He could challenge and provoke, with respect, and a smile
Ravish Tiwari entered journalism almost a decade after I became a reporter but, for us, that gap never mattered. He was a political animal, I see myself as one too. Even though we were good friends since 2006, he was also a reporter with whom I competed and when he came as chief of bureau in The Indian Express, I was apprehensive. But Ravish proved me wrong, taught me lessons that no one else did, and made me realise that two political reporters could learn from each other.
Nothing, neither the ordeal of cancer, the tubes and needles piercing his body nor the strong drugs pumped into him, doused his passion for reporting, or blunted the sharpness of his political instinct. Here is an example. On February 12, the BJP released a list of nine candidates for the election in Uttar Pradesh. I shared it on a Whatsapp group and within minutes came Ravish’s message from the hospital bed: “Zahoorabad becomes an interesting constituency to profile. Om Prakash Rajbhar contesting from SP-SBSP alliance, old SP hand Shadab Fatima (from Rahi Masoom Raza family) rebels and contests from BSP, and BJP fields a Rajbhar. The area is in Ansari influence zone too.” When it came to understanding the nuances of politics and making a report interesting for readers, Ravish was unique.
Ravish was never satisfied with the logic given by netas for their acts and decisions. He always looked for the why, and at how ordinary folk looked at it. In Parliament corridors, one could see Ravish engrossed in intense conversation with the most unfamiliar faces and back benchers. He would argue with the most articulate leader, too. I never heard him talk ill of anyone, he had friends from across parties, but he was no one’s friend when it came to news.
These are times when criticism against the political establishment can get you stamped as “anti-national” or “radical”, and embedded reporting can be the easy way out. But Ravish continued to ask leaders the most difficult questions with a smile. No one could get away without responding to him.
Ravish could challenge and provoke, with respect, without being rude. I used to envy his fearlessness and the felicity with which he carried out a conversation with leaders who might snub me for my faltering Hindi. The questions I would be hesitant to ask, or fail in putting across, Ravish would shoot effortlessly.
Ravish was an avid reader, he would read at least one or two books before writing about anything other than politics. In the newsroom, we were all entertained by Ravish the storyteller: When narrating an incident, he peppered it with mimicry of the main characters.
He was unenthused by money, he didn’t accumulate things. He did not bother to buy a new car saying the old one he had was running but finally gave in to his family’s persuasion to purchase a home. Long hair and the muffler casually hanging from his neck during winters marked his don’t-care attitude. About his disease, he would say: “It’s all about science. One has to rely on science to come out of this.”
I have lost a good friend, and a guide who helped me hone my understanding of the layers and nuances of north Indian politics. The mentor in him awakened whenever I mentioned my twin daughters to him. He got excited about their small achievements, chided me for putting the pressure of my own expectations on them — a baseless allegation, I would retort. When I was down with mild Covid, he, who was going through multiple sessions of chemotherapy and radiation, would call me three times a day to check on my temperature and oxygen levels. He was lucky to have a partner like Poojya, who stood by him through the tumult and pain of the last two years.
As I write this, it’s been more than 24 hours since he left us. Whose appraisal will I seek when I write next, who will I call now for help in framing the intro for stories ? Who will I call for confirming a tip I got from the beat? Ravish the journalist, earned the respect of many. As a colleague, he earned a cherished place in the hearts of all who worked with him. I can find solace in that old adage: “Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal”. But he has left all of us who loved and admired him with a sorrow that can’t be healed.
liz.mathew@expressindia.com