I was first introduced to Vinod Mehta and his writing in 1995 when
the news-magazine Outlook was launched.
I am not a hugely discerning & erudite
reader. 15 years back I was even less so and it was clearly beyond me to fully
appreciate his dexterity with the language, his narrative power and his editing
influence on the magazine. But still, one thing I clearly understood even then
- here was a man who writes not to impress or confound me. He writes because he
has a captivating story to tell, an anecdote or a joke to regale the reader with
or an erudite opinion to enrich the mind. And all this in a lively language
which does not talk down to the average reader. It was thus that I became an
avid & regular reader of Outlook and have always enjoyed reading his
regular instalments of Delhi-Diary, not-so-regular editorials and occasional
columns.
This said, you would understand how anxious I was to lay my hands
upon his recently published memoir The Lucknow Boy.
Well, I have just finished devouring it and I should say I have
been rewarded with an absolutely delightful read just as I had expected.
The memoir is a vivid, honest and eloquent recollection of his
life’s journey, which starts in his hometown Lucknow where he studied and grew
up, shifts to Britain where he again studied some and worked some, and finally brings
us back to India where he has successfully edited and launched some milestone
publications including The Sunday Observer, Pioneer, Debonair and his latest and
longest assignment – Outlook.
It is fascinating to have, as the jacket says, a ringside view of some
of the major events and to know how various public figures from politics,
media, cinema, business, sports and literature have touched his life at various
times, each shaping it in a small little way. He talks about Sonia Gandhi of
course, and about Atal Bihari Vajpayee, LM Thapar, Shobha De, Vir Sanghvi,
Meena Kumari, Firaq Gorakhpuri and about many more.
He talks about all these people honestly, not sparing even
himself. His admission of a love-child is laudable. I wish they could meet
somehow – the lost daughter and father.
There is a chapter on the practise of journalism, in the nature of
a heart-to-heart talk from a veteran to a novice. It makes great sense and should
be taught in journalism schools.
For me, however, the most endearing part of the book is about the
old-world Lucknow of the 50s and 60s.About the friendship which got cemented through
the school pranks and college wooing and continues still; about those laid-back,
albeit interesting and nobler times, about the “colourful mix of characters”
which enriched the social fabric and all the “magic memories” of the old Lucknow.
It seems it is Lucknow’s famed talent of kissa-goi that has inspired his
fluent & articulate narrative style, further perfected because there was
this premium on the ability to “spin a decent yarn” and “a talent to amuse”.
And then there is that famous pseudo-secularism of his (which I am
an unabashed fan of) for which he thanks the city.
“Lucknow”, he says, “bestowed on me one priceless gift. It taught
me to look at the individual rather than his religion or caste or the tongue he
spoke. My notorious pseudo-secularism – which I wear as a badge of honour –
springs directly from the experience and ambience of my formative years, years
which shaped my personality and moulded my character.” He says further - “I
breathed the secularism they talk of, the composite culture flows in my veins,
the syncretic tradition I observed daily as I rode my bicycle from Firanghi
Mahal to Sanyal Club. I didn’t pick up my secularism from books or at university
or from protest demos. For me it was a lived reality.”
This then is a sparkling book which you need to surely read. I would shamelessly borrow from him and award him the
journalistic equivalent of three Michelin stars, as he does to the coffee
served at 10 Janpath.
