Some connections just happen. And quite often they last a lifetime. The first time I happened to connect with M.L. Kotru — one of the most remarkable newsmen of his generation, who passed away on September 25 at the age of 91 after completing nearly 60 colourful years in the profession — was well over a half-century ago. 

I was in my teens, just out of school, and had gone to Delhi’s Ramlila Ground for a public rally being addressed by then Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru. It was a mammoth gathering with a turnout of thousands. Nehru was in full flow under the glare of bright arclights on the giant marble stage. Down below, in the Press Box, near where I stood, sat a dashing handsome white man taking notes in long hand as Nehru spoke.

“Who is this Russian fellow and what is he doing at an Indian Prime Minister’s rally?” I asked someone standing close by.

“No, no, he is no foreigner though he looks like one because of his complexion and the colour of his eyes. Certainly not a Russian though he looks like one because of his build,” I was told. “He is very much an Indian, a native of Kashmir actually, working for an Indian newspaper, The Statesman, and his name is M.L. Kotru.” 

Next morning, I looked up the front page of The Statesman and read the lead story on Nehru’s rally from start to finish. Then I went across to a neighbourhood library and compared the stuff with reports in other national dailies. It was by far the best of the lot.

The next time I happened to connect with Kotru — again quite by chance — was some time later. I was a student at Delhi University now, and had just taken over as the Editor of my college magazine at Hansraj College — also known, yes, as Shah Rukh Khan’s college — apart from writing occasional articles for the Indian Express, edited in those days by the legendary Frank Moraes. I had gone to Connaught Place with a couple of friends for coffee at the sprawling Coffee House being run under a huge canopy. As we stood waiting for a place to sit, two fellows got up from a nearby table. One of them was the firebrand socialist leader Ram Manohar Lohia and the other M.L. Kotru. 

“Make yourselves comfortable,” said Kotru to us with a friendly smile as the two walked away, with Lohia’s right hand resting on Kotru’s shoulder.

Not long after, just out of college in the summer of ‘67, I got my first break in the news business with an exciting job in the newsroom of The Statesman. And the very first copy I was handed for a look was a report filed by M.L. Kotru, typed out elegantly on brown paper.

“A gem of a story!” I told the newsroom chief after a good glance at it, adding, a bit cheekily perhaps for a newcomer, “Worth front page, I think.”

And sure enough, there it was on front page next morning. 

And what do I see next evening as I reported for my second day at work?  M.L. Kotru waiting in the newsroom to thank me for my headline over his story.

“You made my story stand out with your lovely headline!” he said warmly, extending his hand.  And in that moment the foundation was laid for a mutual admiration club between us — one that would last a lifetime.

Those were heady days for The Statesman as it had come to be acclaimed far and wide as the best professionally edited newspaper in all India. Established way back in 1875, it had been run by distinguished English editors all along. Now, with the days of British Raj long past, the last of its English editors, Evan Charlton, had just gone back to England and the first of Indian editors started taking charge. The subsequent years would see a galaxy of bright young reporters and writers contributing handsomely to the paper, along with Kotru —  Sarwar Lateef, Saeed Naqvi, V.S. Maniam, S. Venkatesh, K.K. Sharma, Neena Vyas, Hasan Suroor, Tavleen Singh, Keith Flory, Neerja Chowdhury, Shahnaz Anklesaria Aiyar and many more.

Kotru, specialising big time in human interest stories and colourful features in addition to serious political reporting from New Delhi’s corridors of power and Parliament, had carved out a niche of his own as a roving correspondent at large, travelling quite often to report from his native Kashmir and other hot news spots. When Indira Gandhi lost power after her infamous Emergency, Kotru was the first newsman she spoke to. The story appeared on top of page one and was picked up by several newspapers and news agencies in India and abroad. The Sunday Times of London, too, reached out to Kotru for many stories from India in subsequent years.  

The New Delhi bureau of The Statesman had been headed all along by the paper’s Resident Editor, and the special correspondents who reported to him. One fine morning, the Resident Editor, S. Sahay, did something unthinkable. He called Kotru to his chamber and said the slot of News Editor had fallen vacant following the retirement of the incumbent and he, as bureau chief, had decided to gamble big time by filling it with a veteran of field reporting rather than someone from the editorial side of the paper. 

“It’s an unprecedented experiment in the long history of the paper and I want you to take up the challenge,” he told a totally startled Kotru.

“I was stunned and left speechless by the sudden pronouncement,” Kotru told me later that day as I turned up as usual for duty in the evening. I had been looking after the Delhi edition’s Sunday Special magazine for a couple of years as Deputy News Editor (Magazine), and it was my turn now to be left speechless with this whopper of a surprise from Kotru totally out of the blue.

But Kotru wasn’t finished yet. “I told Sahay,” he told me, “that I have been reporting all my life and never in my wildest dreams have I fancied myself as a news editor.”

“But that is the challenge,” Sahay purportedly shot back.

“And he won’t take no for an answer,” said Kotru to me. 

“So I told Sahay,” added Kotru, “that I’d take up the challenge provided I can lean on some experienced professional from the editorial side as my next-in-command.”

“As it happens,” Kotru told me before I could say anything, “the Sunday magazine that you have been editing for the past couple of years after several years in the Newsroom has just been shifted from Delhi to Calcutta and you can move into a new role as Deputy News Editor on the news side right away.”

Thus began a first-of-its-kind experiment with Kotru in his new avatar as News Editor — and, soon after, as Resident Editor — but it didn’t last long for all his trademark flair and flamboyance that went into it. Like any wildcard entry in any reality show on TV, Kotru’s offbeat exploits — huge six-column pictures splashed on Page One top, day after day, with pointers to features on inside pages by outside freelancers like Bill Aitken and Ashok Dilwali — were monitored closely by the Head Office in Calcutta and soon word went out to him that it was time for the paper to turn over a new leaf.

In another surprise reshuffle one Saturday evening, soon after, Kotru left Statesman House never to return, and the seniormost member of the New Delhi bureau, D.P. Kumar, was designated as Resident Editor. 

Saturdays used to be my weekly off days and so I was in for another whopper of a surprise late that Saturday night as an office driver pulled up at my residence with an official letter designating me as the next News Editor.

But the season of surprises wasn’t over yet. A few months down the line, in the winter of 1991, it was time again for me to turn over a new leaf as I got a challenging offer from The Hindu headquarters in Madras to take over as News Editor and Coordinator of the paper’s newly relaunched Delhi edition. Those brand new innings would stretch over two eventful decades up to the summer of 2013 but that’s another story.

Meanwhile, Kotru and I stayed in touch over the years. This proves that some connections just happen by chance — and quite often they last a lifetime!

Yash Paul Narula is a seasoned journalist.

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