A personal tribute to

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Ours began as a phone bromance. I had just become editor of The Economic Times in Calcutta; Arindam was coordinating editor for the paper, based in Delhi. I was in my twenties, he was almost a decade older. Within weeks, though, we'd struck up an easy friendship without having ever met. We would be on the phone - this was pre-mobile - several times a day; he was unfailingly upbeat and can-do in his attitude towards life and work. At the time, ET had editions in only four cities. I can't remember if Calcutta was the smallest, or if it was Bangalore; suffice it to say, its circulation was considerably smaller than Delhi's and Bombay's. But Arindam - ASG to his colleagues and 'Bong' to his friends from college - never made me feel like some young upstart in a far-flung outpost. He was open to good stories, no matter where they came from (as was our boss, Ajay Kumar, who was also based in Delhi). Before long, Calcutta stories were getting great play on the front pages of ET-Delhi, which apparently caused a few noses to be put out of joint.I'd been at ET less than four months when the Babri Masjid was brought down. India was on edge, and stories of death and destruction, fear and foreboding poured in from across the country. ASG had always worked with general newspapers and magazines as a reporter and editor, but ET needed to write such stories differently, focusing on impact and implication rather than the gory details of the event itself. Night after night, he would anchor the front page lead with inputs from our various bureaus, woven together with the kind of insight and perspective that came from years of experience in the field. To this day, they remain a model in how to combine the drama of the day and the tension of the times with a sense of what lay ahead, which is what ET's readers really look for.When the position of political editor fell vacant, there wasn't a moment's doubt in anybody's mind as to who it should be: Arindam was the natural choice. I had by then been brought to Delhi to head the edition. I still recall businessmen, CEOs and even politicians saying, "ET's political coverage is the best even though you give less space." Our page 2 - launched as 'The Political Factor' and later re-christened 'The Political Theatre' - steered clear of the routine humdrum of he said-he added reporting and petty political posturing, and concentrated instead on the larger picture, the interplay of politics and policy, exclusive stories, analysis, and the behind-the-scenes workings of government. The credit for much of that belonged to ASG, his No.2, Diwakar, and the fine political bureau they ran.When I moved on to what was still Bombay, the mantle of Delhi fell on Arindam. It was an unusual choice given his thin business resume, and Arindam himself wasn't sure he was up to it. He'd studied English at St Stephen's, had briefly taught at Delhi University, and his career till then had mostly been in political journalism. The company chose him because of his leadership skills, his sharp instinct for news, and his common sense wisdom. Corporate history is replete with examples of executives who've moved from one industry to another, and done a great job; computer giant IBM's historic turnaround in the 1990s was led by a man who came from a company that made cookies and snacks.It therefore came as no great surprise that a few years later, when I was asked to edit TOI, the company first considered Arindam to run ET nationally. But his heart was still in 'general', and he was keen to shift to TOI. Much as I wanted him in TOI, I felt I had a duty to point out to him that in terms of designation he would be moving laterally from editor of ET-Delhi to editor of TOI-Delhi whereas at ET he was being offered pan-India responsibility. But he was not about to be swayed - not that I tried very hard!His new role at TOI gave him the expanse to bloom and blossom like he had never before. The thing that really excited and energized him was city coverage. There were often times when, sitting in Mumbai, I would ask if he really thought a certain local Delhi story that he wanted to run as front page lead - it could be about garbage piling up in residential areas - merited such pride of place, and he would not waver in saying, yes. I would go along because I trusted his judgment and his sense of balance. Almost invariably, that story would be the one to get maximum traction next day.Arindam could be resolutely firm when it came to taking a stand against the injustices of the world. Unlike many in our profession, he never turned cynical, believing right till the end in the media's power to drive change, do good.TOI also allowed him to channel another passion of his - sports. He was crazy about cricket, but was also among the first 'old-time' editors to recognize the growing interest of young, urban, middle-class India in English and European football.Indeed, one of Arindam's greatest assets was his ability to relate to the young, both at work and outside. He bonded with them over music, an occasional drink, and his espousal of 'liberal' causes such as legalizing marijuana. He was young at heart, he radiated warmth and affection, he was non-judgmental, and he didn't set great store by formal hierarchy. He could be great fun, too. He had a wonderful sense of humour and delighted in telling a good story with his own special sound and visual effects. The flipside was that a meeting that could have wrapped up in half an hour would take double that time! (Please read ET for anecdotes we've shared with their writer.)When I got kicked upstairs some eight years ago to a newly-created position, Arindam got the job he so richly deserved - of executive editor. In many ways, he was good cop to my bad cop. I would pass on most 'HR-related issues' from across our 55-odd editions to him, secure in the knowledge he would either know how to handle them or advise me objectively and wisely.He was a patient listener, kind, gentle, and always ready to help. Most of all, he gave people around him both space and confidence. In the 23+ years we worked very closely together, we developed an almost psychic understanding of one another - in cricketing parlance, we ran between the wickets without needing to signal or call. About the only time I would get upset with him was when I thought he was being 'too soft' on people. But that was his style, and it worked most of the time. He made work look easy, even when it wasn't.The only time he would take time off was to travel. That was arguably his greatest indulgence. In the old days, he would just drive up to the mountains whenever he could get an extended weekend. Later, when he had a little more money to spend, he and Swati - his wife and love of his life - began to take one overseas holiday every year; when he returned, he would proudly show everyone pictures of all the places they'd been to, and try and convince us that we, too, should make the trip. One of the longest and most memorable holidays my family and I have ever been on - in Himachal some 15 years ago - was meticulously and lovingly planned and organized by him.Travelling holidays aside, he never took time off. I cannot recall Arindam reporting 'sick', or even saying he wasn't feeling well, in all our years at TOI - till November 21, a Saturday, the day after he turned 61, when he texted me to say, "I'd like to take the day off so that two days of rest gets me up and running". I'd been pushing him for a while to go see a "proper doctor" about his cough and breathlessness. As it turned out, he had vastly under-estimated the seriousness of his condition.About 10 days later, I went to see him at AIIMS, where he'd been admitted, with a circular signed by the owners of our company elevating him to managing editor - a rare designation in TOI and evidence of their trust in him, for he was already three years past the official age of retirement. He had a racking cough, and was finding it difficult to breathe, but that circular brought him such joy; he said he couldn't wait to be back at work.He never made it back. A day later, he was diagnosed with lung cancer, and although he remained steadfast in his optimism and continued to message/mail colleagues on stories, the descent was precipitous.Arindam never fully understood the ways of the stock market, even after all his years at ET. Among the terms he found mystifyingly vague and open-ended was 'profit-taking/profit-booking', which he would hear our business reporters glibly trot out every so often to explain a fall in the market. And so, at the evening news meeting, if someone told him the sensex had taken a beating that day, he would nod sagely and pronounce with grave mock seriousness, "Profit-booking." It became a ritual at our news meetings, and like children who never fail to find the same silly joke funny, we would crack up. Then one day, he asked me, "What exactly is this business of profit-booking? Basically, it means you get out while you're still ahead, right?"For his family, friends and colleagues, Arindam's passing won't be easy to come to terms with. He was so full of life, love and laughter, none of us ever imagined him to be anything but fully fit (he would try and coax me to do yoga, and tell me how good it made him feel). Above all, he was a good man, and a pillar of strength.But maybe for him, it was just his way of 'profit-booking' - by exiting while he was still ahead.