I think I owe it to myself that I write a few words about Vinod Mehta.  Normally, you don’t get that affected by the news of the passing away of somebody with whom you've had no connection in the past or somebody you knew in a very limited way.  But ever since I came to know of his death at 73 yesterday, somehow the loss seems personal.  One reason could be my long stint as an avid reader of ‘Outlook’ magazine which he edited right through its inception in 1995 to 2012, when he decided to retire from day to day running of the magazine.  And that was also the time when I switched from the physical form of the magazine to reading online.

The other reason for this sense of loss is that when we like somebody for his or her views and are influenced by it in ever subtle way, we invest something of ours in that person.  We project all of our opinions, prejudices and insecurities onto that person and when that individual is gone, it seems baffling.  I liked Vinod for his uncomplicated and yet insightful views one politics in this country.  His fortnightly column ‘Delhi Diary’, which appeared at the last page of the magazine, was eagerly awaited.  It helped you make sense of the overall state of play in a very humorous fashion, puncturing a lot of bloated egos along the way.

This is not supposed to be a eulogy of the man.  He would have hated it.  So, I will just say that the biggest attribute of his was a certain lightness of touch; the ability to not take one too seriously despite being so famous in India.  He always believed that journalists are in a privileged position of having a ring-side view in the theatre of our Republic, but they must remain the spectators and not become players themselves.  If all those editors and journalists think that they are the god’s gift to humanity, then they are living in a fool’s paradise.  In the end VM embodied now almost extinct breed of editors who were steeped in the liberal and cosmopolitan ethos of another era.