Pritish Nandy: What An Editor!

Hugely creative with a very evolved aesthetic sense, he made the Illustrated Weekly of India every young reporter's dream.

Payal Singh Mohanka remembers Pritish Nandy who passed into the ages on January 8, 2025.

January 2023 is when I last saw Mr Pritish Nandy.

I was moderating a panel discussion at the Kolkata Literary Meet.

The subject: Journalism is dead. Long live journalism.

I introduced the subject -- the challenges facing journalism with digital media and social media, fake news, godi media and political interference.

To set the ball rolling, I shared a memory.

As a young journalist in Bombay almost four decades ago, I was sent to interview a politician who had organised a massive rally in the city. He had come in for a great deal of criticism as there was an unruly mob, lathi charge and violence.

During the course of the interview the politician was getting entangled in a web of denial. Each time he opened his mouth, he put his foot into it. Lathis were raised but there was no lathi charge he insisted. Before I had reached office the politician had already called the editor and said he was uncomfortable with the interview.

When the editor met me he asked how the interview had gone, I said he says rather strange things. The editor asked if I had it on tape. I said Yes.

He said just go ahead with it!

The article was carried with a picture of an unruly mob and the headline 'There was no chaos'.

The magazine was The Illustrated Weekly of India.

And my first question that evening went to Mr Pritish Nandy, a speaker on the panel. Mr Nandy had been the editor of the Weekly and my boss for almost a decade.

Mr Nandy had sent out the right signals to a young reporter. You must be honest, truthful and have evidence.

It was a different era. It wasn't easy to arm-twist the media.

Especially under a bold and courageous editor.

His passing away has brought back a flood of memories.

Hugely creative with a very evolved aesthetic sense, he had made the now defunct Illustrated Weekly of India every young reporter's dream.

Most certainly mine.

The fact that he was a celebrated poet and as a student I possessed a couple of his books including my favourite Lonesong Street added to the charisma.

The year was 1983. I had joined The Times of India in Bombay as a trainee journalist from Calcutta. Candidates were selected from across the country for a year's training programme at the 'Grand Old Lady of Bori Bunder' at the end of which they were confirmed in one of the group's many publications.

After three weeks of classroom lectures, I was posted in virtually every department: The Times of India's reporting department, sub-editing, proof-reading, the Reference department, the Evening News, Femina and the Sunday Review.

Eleven months were over and there was just one month to go, I requested the training officer to post me at the Illustrated Weekly of India for a few weeks. Sadly, he declined my request.

I was totally dejected but I wasn't ready to give up. I was posted at the Sub-editing desk. My shift would get over at 2 pm so I decided to take a chance. I went upstairs to the fourth floor where the Weekly was located at the far end of the corridor and spoke to then deputy editor Sailesh Kottary and then features editor Nikhil Lakshman and asked them if I could come at 2 pm onwards and help with pages.

Since I lived in a hostel there was no rush to go back home. The Weekly already had 4 trainees so I wasn't sure if I would get a chance.

I was elated when they agreed.

I absolutely loved the energy and camaraderie in the department and the vibrancy of the magazine. This was the publication where I desperately wanted to be confirmed.

But the training officer was miffed that I had dared to go to the Weekly despite not having been formally sent there by him. Besides the editor of the Sunday Review had asked for me so that was it, he said. My fate was sealed. I was going to be confirmed at the Sunday Review.

I was crestfallen.

Till Mr Nandy decided to step in.

He was also the publishing director of the group.

"Your confirmation letter has been issued for Sunday Review. Don't take the letter from the personnel department. Just wait," said Mr Nandy.

There was a flicker of hope.

Meanwhile, I was called by the editor of the Sunday Review.

"You had no business to speak to Mr Nandy," she said.

For an eager beaver reporter in her early twenties, this drama is something I wasn't prepared for. I just knew l wanted to be part of the Weekly. My batch of 20-odd trainees had all got their confirmation letters.

The clock was ticking.

Finally after several stressful days I was called by the personnel department. A fresh confirmation letter had been issued.

Mr Nandy didn't have to go out of his way. He already had 4 trainees who were being confirmed.

Over the moon, I went running up to the Weekly. I remember asking my immediate boss Nikhil Lakshman if Mr Nandy had a minute and I'd like to thank him. He escorted me to Mr Nandy's chamber and in his inimitable style, said, "Mr Nandy, Payal Singh would like to pay obeisance to you."

I thanked him and stepped out. Truly overwhelmed.

He really had gone out of his way to make a young reporter's dream come true. That was 1984,

A year later I received a note from him. Sepia-tinted and virtually in tatters it brings back memories of an exemplary boss: Supportive and hugely encouraging.

Rest In Peace, Mr Nandy.

Feature Presentation: Aslam Hunani/Rediff.com