#Binge Reviewing my previous Reads # Of Bengal
There is a peculiar thrill in tracing the origins of journalism in India—not to the sober halls of policy or the dignified salons of intellectual debate, but to the sweaty, quarrelsome, scandal-filled lanes of colonial Calcutta in the late 18th century. Andrew Otis’s Hicky’s Bengal Gazette: The Untold Story of India’s First Newspaper resurrects this moment with detail, passion, and a storyteller’s instinct, showing us how James Augustus Hicky, a down-on-his-luck Irishman with a printing press and a stubborn streak, ended up launching not just a newspaper, but an ideal: the idea that power must be questioned, that even in a colony, voices could be raised, and that the printed word could be sharper than any bayonet.
To most people who have heard of Hicky, he is remembered as a sort of scandal-mongering eccentric—a printer who filled his pages with gossip, invective, and personal feuds. Otis takes that reputation and complicates it. He neither sanitizes nor romanticizes Hicky. Instead, he offers us a portrait of a man who was messy, contradictory, and often vindictive—but also, crucially, brave and pioneering. In doing so, he asks us to rethink the foundations of Indian journalism itself: born not in calm respectability but in the heat of controversy, satire, defiance, and dangerous truth-telling.
Otis’s reconstruction of Calcutta in the 1780s is one of the book’s pleasures. We see a city swelling under the weight of empire—European traders, Company officials, Indian merchants, and a teeming population of workers, soldiers, and clerks. The East India Company’s hold on Bengal was tightening, and with it came the arrogance of unchecked power. Warren Hastings, the Governor-General, epitomized this authority, ruling with both pragmatism and suspicion. Into this charged atmosphere wandered Hicky, an Irish printer who, through grit and necessity, acquired a press.
It’s important to remember: a press in that era was a weapon. To own one was to control the means of disseminating opinion, rumor, criticism, and information. The East India Company wanted presses to serve them—to print proclamations, edicts, and occasionally, flattery. Hicky, however, had other ideas. With little to lose and much to prove, he launched Hicky’s Bengal Gazette in 1780, declaring it to be “a free press.” And so began a story both quixotic and profound.
Reading Otis’s description of the Gazette is to glimpse journalism in its raw, unfiltered infancy. Hicky published gossip about the elite, attacked Company officials, and occasionally indulged in personal vendettas. His writing was often vindictive, sometimes vulgar, and rarely restrained. Yet, beneath the surface noise, there was something radical. Hicky dared to criticize Hastings himself. He exposed corruption, called out hypocrisy, and voiced what few dared to say aloud: that the empire was not built on benevolence but on greed and power.
Otis is careful to show us that the Gazette was not a polished journal of record—it was closer to a scrappy pamphlet, a tabloid with teeth. But therein lies its significance. Journalism in India did not begin as a polite conversation; it began as dissent. Hicky’s paper became the prototype for a press that would later hold colonial and post-colonial governments to account, that would play roles in independence struggles, and that would continually test the boundaries of censorship.
Otis does not flinch from portraying Hicky’s flaws. He was impulsive, thin-skinned, and often careless with his accusations. His editorials could descend into personal attacks. He lacked the restraint that might have preserved his career. And yet, it is precisely this reckless energy that made him who he was. To read about Hicky is to see a man who was willing to risk jail, financial ruin, and exile for the right to print what he believed should be public.
Otis frames Hicky not as a saint but as a pioneer. He wasn’t the model journalist, but he was the first to stake a claim for press freedom in India. His contradictions—courage and pettiness, principle and spite—make him human. They also remind us that progress is often made not by paragons of virtue but by flawed individuals who, in their stubbornness, push boundaries no one else dares to test.
At the heart of Otis’s narrative lies the escalating battle between Hicky and Hastings. The Gazette’s criticism of Company officials quickly drew retaliation. Censorship was attempted, lawsuits were filed, and eventually, Hicky was jailed. His presses were seized. Yet even from prison, Hicky continued to write, sending out issues of the Gazette until the very end.
These chapters in Otis’s book are both thrilling and sobering. Thrilling, because we see a lone printer daring to stand against one of the most powerful empires on Earth. Sobering, because the weight of authority eventually crushed him. Hicky’s story is, in a sense, a tragedy: he lit the torch of free expression but was consumed by it.
And yet, the flame survived. Others would take up the mantle of journalism in India, inspired or at least emboldened by the path he carved. If today we debate press freedom in India—as indeed we do, passionately—it is worth remembering that Hicky was the first to show how precarious, how necessary, and how dangerous that freedom can be.
One of the reasons Hicky’s Bengal Gazette succeeds is Otis’s narrative style. He writes with clarity and energy, weaving archival research into a flowing story. His command of detail is impressive—courtroom transcripts, personal letters, fragments of the Gazette itself—all are brought together to recreate both the man and his milieu. Yet Otis never drowns us in data. The prose is accessible, the pacing brisk, and the tone often novelistic.
There are moments when one almost forgets this is history—it reads like a drama, with Hicky as the defiant protagonist and Hastings as the looming antagonist. This is not to say Otis sacrifices rigor; rather, he understands that history must live on the page, not suffocate under footnotes. In this sense, the book straddles two audiences: the academic who seeks accuracy and the general reader who craves a story.
My admiration for the book lies in how it rescues Hicky from obscurity. Too often, histories of Indian journalism begin with later figures, bypassing this eccentric Irishman. Otis insists that Hicky matters, not despite his flaws but because of them. The Gazette, imperfect though it was, set a precedent.
And yet, the book also invites critique. One could argue that Otis occasionally overstates Hicky’s role—as if the history of Indian journalism began and ended with him. In truth, the press in India developed in fits and starts, influenced by many others, Indian and European alike. Similarly, some readers may find Otis too sympathetic to Hicky, forgiving his pettiness in the name of his principles. But then again, history often requires us to balance admiration with scepticism, and Otis manages this with more nuance than most.
What gives Hicky’s Bengal Gazette an added layer of relevance is its resonance with our own times. The battles Hicky fought—over censorship, defamation, state retaliation, and the right to criticize power—are battles that echo loudly in the 21st century. In an age of “fake news,” media trials, corporate ownership of press outlets, and rising pressures on journalists, Hicky’s struggles feel startlingly contemporary. The technology has changed; the dynamics of power and press have not.
To think of Hicky, printing his paper in a colonial city two centuries ago, is to see the roots of today’s debates about free speech in India. It is also to recognize that the freedom of the press is never handed down from above; it is seized, defended, and often punished into existence.
In the end, Hicky’s Bengal Gazette is more than a biography of a man or a chronicle of a newspaper. It is a meditation on the meaning of journalism itself. What is a free press if not the willingness to print what power does not want printed? What is the role of the journalist if not to risk, at least occasionally, their own comfort to speak for the truth? Hicky may not have articulated these ideals in lofty language, but he lived them, however chaotically.
Otis gives us a story that is both inspiring and cautionary. Inspiring, because it shows that even one press can unsettle an empire. Cautionary, because it reminds us how easily the press can be silenced. For readers of history, journalism, or politics, this book is indispensable. For anyone who has ever felt the thrill of seeing power held to account in print, it is also oddly personal.
Hicky is not a hero in the conventional sense. He is something more interesting: a flawed, stubborn man whose fight gave birth to an idea bigger than himself. Thanks to Andrew Otis, that idea—and that man—are once again visible, ink fresh on the page, reminding us that freedom always begins noisily, dangerously, and imperfectly.