Hamāre baa'd ab mahfil meñ afsāne bayāñ hoñge

Bahāreñ ham ko dhūñdheñgī ,na jaane ham kahāñ hoñge

(When I am gone, they will talk about me in gatherings,

Spring will search for me in vain.)

It seems appropriate to invoke Majrooh Sultanpuri at the passing of one of the last remaining big names in Indian print journalism whose journey coincided with the first steps of India as a free nation, and whose practice was leavened by uncompromising integrity and large-hearted mentorship as editor to an entire generation of journalists in The Statesman in the mid-1980s. 

Since the passing of my uncle ML Kotru – Kotru sa’ab to his friends and fraternity – on September 25, 2025, at 91, the tributes have not stopped. Invariably, they express the larger than life presence of a generous, principled professional and human being who considered journalism a vocation with a humane core. Empathy for the subject on the ground was the most important attribute of a reporter for him. For one who was forced into semi-retirement more than three decades ago, his work is still remembered. As is ML Kotru, or MLK, with the trademark cigar precariously dangling from his lips, his booming voice interspersed by a sudden guffaw or a devastating comment. His other defining characteristic: he took his work seriously but had a self-deprecating sense of humour. 

Born in 1934 in Srinagar, Kashmir, MLK came to Delhi after completing his graduation from S P College, Srinagar. His father sent him to Delhi to pursue an engineering course, but he dropped out after four months and started working at a newspaper called the Delhi News Chronicle (which evolved into the Indian News Chronicle, then The Delhi Express and finally The Indian Express). In the mid-50s, following the sudden demise of his father in a car accident, his younger siblings were forced to migrate to Delhi with their mother. The times were tough, but that didn’t stop the budding journalist from honing his skills. MLK educated himself, studying under street lamps when required. 

Within a few years he was picked up by The Times of India (then based in Daryaganj), followed by The Statesman. He earned his first accolade in 1959 when his series, The Other Side, won him the prestigious Watumull Award, presented to him by Prime Minister Nehru. MLK was the quintessential reporter. In the 1970s, he went to Afghanistan in search of Khan Abdul Gaffar Khan who had been exiled by the Pakistani Government. Caught by the Mujahideen, he was made to sit on a block of ice in the freezing cold for hours. But he persevered. Thanks to his contacts in the Indian and Pakistani embassy, he finally got his interview! MLK’s motto: never give up a good story, no matter how difficult the circumstances. 

It was during the mid-1980s, when he became editor, Delhi, at The Statesman that MLK came into his own as a nurturing mentor to a generation of budding reporters. His own struggles had made him sensitive to young cub reporters. Many of them, veteran journalists today, recall what a supportive boss he was. His keen eye for talent and his large heart were legendary. Travel writer Bill Aitken and photographer Ashok Dilwali became household names thanks to him giving them prominent space in The Statesman.

With regard to politicians, MLK’s principle was simple: never respond to a summons from a politician. He only met politicians when he needed an interview for work. Yet he never hid his admiration for certain individuals. He defended Nehru’s domestic and foreign policies till the very end and was a fan of Atal Behari Vajpayee's oratory. He was a bitter critic of Indira Gandhi, yet he was shattered when she was assassinated. He was critical of Rajiv Gandhi in power but wrote lovingly about Rajiv Gandhi the pilot in his moving obituary. 

When it came to Kashmir, he had a deep empathy for the Valley and its people, cutting across communities, and he swore by Kashmiriyat till his last breath. He engaged with all the big figures in Kashmir, from Farooq Abdullah to Mufti Mohammad Sayeed.

I had the good fortune of spending my formative years living in a joint family with my uncle ( we called him ‘Bhaisaheb’) and grandmother. Our residence at 83, Kaka Nagar, was always buzzing with activity. The central Delhi neighbourhood was a thriving community comprising bureaucrats, journalists, artists, writers, authors, actors, cartoonists, singers and musicians. Thumri legend Naina Devi, who lived across the park from us, would organise baithaks in her living room. Film critic Amita Malik and photographer Raghu Rai were neighbours. Painter Jatin Das was a frequent visitor, as were several senior diplomats and bureaucrats. Artists like MF Husain, Kishori Kaul, Dina Nath Walli, and Bashir Mirza considered him a friend.  

Then there was the extended Statesman family – special correspondent S.Venkatesh, music and dance critic Rajan, and cartoonist Ranga. Raghavan from Blitz and his family were frequent visitors. On Holi, we had visitors through the day, some showing up with sandalwood and tesu paste. Eid always brought delicious sewayiyan and biryani into the house. Diwali was a community celebration.

