The Last Word

He Departed but His Teachings live on

Rajen Kumar
Jun 2012
In the seventies, Bhartiya Vidya Bhawan was the only institute in Delhi offering evening Post Graduate studies in mass communication. I decided to take a plunge in the pool of journalism. Besides others, Mr. Sunil Roy, a senior journalist, used to take our 'Reporting' class. He had his own inimitable style. Ever smiling, his style of teaching, informal and objective, became an instant hit with all the students. His popularity became a legend. At least I never bunked his class. His lectures were lively packed with interesting anecdotes of his stint in China where he represented PTI as Special Correspondent.
 
An exceptionally soft spoken, he was more of a friend to all than a stick-wielding teacher. I never forgot what he drilled into us. “To be a good writer, don't read too many authors lest you run the risk of getting influenced. Be original. Develop your own style,” he once told us pacing up and down the class. We always heard him in rapt attention and were in the awe of this teacher instantly lapping up what he said. “Develop a sharp nose. Yes, a nose for news.” And he would unfold an anecdote from his own experience as a correspondent.
 
Such was his demeanour that he became the most sought after even after class hours. Punctuality and regularity were his hallmark. Since he never missed classes, how dare we? We all had bonded.
 
What he said were gems. “Journalism is all about objectivity. Remember that a journalist be not necessarily a writer.” Sharing tips on what a good story is, he gave us a Godly gaze: “A reporter must not be present in the story.” His sagely words were to help me on in later life.
 
Years rolled by and Mr. Sunil Roy had retired from PTI to join another news agency –ANI. Ours was a chance encounter in Connaught Place. He was lost in his thoughts when I hailed my revered sir with “Good morning.” The humble Mr. Sunil Roy stopped, flashed back a smile, and made me feel at ease with a fatherly pat.
 
His voice was the same: low, gentlemanly for which, at times, one had to strain one's ears. “How are you? What are you doing” he beamed an inquisitive smile. I was overwhelmed. “Sir, I am working for an overseas TV Channel.” His response: “That's wonderful.” I felt afloat.
 
And soon he revealed his new 'avatar'. “Now, I work for ANI!” I was keen to know more. But he switched back to my job: “It's good you have landed in a field which has enormous scope of work.” I felt richly blessed. Said I, “Sir, we so fondly remember what you taught us.”
 
“Sir, a part of you is in all whom you taught”, added I. His smile turned into a hearty laughter of a veteran for his upcoming acolyte. I sensed both acceptance and jubilation sweeping his face. He held my hand, enjoining, “Come, let's have a cup of coffee.” I felt equal to his tall persona!!
 
We opened up, exchanged notes, talked of years gone by and years to come. He made a gesture which stirred my insides. “Don't hesitate. Do come over should you need help. I am available anytime. Take down my residence address and phone number.” The invitation had the warmth of a rich host.
 
 Years later, I was preparing to go to Hong Kong on eve of the transfer of power of Hong Kong to China. I rang him, sought an appointment. My Prof par excellence of the 70s once again stole my heart. “Please come. I'll wait. Come anytime. You are always welcome.”
 
I sought tips from him on Hong Kong turning a part of China. He enlightened and equipped me with every aspect: geographical, social, cultural and political. The following day, I was his guest for dinner at his Gulmohar Park residence. He was there at the gate to receive me.
 
 Once in, he introduced me to his wife and other guests, announcing to everyone, “Meet my friend, who was also my student years back,”. The guests gave me welcoming looks. I picked up courage to say: “ I wasn't but I am still his student!” Laughter broke out. I was amidst seasoned professionals.
 
Later, he took a file from his desk, handed me a few papers with notes especially prepared for me. Guiding me to a side, he started briefing as nostalgia overtook me instantly. My teacher was treating me as the taught all over again. His notes on China and Hong Kong were comprehensive and useful to me.
 
As we stood talking, he turned around, raised his voice a bit. “Please get something for him”, he told his wife. She served me delicacies. Pointing towards a dish he informed me smilingly that this fish dish was his wife's specialty. He kept watching me as I savoured it.
 
 It was time to leave. But he made sure that I saw his house. He took me around, especially singling out his kitchen garden and the lemon trees. “We have a rich harvest of lemons. Next time, I will give you freshly plucked lemons.” His humility, his personality had bowled me over.
 
I complimented: “You have a nice house, sir.” He shared a bit of his ageing life: “We are alone here, husband and wife. Our son is in the US. This house is very big for us.” And then his thoughts began to overtake him. He saw me off, suggesting the turns to the main road, the same way he did years ago in our class towards our careers.
 
The wave of a good bye was emotive. Yet we kept our emotions in check. He asked: “When you are visiting us again?” I said, “Soon, very soon, sir.” I had the visit in mind for months but just couldn't make it. Sunil Roy's date with his life was over, but not with ours, his students. The imprints he left are indelible. But do such persona ever go out? Never! They always go on.
 Who has the right on the lemons he promised me, I may never come to know! 
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