It would often be said of Vinod Mehta that he was so fiercely independent that he could only work in publications conceived and moulded by him. Indeed the only journalistic designation he held through his long years in the profession was Editor.
That’s why you won’t find his name donning the scroll of honour in any major established newspaper or magazine. Since managements were never happy giving him the kind of freedom he demanded, Mehta quit as many publications as he launched, taking his affectionate editorial colleagues along from one venture to the next.
Although I have followed him around from paper to paper, I never actually worked with him. But on the two occasions that I became editor after him, his shadow loomed large, making me feel self-conscious of trying to fit into his larger-than-life presence.
Vinod’s qualities as a writer are sufficiently well known to merit recall. But as an editor, he was universally applauded not for his scholastic understanding or linguistic flourish, but the sheer simplicity of prose. I always found him to be a man who knew his limits as a journalist.
Never an intrepid reporter running around to break news stories, Mehta came up trumps because of his uncanny ability to package a story. This set a trend at a time when Indian journalism was mostly glorified stenography, merely reporting which politician said what. He was less concerned about a paper’s lead story and more about whether the gossip items in the daily Diary column were juicy enough.
Perhaps because he “strayed” into journalism from advertising (his first stint as editor being Debonair, with its titillating cover pictures), Mehta was obsessed with the “look and feel” of his product, long before designing had come to occupy the position it does today in media houses. He was also obsessed with “good” English; mediocre content could still be excused, but not poorly written copy.
He and I had a chequered equation, despite never working together. He persuaded me to join as Editor of The Sunday Observer when he returned to his original baby after the Ambanis had acquired it. Actually Sunday Observer (launched in the late 70s) was his real and first love as he had crafted the concept of a weekend paper single-handed, ignoring doomsayers.
It was a runaway success forcing established newspapers to remodel their Sunday editions drawing ingredients from Mehta’s innovative style. But it was too good to last. Mehta had one of his famous run-ins with the management and quit — something he perfected over the years.
launching and relaunching papers was to become his forte. After unfortunately short stints in the Singhania-owned Indian Post and The Times of India’s ill-fated Mumbai sibling The Independent, Mehta was offered another stint in the Observer Group, when the Ambanis took it over in 1989. That’s when I came in close contact with him as he offered me the editor’s job, while he would be the Group editor, overseeing the daily Observer of Business and Politics and the Sunday paper too. I agreed, as I had just quit The Times of India. Though we disagreed even then on political issues (Mehta was too Congress-oriented for me), I knew him to be a fabulous editor who left his colleagues alone.
But the night before I was to join the Observer Group, Mehta had a tiff with the management and called (on the landline next day) urging me to refuse. As I had no job in hand and couldn’t quite believe his entreaty that he would get me an offer from somewhere soon, I ignored his advice. The Sunday Observer I joined had Vinod Mehta written all over it.
The staff swore by him and designers had free run, telling me where to lay off. It’s then I realised that as an editor he had few peers, although he was never a journalist in the conventional sense of the term.
After a longish period in the wilderness (something he had got used to by then), Mehta bagged his best job yet. He was offered the responsibility to relaunch The Pioneer, when the Thapar Group took it over from the Jaipurias in 1991.
It was a dream project for the “lucknow Boy”, who had grown up reading the city’s dominant daily. The headquarters, though, were shifted to Delhi and Mehta set about revamping the then 130-year-old daily with characteristic passion, redesigning it merrily and introducing chatty and witty elements, playing down politics and highlighting society issues.
The Pioneer made a mark in the already competitive Delhi market, not so much in numbers but in visibility and was avidly discussed in the cocktail circuit of which Mehta himself was a leading light. He formally abjured politics, but had a strong dislike for the right. later he would openly confess his soft corner for Sonia Gandhi and the Congress, but was never strident about his views. My political leanings had moved sharply towards the BJP by then, but that did not prevent us from enjoying a drink together amid healthy banter.
It was déjà vu as Mehta quarrelled with The Pioneer management and left in 1995. After AK Bhattacharya’s short stint, I followed Mehta’s footsteps yet again to take charge as Editor of this newspaper in 1996, ignoring his advice once more.
I don’t know what Mehta thought of The Pioneer under my tutelage; presumably not too well. But that didn’t stop us from interacting. In recent years I would come across him only on TV shows from a distance and it was easy to see his health failing and characteristic chirpiness ebbing.
As an editor my respect for Mehta never waned because he was a liberal in the true sense, at least when it concerned personal equations. Also he was meticulous about the style of writing and presentation. It was impossible not to admire his robust self-confidence and fierce independence. He had a holistic sense of what a publication — newspaper or magazine — should be.
Complimenting him when he launched Outlook, I told him: “Vinod, hopefully you won’t fight the management there in a hurry.” He replied he was tired of going down the same path and intended Outlook to be his last job. It was.
I will miss his occasional calls complimenting or criticising something I said or wrote. We will also miss his open-hearted approach to friends and colleagues. I have always admired his ability to take criticism in his stride, which is why letters to the Editor in all publications edited by him were so vibrant.
In many ways, he was the last of the Editors who commanded such respect and admiration from colleagues, readers and even critics. His fathomless love for dogs, particularly a pure-bred Indian resident of his colony, showed him up above many others of his ilk.
That he named the quadruped Editor is another mark of his ability to smile at himself. This is an area where I share a common bonding. Fortunately, Vinod’s Editor didn’t live to mourn his master but we who grew up under his shadow will miss Mehta immeasurably.