Remembering R.K. Misra: A 'news plumber' who refused to compromise

By Rajiv Shah 

It is always sad when a journalist colleague passes away — more so when that person has remained firm in his journalistic moorings. Compared to many others, I did not know R.K. Misra, who passed away on February 23 after a long illness, very intimately, but we interacted occasionally over the years.

What struck me most about Misra, who was 77, was his sharp observation of the world around him. I first met him when he was representing The Pioneer and living in Gandhinagar. During my own stint in Gandhinagar as The Times of India representative between 1997 and 2012, we would meet fairly often at press conferences and other events.

Misra lived in a G-1 type bungalow in Sector 9 — a locality where, among others, relatively junior IAS officers resided. He had also set up an office in another bungalow, which he said was meant for journalists’ welfare. That is where I first met him, along with another colleague, Bashir Pathan. My son would cycle to his school near Sector 9, and Misra, during his morning walks, would wave at him and later fondly recall spotting him.

It was in this second bungalow that many outstation journalists visiting Gujarat for assignments would be accommodated. From there, Misra also continued to operate as a journalist even after leaving The Pioneer, which he had served for 18 long years. The place was later converted into the office of the Gujarat Media Club, which he co-founded with other colleagues. I, too, became a member.

During our conversations, what impressed me was his keen eye for detail — especially regarding the activities of some IAS officers, many of whom were his neighbours. He would speak of the “unofficial” awards they received, the people they met, and discuss their backgrounds in remarkable depth, including what he would wryly call their “extracurricular” activities.

An excellent conversationalist, Misra began his career with The Times of India in the 1970s and went on to work with and write for several national and international media outlets, including IANS, Probe, Outlook, The Hitavada, The Free Press Journal, AP, Gulf News, and Arab News. A keen political observer, he specialised in in-depth analysis, writing in a style I often envied. He refused to align himself with any particular political ideology.

Many of his writings can be found on his blog, Wordsmiths and News Plumbers, where he reproduced pieces that had been published elsewhere. Even when addressing national issues, he frequently focused on Gujarat. His headlines reflected his uncompromising tone, and he would sometimes tell me over the phone why certain pieces were not to the liking of those he wrote for — citing a changed political atmosphere as the reason.

A few of his striking headlines include: “Gujarat: The Congress Bee in the BJP Bonnet!”, “How the Indian Executive Weaponised the Bulldozer for Political Projections!”, “Of Prime Ministers, Raincoats and Wind-Cheaters!”, “Gujarat’s Liquor ‘Dry’ Laws Up for Judicial Scrutiny!”, “How Narendra Modi and His BJP Helped Resurrect Rahul Gandhi and His Congress!”, “Gujarat’s Seaplane: A National Game Changer Come to Grief!”, and “Valentine Vows: From Thrashing Couples to Kissing Cows!”

After retiring from The Times of India in January 2013, I started my own news blog, Counterview, while also working as a media consultant with a civil society group. It was not an easy beginning. I reached out to journalist colleagues, freelancers, experts, and civil society activists for contributions.

Misra was perhaps the most forthcoming. Even when he sent his pieces elsewhere, he would forward a copy to me, writing, “It’s all yours, my dear.” Many of those articles still appear on Counterview, with due acknowledgement of their publication on his blog.

After leaving Gandhinagar, Misra built his dream home away from the city’s bustle. He had purchased land in a farmhouse scheme and constructed a charming bungalow there. I visited him a few times. During those visits, as he showed me around, he would speak of his three favourite pursuits: writing, gardening, and immersing himself in the natural surroundings of trees and open meadows.

One of our last meetings took place during the Covid period, when we were invited by a prominent Gujarati media baron to help develop the English section of his professional news website. Since I was already working as a media consultant, I was not particularly keen. After the meeting, however, the ever-uncompromising Misra shared his reaction: “I know this gentleman quite well. He does not part with his money easily. So I gave him three different quotes — Rs 25,000 per month to work once a week, Rs 75,000 to work from home, and Rs 1 lakh to work from the office… They never came back.”

I learned of Misra's terminal illness during my four-month visit to the United States in 2024. On my return, I received a message from him: “Life rarely gives second chances when dealing with death. But if it has chosen to do so, one might as well make the best of it. So I pick up the threads of my writings from where I had left off over a year ago. I have deliberately chosen the last day of the year for making this personal statement of private defiance to my disease and the nation’s affliction. I hope you like it. Warmly, RK.”

He shared a link to his piece, “Of Prime Ministers, Raincoats and Wind-Cheaters!”, published in an Odisha-based daily. I responded immediately: “Lovely piece! What a tribute to Manmohan Singh — the best I have read…” Perhaps out of inertia, I did not regularly check his blog. Only later did I realise that even during his illness, he continued to write and post articles, the last appearing on May 9, 2025.

A month earlier, on April 5, 2025, responding to a blog I had written on Haren Pandya, the BJP leader who was mysteriously killed in 2003, he had sent me a warm note: “What a great pleasure to see the old spark in the pen of Rajiv Shah light up. You, your pen and your forthright, old-world approach to journalism, are an honour and constitute hope in the midst of dying embers. Keep up the spirit. Affections…” I replied, “Thanks, dear. But I am no wordsmith like you! You are absolutely amazing in your analysis, dotted with great wordplay.”

I did not know that I would not be able to read him again so soon.