A life lived away from power

It was around 2011-2012, when television as a medium was at its peak. I was a popular TV anchor then, brimming with ideas, constantly planning audacious shows. One such idea was a people's choice program-online nominations followed by voting, multiple rounds of elimination, and finally, winners across categories: singers, sportsmen, environmentalists, and one category that drew instant attention-the most powerful people of Assam.

To my surprise and delight, one of the shortlisted names was Prafulla Govinda Baruah. I remember the excitement with which I announced the nominations on air, urging viewers to vote. The next morning, my phone rang. On the other end was Prafulla Govinda Baruah himself. His voice was soft, almost apologetic. "Would you mind dropping my name from the list?" he asked.

There was no argument, no explanation, no assertion of status. Just a request. Out of respect I could only mumble - "Yes Sir".

I quietly removed his name. Instantly. No one knew, nor my editors nor my management. But that single phone call stayed with me.

I had worked briefly at The Assam Tribune in the early nineties, a young journalist then, absorbing the rhythms of a newsroom that already carried the weight of history. My personal association with Prafulla Govinda Baruah at that time was minimal; he was never the kind of proprietor who hovered over the newsroom or announced his presence. Yet, over the next 35 years working across Assam and national media, in organisations owned by individuals and corporations alike-I came to admire him deeply, watching the contrast unfold in other newsrooms. My admiration did not stem from proximity but from perspective.

From a micro view the newsroom floor of The Assam Tribune-one could sense a rare softness in management. It was a paper where fear or pressure did not stalk journalists, where the editor's room was not an extension of political power except for a period in the early nineties.

But that was the micro story. The macro story was far more extraordinary.

In my long journey through media houses where owners jockey relentlessly for proximity to power, where editorial lines bend under political gravity-I saw how rare it was for a media proprietor to consciously stay away from the corridors of authority. Prafulla Govinda Baruah did exactly that. He remained completely aloof from Dispur. He never allowed the government of the day-any government to come remotely close. He did not seek favours, patronage, or protection. He did not trade access for influence.

In doing so, he became an enigma. At a time when the role of media owners was visibly changing, he remained content staying away from the limelight. When others flaunted wealth and closeness to the ruling establishment, he maintained a dignified distance and a simple life. He neither lectured nor moralised; he simply lived his principle. And that principle-keeping power at bay while living a simple life-made him perhaps the last true sentinel of journalistic integrity in Assam.

I left The Assam Tribune long ago, like one of the few who moved on to other media pastures. Yet, wherever I worked, I often found myself measuring media ethics against the silent standard Prafulla Govinda Barua had set. Most fell short.

In an age of loud owners and louder opinions, he proved that restraint could be strength, and distance from power could be the highest form of independence. Prafulla Govinda Baruah remained an enigma till the very end. And in doing so, he left behind not just a newspaper, but a moral bench-mark-rare, elusive, and profoundly Assamese.

Mrinal Talukdar