, INSPIRATION, HUMAN CONNECTION, TEDX TALKS