NOTEBOOK
In the cut-throat field of journalism, ‘breaking news’ is the slogan most follow. It is not enough to tell the story well; it is equally essential to be the first to do so. The pursuit of being fast and accurate can get solitary. But occasionally, there come by journalists who make it less lonely with their generosity. Ravish Tiwari, Chief of the National Bureau and Political Editor of The Indian Express, was one such journalist. Ravish, who had been suffering from cancer, recently passed away at the age of 40, leaving a permanent void in our lives.
In Ravish’s death, many journalists have lost a sounding board. His curiosity transcended the concrete boundaries between rival newsrooms. I vividly remember the days of the 2017 Uttar Pradesh Assembly elections. I had returned to Delhi after a brief trip to western U.P. and was sitting at the BJP’s headquarters. It was a slow news day. Other than lingering around in party offices, there was not much to do. “What are you doing in Delhi? The mother of all elections is going on in U.P. Go where the news is,” Ravish thundered. I mumbled some excuse in response. But he wasn’t willing to take no for an answer. “Remember, elections come only once in five years. This is your opportunity to get to know India’s granular details,” he said. He made me write an email to my boss. Within 12 hours, I was in Varanasi. A week later, he called. He wanted a detailed report of my trip; he was keen to know about the nuances which may not have made it to my news report.
As we stood around during his cremation, bidding him farewell, many reporters from different publications had similar experiences to share. Even in the days leading to his death, Ravish was busy cheering on those on the field. He would urge reporters to visit specific constituencies. He would then call them to see if his assessment tallied with what they had heard on the ground. He remained engaged till the very end.
For many of us, he was often the first port of call before travelling to an election-bound State. He would be magnanimous with insights. He would help us navigate the complex caste matrix that he knew well. And whenever he didn’t have the answers, he would share the phone numbers of those who could tell us more. This was rare, for reporters are famously stingy with sharing phone numbers. He never saw any reporter as a rival. For him, we were all collaborators. Professional rivalry drives us, but it is collaborative journalism that makes us better reporters.
Ravish adored Parliament sessions. In the last few months, he acutely felt his inability to saunter into Parliament, perhaps even more than the pain ringing through his body after several rounds of chemotherapy. He could spend hours listening to the discourse both inside and outside the House. Ravish was nearly a permanent fixture at the tea shop on the first floor of Parliament House. Reporters and politicians alike flocked to him. He would listen, his eyes wide with wonder, giving politicians the false confidence that they had successfully sold their tales to an unsuspecting audience. But he wouldn’t let anyone run away with the narrative. Often, and quite unexpectedly, Ravish would stab them with a question, twisting it all the way into their gut and smiling all along.
And in a world neatly divided into ideological silos, his biggest fear was that he would get trapped in an echo chamber. This is why he spoke to everyone, irrespective of ideology, region, language and culture. This perhaps explains his pinned tweet, “How difficult it is to listen to the flow of a world of opinions much deeper than the merit of one's own mental frameworks ... Objectivity!” During the 2020 Bihar Assembly elections, just a few months after he was diagnosed with cancer, I remember texting him, anxious about whether I was interpreting the voices from the ground correctly. His advice: “Make sure you talk to every community. Talk to as many people as you can.”
It was a a privilege to listen to him and learn from him. Ravish, you will stay with us forever.
sobhanak.nair@thehindu.co.in
