He was brought up with an English nanny who once chided him for learning to count by copying the family’s driver: “that’s the servants’ language, not yours,” he was told. He eventually became fluent in Hindi, a rare achievement in Delhi’s foreign press corps and one which endeared him to many Indians for whom he was always “Tully sahib”. His good cheer and evident affection for India won him the friendship and trust of many of the top rank of the country’s politicians, editors and social activists.”
International Desk : Sir Mark Tully, the legendary former BBC correspondent whose voice became a lifeline for millions during the 1971 Bangladesh Liberation War, has passed away at the age of 90.Tully breathed his last on Sunday afternoon at a hospital in New Delhi, where he had been undergoing treatment. His long-time colleague, Satish Jacob, confirmed the news to the BBC Hindi Service.To the people of Bangladesh, Mark Tully was more than a journalist; he was a witness to history.
During the nine months of the 1971 war, when local media was heavily censored, Tully’s broadcasts on BBC Radio served as the most trusted source of information. His courageous reporting brought the reality of the Pakistani military’s atrocities and the resilience of the Bengali people to the global stage.
For decades, the rich, warm tones of Mark Tully were familiar to BBC audiences in Britain and around the world. He was a much-admired foreign correspondent and a respected reporter and commentator on India. Throughout his career, he covered war, famine, riots, and assassinations, including the Bhopal gas tragedy and the Indian army’s storming of the Sikh Golden Temple.
Born in Kolkata during the British Raj, Tully spent decades covering the Indian subcontinent with deep empathy and unparalleled insight. In recognition of his immense contribution to the birth of the nation, the Government of Bangladesh awarded him the prestigious “Friends of Liberation War Honour” (Muktijuddho Moitri Sommonona) in 2012.
His death marks the end of an era in international journalism and has prompted a wave of tributes from across Bangladesh and India, honoring a man who spent his life bridging the gap between the West and South Asia.
“In the small north Indian city of Ayodhya in 1992, he faced a moment of real peril. He witnessed a huge crowd of Hindu hardliners tear down an ancient mosque. Some of the mob – suspicious of the BBC – threatened him, chanting “Death to Mark Tully”. He was locked in a room for several hours before a local official and a Hindu priest came to his aid.The demolition provoked the worst communal violence in India for many decades – it was, he said years later, the “gravest setback” to secularism since the country’s independence from Britain in 1947.India was where Tully was born – in what was then Calcutta in 1935. He was a child of the British Raj. His father was a businessman. His mother had been born in Bengal – her family had worked in India as traders and administrators for generations.
He was brought up with an English nanny who once chided him for learning to count by copying the family’s driver: “that’s the servants’ language, not yours,” he was told. He eventually became fluent in Hindi, a rare achievement in Delhi’s foreign press corps and one which endeared him to many Indians for whom he was always “Tully sahib”. His good cheer and evident affection for India won him the friendship and trust of many of the top rank of the country’s politicians, editors and social activists.”
Tully, who arrived in India as an administrative assistant at the BBC in 1965, performed a balancing act throughout his life: he was English, without doubt, but he insisted he was not an expat just passing through. He had roots in India; it was his home, and it was where he lived for three-quarters of his life.Immediately after World War II, at the age of nine, Tully went to Britain for his education. He studied history and theology at Cambridge and then attended theological college with the aim of being ordained as a clergyman before he—and the church—had second thoughts.
He was sent to India for the BBC in 1965, initially as an administrative assistant, but in time, he began to take on a reporting role. His broadcasting style was idiosyncratic, but his strength of character and his insight into India shone through.
Tully was never an armchair correspondent. He traveled relentlessly across India and neighboring countries, taking the train whenever possible. He gave voice to the hopes, fears, trials, and tribulations of ordinary Indians as well as the country’s elite. He was as comfortable wearing an Indian kurta as he was in a shirt and tie.
He was expelled from India on 24 hours’ notice in 1975 after the then-Prime Minister, Indira Gandhi, ordered a state of emergency. However, he returned 18 months later and had been based in Delhi ever since. He spent more than 20 years as the BBC’s head of bureau in Delhi, leading the reporting not simply for India but for all of South Asia—including the birth of Bangladesh, periods of military rule in Pakistan, the Tamil Tigers’ rebellion in Sri Lanka, and the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan.
In 1993, he famously made a speech accusing the then-Director General, John Birt, of running the corporation by “fear.” This marked a parting of ways, and Tully resigned from the BBC the following year. However, he continued to broadcast on BBC airwaves, notably as the presenter of Radio 4’s Something Understood, where he explored issues of faith and spirituality.
Unusually for a foreign national, Tully was accorded two of India’s top civilian honors: the Padma Shri and the Padma Bhushan. Britain also recognized his work; he was knighted for services to broadcasting and journalism in the 2002 New Year’s Honours List. He described the award as “an honour to India.”
In his later years, he continued to write books about India, including essays, analyses, and short stories, often in collaboration with his partner, Gillian Wright. He lived unostentatiously in South Delhi.Tully never gave up his British nationality but was proud to become an Overseas Citizen of India late in life. That made him, he said, “a citizen of the two countries I feel I belong to, India and Britain.”