MLK’s generosity and hospitality were well-known. He kept open house. My mother, the consummate cook, was forever churning out delicious Kashmiri delicacies for his guests, many of whom swore by the Yakhni and Matsch(keema) she made on special occasions. His birthday parties were legendary. His favorite khansammas from Chandni Chowk would set up tandoors and grills in our garden and make delicious kebabs and rolls. Guests would eat and drink till the wee hours of the morning. 

I remember his passion for his work. His junior colleagues didn’t just spend time with him at work; they became an integral part of our lives as well. He not only mentored many journalists; he supported several of them. We had house guests for months. Many an individual from Kashmir came to our doorstep in search of a livelihood, and he helped them all, regardless of their background.

MLK was elected President of Press Club of India during his Statesman days. In the 1980s he invited musicians such as Abida Parveen and Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan and many others from across the border to perform at the Club premises. 

MLK had great respect for genuine artists and sportsmen. Pran saheb, the gentleman villain, was his friend and uncle brought him home to meet my grandmother. Once he had a heated exchange with Raj Kapoor who had strong views on journalism. 

However, his interaction with Shashi Kapoor was far more pleasant, involving discussions on Shakespeare’s plays. In his enthusiasm, MLK sought to give some tips to the actor who then gently reminded him that on one occasion he had toured with his future father-in-law Geoffrey Kendal’s troupe, Shakespeareana Company, which had performed across India during the late 1940s and 1950s! I was also regaled with anecdotes about evenings spent with poet Sahir Ludhianvi and a memorable encounter with Duke Ellington, the jazz legend.

Thanks to our house being an editor's residence, we had access to the best of Indian and foreign newspapers, journals and magazines. I remember when The Satanic Verses was released and promptly banned, MLK was pestered by his friends to make them copies of his own book, presented to him by Rushdie! Music was a constant presence in the house and it is truly one of the greatest gifts my Uncle bestowed upon us. He introduced us to classical greats like Bhimsen Joshi, Kumar Gandharv, Pt.Omkarnath Thakur, Pt Jasraj; jazz greats such as Miles Davis, Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington; ghazal singers Mehdi Hassan and Ghulam Ali, and later Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan; Harivansh Rai Bachchan’s ‘Madhushala’ sung by Manna Dey...   

My uncle opened my mind in so many ways. He once told me,“Your conservative Dad won't let me bring Playboy magazine into this household, but believe me, some of their articles are really worth reading.” 

There was never a dull moment at home. Once in the 1980s, I returned home from school to find MLK being interviewed by the BBC in the garden. That was when he was the India correspondent for The Sunday Times, London. 

Then came the (in)famous Doordarshan programme in 1989 which changed our lives forever. It was a discussion on Kashmir, and MLK was by then known as an authority on Kashmir. The other panelist, politician Syed Shahabuddin made a casual remark about the persecution of Muslims in Kashmir. His lack of understanding infuriated MLK so much that he burst out on live television, “You don't know the first thing about Kashmir so please shut up!” He felt hurt because as a Kashmiri he had utmost faith and pride in the syncretic culture of Kashmiri society.

That remark of his changed our lives forever. JKLF issued a hit list and my uncle's name was in the top ten. The then Commissioner of Police Delhi had to immediately issue security. I had a jawan follow me to JNU. At that juncture my father and his family were compelled to move out. 

The times, too, were changing. In the early 1990s, news print was imported, custom duties were high and newspapers had started changing their marketing strategy. More space had to be sold to advertisers. Glossy supplements were inThe strength of journalistic writing was no longer seen as the main element in raising circulation by managements. That was when MLK bowed out from The Statesman.

The former editor became a freelancer, contributing to papers such as Daily Excelsior and Greater Kashmir. He moved to Gurgaon, which seemed like an exile. He would run away to his beloved Kashmir to be in the company of generous friends who hosted him. He continued to visit his favorite Delhi haunts such as the India International Centre and Khan Market, once a week. He was old fashioned and still used a typewriter, a modified digital one.

MLK was many things to many people. To me he was a fearless guiding light, a moral compass; to his peers he was an unflinching comrade, and to juniors he was grace itself. MLK was a proud Kashmiri with a global outlook. His commitment to truth, unwavering integrity, sharp writing and mentorship qualities are still remembered by the journalists he nurtured. His greatest wish was to see journalism rise to new heights. I fervently hope that his wish comes true in my lifetime.

Nirupama Kotru is a senior civil servant. 

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