Seldom did he lurk around, he strode with unmistakable authority in each step. Though equipped with a booming voice, which he used often to good effect, he would also be caring enough not to embarrass his staff — “colleagues”, as he referred to them — by not stealthily reaching them, a polite grunt preceded his steps.
At the book-release function for the iron-fisted KPS Gill’s Faultlines, when a young reporter shyly introduced himself in the presence of the Editor, Dr Mitra warmly said, “He is my colleague from The Pioneer. You must have a drink with him.” Another time, when a particular article was praised by a gentleman of Mahatma Gandhi’s lineage, he called the writer inside his cabin and wryly remarked, “Yes, even I liked it. Now, do you need a letter of appreciation from me, too?” Upon being requested that he could express his appreciation in the annual increment assessment, he just threw a broad grin across his broad desk. As an aside, the raise didn’t come about.
He smoked, drank and sang with aplomb. Whenever a suitable situation presented itself, of course. Though, at one time, he did miss mentioning a Dev Anand song while writing in the fortnightly glossy about the memorable songs picturised in train compartments. At the first allusion to the missing song, he was the first to perk up at his omission and sing it full-throated. A baritone, he hummed in the lift, the restroom and in the car, too.
At the workplace, he was terrifying. The staff eagerly awaited the log book for comments as it came to the News Desk from the Editor’s cabin. This one time, he wrote with his red pen, “Ignoramuses.” Several feet scampered towards the dictionary, and several others flew to cover their gaping mouths.
Many of us have been blessed with at least the cigarettes, sometimes a little other stuff, too, pinched off him in the ungodly hours. The smoke came with the aroma of love and affection. There have been hard times, differences, happy times, and sad times sometimes, like it is now. We all hope that he is happy and peaceful in the place, fragrant with his Old Spice (Original), a cigarette between his fingers and a joyful Kishore Kumar number on his lips: Main zindagi ka saath nibhaata chala gaya… (This one is by Mohd Rafi, by the way!).