A report on a journalist

It was bright and sunny, the day they cremated Shivani. Delhi's skies seemed to have forgotten their sullen winter ways, at least for a w...

It was bright and sunny, the day they cremated Shivani. Delhi8217;s skies seemed to have forgotten their sullen winter ways, at least for a while. That day was a bit like her, full of promise, full of life. It8217;s difficult to imagine that anyone could have so deliberately, so consciously, so cruelly snuffed out that life, with yellow cord and kitchen knife, even as her new-born baby lay close by.

But then, human behaviour is a complex phenomenon and it is often difficult to fathom. Shivani understood that as a journalist. It was with a lively sense of curiosity that she chased a story or fleshed out a character profile.

But being a natural in this business needed more than curiosity. It required application. The assiduity with which she studied law testified to that. To report on the law ministry and the Supreme Court demanded an understanding of the legal system that only an academic background in law can provide. Shivani was prepared to work towards acquiring it by swotting at her law books, even as shecontinued reporting for the paper.

Journalism also demanded courage and Shivani displayed that quality in good measure. It intrigued her, the behaviour of people in public positions. A small-town girl from a middle-class family she may have been, but she wasn8217;t in the least fazed by those who wore their power and influence like a personal livery. She could, therefore, report on their demeanour and misdemeanour with honesty and a rare candidness.

It was all these attributes taken together that had shaped her as a newshound. How else could she have exposed the Rs 30-crore scam, in which traders fattened themselves on the biscuits that should have gone to malnourished children? Or revealed how the government did not act on the contingency plan to save the Babri Masjid from being demolished?

Or, indeed, the numerous other stories that helped in their own small way to make this paper, and Indian media, perform more efficiently its assigned, democratic role of informing and alerting people. After all, it isbecause of people like Shivani, hungry for news, ever willing to gatecrash her way into new information, that the rest of us get a free press.

But she enjoyed it hugely. The heat of the chase, the piecing together of the story, the arguments that were sometimes required to sell it to the guardians of the front page and, finally, the pride of the published byline. She loved every bit of it.

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There was a certain sassiness to her that was endearing. News that a baby was on the way obviously delighted her. She once came to me, pirouetted neatly and asked in her characteristically impetuous manner, 8220;Don8217;t I look pregnant?8221;

When Tanmay arrived last Diwali, Shivani had clearly discovered a new existence. She kept telling people at home that the baby looked just like her, and how very mischievous he had become already! When her maternity leave ended, Shivani called the editor and summarily informed him that she was enjoying the baby too much to leave him just then.

But then she left him one afternoon.Fighting a lonely battle with a heartless marauder, she went, leaving her traumatised family to cope with the enormity of their loss.

Impatient, quick-witted, restless, candid to a fault, she came into our lives and went from it, like a streak of lightning. And, at the end of the day, one would have liked to have asked her a question: did you, Shivani, get what you wanted from life?