Journey this far...
Lead review
In a world where journalism is being torn apart, celebrated editor Vinod Mehta’s words have added significance. ‘Lucknow Boy’ is an insider’s view of the business of Indian journalism, notes M K Chandra bose
Outspoken, irreverent and independent, Vinod Mehta has the reputation of a rebel who revels in taking on the powerful.
In an eventful career spanning four decades, this ‘most sacked editor’ has hogged the limelight with enviable success of the publications he edited.
His many scoops and a knack of puncturing the bloated egos of many a celebrity ensured a steady stream of controversies and court cases. Lucknow Boy is Mehta’s candid memoir that gives an insider’s view of the business of Indian journalism. In a milieu where journalism is under close scrutiny, words of a self-made professional editor assume added significance, as his is a vanishing breed.
Hailing from a Punjabi refugee family in Lucknow, Mehta has only endearing memories of his immediate family members and friends. Through intimate account of the carefree days and interesting individuals, he recaptures the spirit of the times.
After scraping through college, he leaves for London, only to spend eight years in odd jobs. His real education took place in the happening sixties with devouring of the British press that opened a brave new world for him. He talks honestly about his limitations and days chasing au pairs and how he had sired a daughter in an
affair with a Swiss girl whom he had abandoned.
It was while working as a copywriter in Bombay, after his return, that Mehta grabbed the opportunity to edit the skin-magazine, Debonair. He managed to turn it around by making it intellectually stimulating while keeping the centre-spread-addicts happy.
He did this by attracting some of the best writers including Ruskin Bond, Busybee and Saeed Mirza. Despite his success, recognition as a professional editor eluded him. This, he achieved with the roaring success of The Sunday Observer.
His next launch, The Indian Post, owned by Singhania, too became a hit. But when he wrote on Satish Sharma’s import of Italian marbles for his bathroom, the government arm-twisted Singhania to get rid of the editor. Mehta’s next tenure as the editor of Independent lasted barely 29 days.
He was eased out following an instigated uproar over a report on Y B Chavan. In The Pioneer, his initial bonhomie with owner L M Thapar turned sour, leading to his ouster. Somehow he has managed to stay put as editor-in-chief of Outlook, after its runaway success.
Vinod Mehta’s journey is an amazing saga of a journalist with obvious shortcomings becoming a major influential voice of our times. Sheer hard work, perseverance and an uncanny ability to spot talent have made all the difference. At times shocking and provocative, this opinionated editor minces no words.
He delves into the touchy issue of editor-proprietor relationship. Having been at the receiving end many a time, he finds whimsical proprietors’ business interests often coming in the way of press freedom. He has no qualms about exposing hypocrisy and pretence. He writes: “All around me, I saw mediocre editors flourish.
They possessed minimal competence but were adept at intra-office intrigue.’’ He hits out at the editors who have an exaggerated notion about their power and the corrupt ones. He faults Arun Shourie for taking the credit for his colleagues’ work.
This is his take on Dileep Padgaonkar: “The man who once claimed he held the second most important job in the country can be legitimately charged with single-handedly opening the door for the denigration of the Editor as an institution’’— a view shared by many who had worked with him.
Mehta’s fascinating account of encounters with leading politicians, businessmen, writers and film personalities are perceptive, giving an insight into major socio-
political developments. Stories behind his celebrated scoops like P V Narasimha Rao’s novel, cricket match-fixing scandal and Radia tapes make the memoir engaging.
He had enjoyed a good relationship with Prime Minister Vajpayee till he exposed the coterie running the PMO. There are vivid details on Vajpayee-Advani tussle and how the PM had been skeptical about the ‘India shining’ campaign. Mehta doesn’t conceal his admiration for Sonia Gandhi. Though witness to momentous events for many decades, inexplicably, he leaves out several key political players from his critique.
Thumbnail sketches of V S Naipaul, Salman Rushdie, Mohit Sen and Shobhaa De are lively. Stating that the neutrality of the journalist is a “pompous myth’’, Mehta
asserts that when the occasion arises you can take sides like in Gujarat riots, Babri demolition or honour killings.
Peppered with wit and humour, scandals, gossips and many pleasing anecdotes illuminate the pages. This one takes the cake. Once, when the editor-in-chief was abroad, The Times of India Bombay Resident Editor late K C Khanna rang up the boss’s wife to know if she needed anything.
“Yes,” said the lady, “could you please send two kilos of onions, some unexpected guests have arrived.” This memoir is as racy as a good novel. But non-Hindi readers may find his frequent use of Hindi words a little annoying.
