The tributes and the fond memories that flowed from friends, colleagues and admirers of B G Verghese, who passed away at the age of 87 on the last day of 2014, were spontaneous, and it was proof of the kind of man he was — civilised.

In an old-fashioned manner, it would be right to ask what was his life’s leitmotif? We have stopped asking these big questions because we are a little afraid that we cannot handle them. To say that Verghese was a gentleman-journalist would be sufficient. Nothing more need be said.

It is, however, useful to ask the question about the leitmotif, especially at a time when we are a little overwhelmed by journalism being transformed by technology, and we are more than a little confused about the business of journalism per se. There are all these exhortations about objectivity on the one hand, and passion and commitment on the other. There is need to cut through the clutter of platitudes.

Verghese did not occupy the neutral no-man’s land. He was quite clear in his mind what he stood for even though he did not flaunt it like a zealot. He engaged with democracy and its workings. His entry into journalism seemed to be the first step in that direction. The next step came when he joined Indira Gandhi’s office as the information adviser. He could have become a courtier but he chose to remain a critical insider. He believed in the imperatives of development without its socialist trappings. His experiment with developmental journalism came from his democratic belief that social issues need to highlighted and debated in order to shape policy, and also to explore options.

With the kind of liberal education he had, he believed in modern solutions to the challenges of poverty and backwardness. That is why he could see the need for projects like the Sardar Sarovar project and the building of dams. He was also willing to scrutinise the efficiency of the dam projects. He was no naïve, star-struck admirer of technology. He looked out for better technological answers. And that is also the reason he accepted the rationale for the interlinking of the rivers.

Unfortunately, those who are engaged with issues of development, especially those bandying developmental journalism have adopted an anti-developmental stance, throwing modern technology out of the window. They see the dangers of the dehumanisation caused by technology.

Verghese belonged to a generation with a sunnier disposition, one not plagued by anxieties over technology and what it would do to desiccate the soul. He seemed to believe in the happy marriage of democracy and technology. There is the modernist – the literary, artistic, cultural type – who is terrified of dictators using technology to destroy democracy and freedom and therefore rejects science and technology. Verghese remained modern and kept away from the shenanigans that came with being a modernist.

He opposed Indira Gandhi over the Emergency but he did not, like many others in the anti-Emergency camp, demonise her. Writing about her in 2010 in his book, First Draft: Making of Modern India, at the time of devaluation of the rupee in June, 1966, he offers an acute analysis: “In the event, the results of devaluation fell short of what had been projected. The prime minister felt let down. She had laid down the political gauntlet but her technical experts had not delivered as expected. The conclusion traumatised her. Yes, she was a novice and had shown implicit trust in her advisers, some of the most acclaimed economists and administrators in the land. And they had let her down. Who now could she trust but her own instincts and her family? This was a psychological turning-point that was to shape her future attitude. Indira Gandhi turned inwards and like Joan of Arc, whom she often cited as one of her heroines, began to listen to her ‘inner voices’. The outward bonhomie and charm remained but inwardly she became increasingly suspicious and aloof, and somewhat more radically populist.”

This was a brilliant summation of the woman who imposed the Emergency.

His stand on Jammu and Kashmir has displeased many, including the Kashmiris themselves. The example of the Kunan Poshpura incident stands out. Leading a Press Council of India fact-finding team into the allegations that an army contingent raped about 23 women in the village in February, 1991, Verghese did not hesitate to see the contradictions and inconsistencies in the victims’ narratives. He came to the conclusion that there wasn’t enough credible evidence to back the allegations.

This angered the liberals in Delhi and elsewhere. They did not doubt his integrity but they concluded that he was too nice and too naïve to take up cudgels against anyone. Refuting the claim made by the then district magistrate, Syed Mohammed Yasin, that Verghese threatened him, he recalled in the piece he wrote in The Indian Express in March, 2014: “The PCI team found the Kunan story to be at best a gross exaggeration but more probably a massive hoax, an act of psy-war to keep the Army, newly inducted to deal with militant-jihadi-azadi uprising, at bay. There were contradictions galore. Nothing added up. The medical examination was only conducted three to four weeks later on March 15 and 21 when 32 women were examined. Why this inordinate delay? The evidence cited was anecdotal not medical. No medico-legal report was filed as required.” Here is a man who stood his ground, argued his case and based his reasoning on facts. He was no advocate of strong-arm tactics, nor was he the kind of patriot who would not utter a word of criticism against the armed forces. Human rights mattered to Verghese. But he was not willing to be partisan.

What Verghese represented in his work and in his writings was the liberal’s faith in the principle of fairness. It is not enough to be fighting for the angels against the devils. There is a need to be fair to one’s opponents without demonising them. This is the civilised, educated voice that should be the tenor of journalists.