J Dey looked extremely fit, well built, muscular, strong, having washboard abs, he could have easily passed off as a commando or army man
"My name is Jyotirmoy Nipendra Kumar Dey, and I want to learn crime reporting from you": A muscular, hulk of a man rattled off, when he first met me in the busy newsroom of Indian Express in Nariman Point, in the winter of 1996. Recruited by the then editor of the Express Newsline, city supplement of Indian Express, Saisuresh Sivaswamy, this man looked nothing like the jhola-wielding scribes of our time.
He looked extremely fit, well built, muscular, strong, having washboard abs, he could have easily passed off as a commando or army man. I wondered why a man like him wanted to do journalism and most importantly, mentor under someone who was almost 15 years his junior. Though I was grounded in crime reporting, covering four vast regions — Mumbai, Thane, Thane rural and Navi Mumbai — in the city, I felt a little awkward about taking an older person under my wings. Nonetheless, we desperately needed help on the team, and so, I said yes to him, not knowing that I was actually befriending a future phenomenon.
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Jyoti — as I fondly called him— and me got along like a house on fire. He was thirsty to learn the ropes of crime reporting, something which the new crop would not be so eager to pick up from their mentors. During the time that he worked with me, we did a lot of spot reporting together and also attended press conferences. I soon realised that he was a quick learner. Within a year's time, he started scoring many impactful stories in the beat. One brilliant thing about Jyoti was that he was quite versatile. He had a background in environmental journalism, and did a lot of human interest stories. Crime journalism was just an addition to his vast repertoire. The two of us also shared an incredible friendship. It was Jyoti who chided me for being so unfit and made me fitness conscious. He also convinced me to join the gym, and took me to Kaamgar Krida Mandal in Dadar, where we spent hours working out in the gym.
Jyoti, however, had a bit of a confidence issue. In the earlier days of reporting, he would successfully hobnob with the lower rung officers but developed cold feet while reaching out to the seniors. So, whenever he needed a quote from an IPS-rank officer, he would ask me to call them on his behalf. Once I reprimanded him, saying, "What kind of commando are you that you get scared of speaking to an officer in uniform?" Jyoti took that advice very seriously, and despite the initial struggle to articulate his thoughts could speak to the IPS officers and get stories out of them.
Jyoti also read a lot of books and was trying to pick up traits of crime journalists in other countries. He became quite secretive about his stories and movements and always kept his stories under wrap, and wouldn't discuss them in the meetings. He didn't like the fact that I was quite vocal about my stories. Also, for reasons he best knew, he'd wait till the last minute to file his stories. So, if the deadline was 10 pm, he would file his story by 8.30 or 9 pm. He also changed the name of the cops and informers on his phone, addressed most of them with code names, so much so that people started joking that he behaved like a CIA officer.
Soon he had become a big name in crime journalism and younger generation begun looking up to him. But he did not forget me and always consulted me whenever confused. Once he came to me in 2006 and said that he was tired of crime reporting, and wanted to know he should do next. I asked him to reinvent himself. He did not understand the point. I explained to him that like Amitabh Bachchan every professional should in time upgrade his craft. In your case, you can write a book. He took my advice and decided to write books.
He wrote two books — the first was a crime dictionary called Khallas, and the next was a fictional book inspired from informers, called Zero Dial. To say that Jyoti had a rivalry with my other protege Jigna Vora would be a gross exaggeration. And, even the thought that Jigna could have been part of the conspiracy to murder Jyoti seems blasphemous. Jigna was trained and groomed by me, and went on to become a phenomenal crime writer under my watchful eyes. She'd often joke that I should adopt her as her daughter because often I rebuked her and kept firing her. She was a fabulous reporter with fantastic contacts.
At one point, if there were two very good crime journalists in the city, it was Jyoti and Jigna. I often told my wife if one of them is Amitabh the other one is Vinod Khanna, very little to chose between the two of them. I was proud to be mentor to both of them. Their rivalry was healthy and unmatched, and I enjoyed the kind of sparring between them, which showed in the kind of stories they did. For a crime journalist, the only way to compete is by writing fine stories, not murder. Jigna was well aware of this. It's not possible for me to imagine that she could harm Jyoti. To see one of them being killed, and the other becoming a prime accused in the same case, was the most heartbreaking thing a mentor could have experienced.
As told to Jane Borges (S Hussain Zaidi is a senior journalist)
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