An iconic journalist, a distinguished author and chronicler of India, Mark Tully, passed away at a private hospital in Delhi on January 25. He was 90.
By K S Tomar
Travelling down memory lane is like opening a well-worn notebook whose pages still carry the fragrance of another time. My recollections of Mark Tully—whom I affectionately called simply “Mark”—take me back to Amritsar in the turbulent years before and after Operation Blue Star. What began as professional encounters gradually ripened into a friendship, shaped by shared spaces, difficult days, and quiet conversations amid the noise of history.
Mark, with his ever-present smile and unassuming grace, was a familiar figure at the Golden Temple, reporting for the BBC with the patience of a chronicler and the sensitivity of a pilgrim. Fate played its part when I received my maiden posting in Amritsar after joining The Hindustan Times in November 1983. That coincidence laid the foundation of a bond that grew naturally, as trust does in times of uncertainty.
His deputy bureau chief, Satish Jacob, was also a frequent visitor, and together they immersed themselves in the unfolding drama of Punjab, an engagement that eventually resulted in the seminal book Amritsar: Mrs Gandhi’s Last Battle (first published in 1985). The work remains one of the most lucid journalistic accounts of Operation Blue Star, the rise of the Khalistan movement, and the storm that engulfed the Golden Temple.
I often reflect—perhaps with a lingering ache—that I did not put my own first-hand experiences into a book; it feels like a missed train whose echo still follows me. Mark left an indelible impression not only on journalists but also on figures as disparate as Sant Longowal and Bhindranwale. His soft-spoken Hindi, his unwavering neutrality, and his instinctive courtesy disarmed suspicion and opened doors.
He had the rare ability to listen without judging, to report without inflaming, and to remain humane when the air itself seemed thick with fear. Those qualities were not learned; they flowed from him naturally, like light through an open window. The years and circumstances reduced the frequency of our meetings, but my respect for Mark’s professional integrity and his deep, almost filial love for India never diminished.
In Delhi, he was held in high esteem across political divides and social strata—respected not for proximity to power, but for distance from prejudice. Even after stepping back from active broadcasting, he remained intellectually alive; I continued to read his columns, each one carrying the calm authority of a witness who had seen too much to be sensational.
I will always cherish the memories of our association during Punjab’s darkest days, when journalism was not merely a profession but an act of courage and conscience as it directly confronted the death embedded in every day’s reporting. Mark Tully belonged to that rare tribe of reporters who did not just cover history but earned its trust. May the Almighty grant peace to his gentle soul.
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(K S Tomar is a senior political analyst and strategic affairs columnist based in Shimla)
