Freedom fighter, journalist and a beloved ajja: An ode to my grandfather

Lokadarshan News Desk

Sonali Desai

My ajja (grandfather) Mohan Desai had founded this publication in 1956, shortly after state boundaries were reorganised on linguistic lines. While the Belgaum region became a part of Karnataka, Maharashtra also laid claim to the territory. It still does. It was in such a charged socio-political milieu that this publication had taken off. Back then, it used to be a weekly and was called Darshan. The paper became a daily in 1963 and got rechristened as Lokadarshan.

I vividly remember how ajja had described the struggles in starting this Kannada paper in what's deemed a disputed territory. Contentment and a quiet grit were writ large on his face as he looked into the distance and said: “I had only five rupees in my pocket. If people hadn't believed in me, I couldn’t have built Lokadarshan. When I had first set up the printing unit, it was set ablaze by some people. But I never gave up.”

It wasn't necessarily that the Marathi-speaking members of the region had taken umbrage at the launch of a Kannada publication. For, my ajja's kith and kin too were among his detractors and disruptors. Decades have passed but the Belgaum issue remains a hot topic and still evokes passion on both sides of the border. Why, there are politicians whose entire career has this very discontent to thank for. Such is the leverage that this topic possesses, yet ajja never sought to capitalise on it.

For him, fairness of news and ethics of journalism alone were supreme causes. Through Lokadarshan, he espoused unbiased political reporting and secularism. Be it editorial duties such as reporting and editing, marketing obligations such as advertising and circulation or even printing, he paid great attention to details. He was thorough and meticulous in every sphere of operation involving this newspaper. Excellence in journalism and his commitment to starting a Kannada newspaper in Belgaum—the first in the region—won him three state honours, including Karnataka's highest civilian honour, the Rajyotsava award.


One of the most remarkable aspects of his persona was his zest for life: he used to tell us that he’d live for a hundred years. On his 95th birthday, when I had asked him if he had any more wishes to be fulfilled, with moist yet twinkling his eyes, he quickly replied, “I have another idea for business. I want to do this... that... And…”

We were asking about wishes whereas this man was all about dreams. Big dreams!

A loving figure
He lived a purposeful, fulfilling life. As our ajja, he was a disciplinarian, strict and yet warm. He had his own peculiarities, like his love for his rickety Fiat. What pride he'd take in that car, however unreliable it was! Every morning before school, our driver would rush my sisters and I to hop in the car. He knew. After we all would get ready, getting the car started would need much time, much more patience and a stroke of luck. Yet it never crossed ajja's mind to replace his beloved car. Before we started to school every day, our new driver Laxman who usually yaps a lot, waited for us as if we were late and the car is ‘ready’. But whenever he tried to start the car, we knew we were late again. Ajja had bought this second hand car with his little savings and was adamant to work on the restoration project of the Fiat. We have so many memories now, to laugh about, and funnily, somewhere in the corners of our ego, this car was our pride too. At least we had bid adieu to local bus rides.


While recalling his life, it's imperative to recall its foundation: my late ajji Sheela Desai. My grandparents are testimony to the adage that there is a woman behind every successful man. The idea of starting a Kannada newspaper in northern Karnataka was hers. Their love story is one of a kind. In the 1940s, my grandmother had graduated and worked with the British government before starting a career in an NGO as a social welfare officer in Hudali village. This is where she met my grandfather and proposed to him for marriage. (Now I know, hers is the gene responsible for the braveness of the girls in our family.) At that time, my ajja had left his home to take part in the freedom struggle. He had no money and little education. My ajji funded his graduation and sent him money via post until they got married. After marriage, she got busy with kids and ajja fulfilled her dream of running a newspaper.

Unflinching discipline
When I was in Belgaum this February, a whiff of jowar puris welcomed me and my daughter. Soaking the early morning sun sat the old man, reading his Lokadarshan. When ajja looked at his granddaughter and great granddaughter, he flashed a welcoming, toothless smile. He alighted from his seat, holding the arm of the chair and waddled inside to gorge on the piping hot puris. When he wasn’t able to have the puris anymore, I broke them down for him and he sat there for more than an hour, not leaving the table until he finished every morsel on his plate. Such was his self-imposed discipline.

He had turned 97 this year but not once did he use a cane to walk around, not even a helping hand. While he had the option of having food served in his bed, he always chose to climb up one floor to eat his meals on his wooden, regal eight-seater dining table, which he had tastefully designed. He didn’t even have the common ailments of old age, such as low blood pressure or diabetes. He was ageing gracefully.

We knew he had to leave us one day. As the end of life approaches for a loved one, the kindest thing you can do is letting go. He left us shortly before the mango season—his favourite—could arrive. Leaving behind a bunch of loving and inspiring memories, he now rests in peace under a mango tree.