Since the unfortunate news of Chandan Mitra’s demise broke on Thursday morning, many, like I, have been struggling to string together a befitting set of words that could be used to describe him to others, and to ourselves.
Not a big ask for someone who has worked with Mitra for nearly two decades, interacted with him on an everyday basis, been mentored and motivated by him. But words fail me.
Mitra’s lucidity as a writer and brilliance as an editor are legendary. His passion for mentoring young journalists is already a part of media folklore. His passion for his craft is a textbook example.
His love for music and his ability to provision for contrasting perspectives, without ceding ideological ground, is acclaimed by friends and colleagues.
His ability to weather storms is enshrined in the history of The Pioneer, the newspaper he breathed life and soul into.
His conduct, throughout a career lived in the public eye, is blemishless. And yet, I am at a loss of words to tribute him, my leader, under whose wings I learnt everything about the newspaper business. How I wish I could turn to him now, for advice.