‘Anything Shantanu Guha Ray did was extraordinary’

How does one write about a man like Shantanu Guha Ray? He was a man with a heart the size of Atlantis, a man who was passionate about everything he did. He was the life of every party, a man who cared too much, was generous to a fault and a man who has now left all of us heartbroken with a huge void in our lives.

I first met Shantanu more than 20 years ago, when I was a fledgling PR professional in my first job in Delhi. I went to meet him to ask if he would do a story on one of my clients who was beset by crisis then. I went hesitatingly, with trepidation in my heart. Where most other senior media professionals would have probably refused to even meet, to my surprise Shantanu met me welcomingly, listened to my story ideas, discussed angles and even treated me to a cup of tea while we were at it. From that day onwards until Saturday when we had dinner together, unaware of the fateful day that would follow, I have always turned to him for advice, for his opinions and anytime I was having a bad day and needed a laugh.

He worked with gusto, partied with even more fervor, and lived life king-size. Anything he did was extraordinary. The investigative stories he delved into, researched and wrote that most other journalists would not touch, the books he spent months absorbed in writing that won him awards, the hours he spent mentoring young journalists, anything he touched he left a deep indelible “Shantanu” mark on.

His dedication and fierce love for his family and friends always left me overwhelmed. His life revolved around his wife and daughter. For him, nothing else mattered. I remember one occasion when he overheard me telling his wife Keya that I didn’t own a ‘lal paar’ saree (red border typical Bengali saree) and planned to buy one. The next morning his driver delivered a package to my house. I opened it to find the most gorgeous ‘lal paar’ saree I had ever seen. Such was his thoughtfulness and generosity.

Anybody who knew Shantanu knows the grand Durga Pujo that he held at his home every year. It was the highlight of Pujo for many of us. His attention to detail, and his insistence on making sure that everyone who went was given bhog. If you couldn’t stay until lunch, he would pack and deliver packets to hundreds of homes. Pujo will never be the same. Actually, life will never be the same. What I will miss the most are his calls in the middle of the day and his words “Boss ektu coffee hobey na?”