Sabina, of The Times

IN Opinion | 02/12/2008

The last time one saw Sabina Seghal Saikia alive it was on television.  In a cookery show on NDTV she was busy making a green chilly pickle. You could see that she was not producing a sanitized, TV friendly dish with evenly weighed ingredients placed neatly in matching containers.  With her trademark bun piled high on her head, eyes overloaded with kajal gleaming behind her spectacles, she was wrestling with an oversized kadahi.  As the oil smoked, she began to artlessly toss in assorted condiments, finally adding kilos of finely cut, green chillies.  " This is my own recipe", she explained to the programme¿s bemused anchor,  "and since my friends like it so much I make it often and give it to them in small jars."  Like the paan masala she used to incessantly chew, this generosity too was instinctive to 46 year-old Seghal.

The next day Seghal was on TV again. This time she was making headlines as she lay trapped in a room on the sixth floor of Mumbai¿s Taj hotel, a casualty of the senseless terror attack that eventually caused the death of nearly 200 people.  As news of her tortuous end spread the glowing tributes and cloying obituaries began to pour in.   As a renowned food critic --her food column appeared regularly in Delhi Times, The Times of India¿s  (TOIs) city supplement; as its consulting editor and author of two food books, The Times¿ Food Guide and more recently Finest Rice Recipes (edited), Seghal had carved a niche for herself.

Yet at the beginning of her professional career Seghal was initially not known for her writing skills or her intimate knowledge of food. She had joined The Times of India way back in the mid- 80s when the media house was planning to celebrate its 150^th anniversary by holding a series of concerts through the length and breadth of India. Through her college years in Delhi¿s Lady Sri Ram College Seghal had become closely associated with SPIC MACAY   (Society for the Promotion of Indian Classical Music and Culture Amongst the Youth) and knew various artistes well.  Tapping Seghal¿s vast cultural network, The Times¿ Nandita Jain persuaded her to join the group and organise the sesquicentennial concerts showcasing India¿s leading classical singers, a role that jokingly earned Seghal the moniker of TOI¿s Pupul Jayakar.

As the celebrations petered out Seghal began to write for the entertainment section of Saturday Times. The weekly colour lifestyle section was another new project spearheaded by the effervescent Jain and was initially criticised strongly by the more staid black-and-white main paper.   In it Seghal reverentially profiled and wrote on India¿s leading classical musicians.

 Almost always dressed in traditional, heavy duty saris, enveloped in scents of jasmine and ittar, wearing jangly silver jewelry, Seghal did indeed looked rather Jayakar-esque.  Free spirited and joyful, she had such a magnetic personality that it almost caused weather disturbances. Her corner room on the third floor of Times House overflowed with artistes who casually dropped in for a chat, like puppeteer Dadi Padamjee or theatre personality, M.K.  Raina.  The classical music that was constantly playing in her room would in later years be connected to the Times¿ in house music system. She was close to sarod player Amjad Ali Kan and his wife and other legends like Gangubai Hangal with whom she shared a special rapport.  In between assignments she would feed her colleagues sandwiches dripping with mayonnaise or her signature potato salad or she would read their future in the large tarot cards she always seemed to have around.

In the early 90s she married Shantanu Saikia, an Assamese journalist working with The Economic Times. Despite their different cultural backgrounds, she went with her heart, determinedly losing many kilos of her ample frame as her marriage drew near. She took to the culture of the Northeast with a passion, speaking the language with passable efficiency. Soon enough daughter Arundhati and son Anirudha followed not causing any unbalance in her role as accomplished career woman and committed mom.

Later Seghal shifted to The Sunday Times of India covering the arts, even heading it for a short time. As her reporting skills sharpened she became part of paper¿s bureau. Though a rookie she was given high profile beats like the CBI, the Enforcement Directorate and IB causing some dissension among her colleagues. Despite the criticism she proved herself even ferreting out the notorious Ghaziabad politician D.P. Yadav, who had gone underground, for an interview.  When Delhi Times was launched focusing on the capital¿s celebrities Seghal seemed the natural choice as its editor. With that one publication, the words Page Three became synonymous with the publicity-seeking, frothy, celeb culture that blossomed in post-liberalization India. 

It was really with Delhi Times that Seghal publicly established her credentials as a foodie. Her column, Main Course, placed her as a force to reckon with on India¿s food map. Restaurants desperate to get her good opinion would constantly woo her. Often times, she would drag Shantanu from one over priced restaurant to another – referring to him as ¿the husband¿ in her columns and gently mocking his dyspepsia.   The uncharitable believed that ratings for any restaurant were directly proportionate to the number of zintacs Shantanu had to take after a meal.

 Personally, she saw herself as a cook and so identified with her targets. Once she revealed that, in India, there was too much food in food writing and it didn¿t go beyond the obvious.  Like all writers Seghal had her demons. She was easily wounded by the criticisms of her criticisms. Ultimately, Seghal relinquished –or was asked to relinquish no one is quite sure—her role as editor Delhi Times. Though her column continued she became a consulting editor of the paper. 

Though her roles in her nearly 25 year-old association with The Times of India changed, one thing remained constant--- Seghal remained loyal to the Jain family.  She disregarded the eternal war between journalists and owners, preferring always to side with the latter.  The trust was mutual. When Nandita Jain died in a helicopter crash in 2001 in Arunachal Pradesh it was Seghal who went with Nandita’s husband to identify the remains.

Sadly, Seghal met an even more horrific death than that of her first boss.  As people from all walks of life attended her cremation, from family and friends to Zen monks, office peons, subeditors and politicians, a close associate remarked that though he could see her in many roles never in his wildest dreams could he have seen Sabina Seghal Saikia in the role of a martyr.  May she rest in peace.