Mark Tully (1935-2026)

When I was much younger, in my thirties and forties, listening to shortwave radio was a regular part of my life. And if you listened to shortwave long enough, the BBC World Service was almost unavoidable. It became a familiar presence on the dial, steady and dependable. What kept me there were the voices. Commentaries by people like Alistair Cooke and Mark Tully had a way of drawing you in. I could never quite get enough of them.

Whenever I came across their books, I bought them without much hesitation. Cooke’s Letters from America and Tully’s No Full Stops in India both found permanent places in my personal library. I still own those copies, though they now sit quietly in the storeroom, part of an earlier phase of life.

Today I learned of Mark Tully’s death in India, at the age of 90. There is a certain symmetry to it. Born in India, died in India, and in between he spent almost his entire working life there. From 1965 onwards, India was not just his beat but his home. For decades he was the BBC’s voice from the subcontinent, explaining India to the world with patience, curiosity and an ear for nuance. His was not a hurried journalism, but one that lingered, listened and tried to understand.