178. The last relic of the Raj departs the world

Anyone who has met Sir Mark Tully will instantly smile, but then feel a twinge of pain upon reading this article's title. It was his sentence except for the last three words.

Tully, a complete Indian, has died at the age of 90. 

Born in Tollygunge, West Bengal, on October 24, 1935, he spent his first 10 years in India before relocating to England for his schooling and returning 20 years later. In a way, he spent 70 years in India.

Sir Mark Tully joined the BBC in 1964 and relocated back to India after becoming its South Asia correspondent in 1965. Over the following thirty years, he covered India for the BBC, with the final 20 years serving as the bureau chief in Delhi. 

Today, I feel very sad as images of the times I spent with him on many occasions flicker before me.

Vinod Mehta, who was then the editor-in-chief of The Pioneer (Delhi edition), first introduced me to him, and we met several times afterward. 

In 1995, when I launched my literary magazine, “The Scoria,” another publication, “Outlook,” was launched that same month, with Vinod Mehta as its editor. 

It was at Khushwant Singh's insistence that an informal get-together was held at the British Council in Delhi, where Tully spoke very encouragingly about my magazine but never followed through on his promise to send a short story.

Khushwant Singh later wrote about it in his regular column.

I last saw Tully in 2023, when he gave me his book Upcountry Tales – “stories about memorable people you will enjoy,” he said. 

Tully was also the first to call me after receiving my poetry collection Always in Transit. 

As my diary entry on August 28, 2023, shows, I received a call from Mark Tully and an email from Rob Anderson, Cultural Affairs Officer at the U.S. Consulate General in Mumbai, who wrote, “I am enjoying.”

His professionalism is well known. On a personal level, I can say he was a true gentleman. He always insisted that I speak in Hindi. He also loved and appreciated my poem Mahanta (Greatness), especially the last stanza - 

mahaanata ke jitne bhee chinh 

dikhte hain sadkon par 

sarkaari phailo mein 

unke fareb mein na aaen

(Whatever signs of greatness you see on the streets or in government files, do not be deceived by them.)

I am feeling very bad. I can see his twinkling eyes, his smile, and his laughter. Among his friends, he used to be a child and a comrade, and we used to forget his achievements. He used to be just like us, one of us. That is the quality of a great man.

Rest in peace, Sir William Mark Tully! You will be missed forever.