When I first met Dubby Bhagat sometime in 2003, meeting him had seemed an achievement in itself.

I had just cut my teeth in journalism. We would often talk over phone about the pieces he used to write for the daily where I had started as a junior reporter, but he would never forget to ask how I was doing. I cannot recall a single moment when he did not ask: “Are you improving?”

I had found my mentor.

He often invited me to Chez Caroline where over coffee he would explain to me the fundamentals of writing. I would at times wonder how frustrating it must have been for ‘my old buddy’ [Whenever he introduced me to people, he would say ‘meet my friend’, and the vice versa he insisted] “to teach” a person with below-average knowledge of writing. But he was an amazing person. He was never tired of explaining to me, and many others, what it took to make a good writer. He always exuded happiness and satisfaction. He would talk about simple things, but would always have delightful insights on them.

I would often call him my friend, philosopher and guide, and he would guffaw at the remark. He was a true mentor, who while teaching writing skills would always be overflowing with life lessons as well.“As a journalist, do not try to be an expert; just strive to improve yourself,” he would often tell me. “Keep things simple, it makes life easy.”

2004 December, Yak & Yeti

Dubby asked me what I was doing that evening. “Lovely,” he said after I filled him in about my assignment. I was pleasantly surprised to see him in the lobby. I was asked to take notes as I followed him. At the café, he asked me to write the story, not exceeding 250 words, on my notebook. And I experienced one of the most unforgettable moments of my life. I wrote and rewrote… about 12 times until he said: “Not great, but okay.”

“When I started, I was asked to write one interview over 20 times,” later he would tell me. Lesson learnt.

2005 monsoon, Chez Caroline

I had rung him up to ask if I could meet him. I was at his favourite evening hang-out in the city. I did not have a job. He was happily ready to help find one. He called up an editor and recommended me for a job with a note: “His writing is simply bad.” I did not get the job…for obvious reasons! I am sure my name did not even get registered at the recipient’s end. I often wonder what a great opportunity that would have been for me. But Dubby made sure that he brought home to me what I really needed to do.

Post-2009-2010

As the years wore on, I had not been able to meet him as frequently. Once, when I told him about my gradual transition from reporting to editing from the desk, I could sense that he was not really amused. He would tell me “keep writing”, something I have not been able to do as much as he meant.

In recent years, he was not keeping well. I had not been able to meet him for quite some time. On July 20, at the age of 73, he left us after suffering from a heart attack while he was being taken to a hospital.

He always prodded me to improve. I will keep trying, Dubby.

I will miss my mentor, my friend, philosopher and guide.