Loving Vir

Have you ever felt real reverence, true-mad-deep reverence that it almost reached a point of worship? Where the other person could never be wrong, simply because it was HIM?

I, for one, have known this sheer devotion. And it happened to be for the man I’ve idolised since I don’t even remember when. I fell in love with Vir Sanghvi.

For those of you who don’t know, Vir Sanghvi is an advisor with Hindustan Times, and used to write a weekend column in the paper by the name of Counterpoint. I don’t remember who made me read my first Counterpoint in Sunday’s Hindustan Times, but my Sundays were never the same again.

At first glance, Sanghvi impressed. At a second look, he left me in awe. The man was a genius. I hadn’t known anyone like him before—I’d never read a newspaper so unfailingly before.

Then came the Sunday Brunch, and Sanghvi shocked me yet again. What in the world did he NOT know about?! All this time I’d spent thinking of him as a purely political writer, and Rude Food gave me a rude shock! His information, intelligence and research had simply no end.

Before I knew, I found myself going gaga over Vir, like a crazy teenager with a crush. Only he wasn’t a crush—just somebody I looked up to with unparalleled respect and adulation, like a teacher, a guide. I recall having filled innumerable slam books with his name in the column asking for my ‘role model’. When people would ask me about my future aspirations, ‘working for Hindustan Times under Vir Sanghvi’ would be my prompt reply. I had pictures of him in my diary and I visited his website twice a day. I created him a fan page on Facebook, read through all this articles over and over again like a madwoman and had his biography learnt by heart. I was obsessed with Vir Sanghvi.

My obsession grew, as he kicked off another show on NDTV Good Times—Tailor Made for Vir Sanghvi, and yet another on IBN 18. I wanted to be what he was, where he was, learn from every little word of his, and learn I did. Vir Sanghvi taught me how to be unbiased, impartial, upright and brave about what you write. To write what you feel and kill all feeling of fear or submissiveness when you do. To be lethally brutal and warmly respectful, as and when you want to be. Vir Sanghvi taught me to look beyond news, and that all isn’t what is seems to be. His work had an aura that in my eyes, even the likes of Karan Thapar haven’t been able to achieve after so many years of being in this line. It was his understanding of what was going on, his perfect analysis and his ability to see through things that set him apart.

Soon enough, Vir became a regular on Barkha Dutt’s nightly talk show ‘The Buck Stops Here’, and I found myself glued to NDTV for an hour every night at 10. The way he spoke—slowly, gently, as if contemplating every word of what he was saying, and yet silently spewing venom all the same—he had me madly hooked to every syllable of his as I gaped at the sheer intellect of this man. It was as good as taking notes as he spoke. I’d never paid such deep attention in any of my school classes.

However, I was in for a wild shock, as one morning I picked up the newspaper and found stories of the 2G Scam splattered across the front page, Vir’s name among those of the accused. For one moment it seemed preposterous, even laughable. After a while, I felt cheated and let down.

As a Bengali friend of mine constantly teased me about the whole scenario—the man I had idolised over all these years was now being tainted with serious allegations—I found myself fighting with him. It was almost a habit by now, to assume Vir was right. He couldn’t be wrong. How could he be? He was Vir Sanghvi!

Over the next few days, as more and more news of the scam flowed in, I read in depth the transcripts of the tapes, news reports and Sanghvi’s response to the entire issue and the allegations. I remembered all that I had learnt from what he had written over the years. Reading between lines when receiving any news in India was essential. We’ve lived in a masala-loving country—sansani sells here! My confusion grew as I read more. What exactly had he done wrong? Being a journalist, what else was he expected to do but forge for news on fast-building stories of vital importance? With every next line, the accusations felt more and more baseless and insane. But that wasn’t how the public received it.

One fine Sunday morning, not long after the news of the scam came out, as I flipped to the Editorial Page of Hindustan Times, I found no Vir Sanghvi. Nor was he there on any other page of the paper. Or on the Sunday Editorial page for so many more weeks to come. A while later, I learnt he had temporarily discontinued his weekly column in view of the undue negative publicity he had gained for the Niira Radia scam.

*

It’s been a while now, and my obsession has toned down. It hasn’t anything to do with Vir being involved in a scam, but with a lot more happening in my life.

My adoration and deep regard for this man still remain strongly rooted though. I haven’t seen a journalist so unstoppable, so inspiring and so upright, and I doubt I ever will. Being a part the muck that the Indian media is today, it’s hard to remain unsplattered in the midst of all the dirt that surrounds you. To stand tall and hold your dignity above everything when you’ve been falsely, forcibly tainted, is very rare, and very admirable.

While Sanghvi does write an online blog off and on, and is still a regular with Brunch, I haven’t lost my habit of craving for Counterpoint. My Sunday mornings are still incomplete without him. Even today, I religiously flip to the Editorial of HT every Sunday morning in search of Counterpoint, hoping against hope, that maybe, maybe, Vir has changed his mind...