Billoo - My friend Venkat

Like so many of my good friendships, Venkat and I started off with a fight. He had just arrived in Kathmandu from Sri Lanka. We had gathered at the Bhat-bhateni residence of Nagma ( Mallik ) – the Commerce Attaché at the Indian Embassy - to discuss the issues being faced by the Indian JVs in Nepal with mounting Maoist insurgency. Venkat touched a raw nerve in me by asking – “what are the Indian companies doing to improve the image of India in Nepal ?” That got me started on my pet peeve (something – I realize with the hindsight of age – that didn’t quite endear me to the charming lady Diplomat either !!).

That evening, as Malathi never tired of recounting, -`Venkat came home fuming’ – at the temerity of the Bengali bloke challenging the authority of the all-powerful Indian establishment in Lainchaur. The ripples of that altercation also reached the “Nona-Nina-Mona” Lane of Baluwater through other channels as well - causing some domestic consternation. But, you could trust Malathi to break the ice. “So you are the one who fought with my husband” she charged me point - blank at the very first party we met and then threw a supplementary - “but tell me – are you, by any chance, also a Virgoan ?” On confirming her intuition she broke into her signature waterfall laughter. And there began the “Billoo” factor. ( it was a coinage of our dear Seth – who henceforth insisted on referring to Malathi as my ‘sister’, as she had brokered the ‘truce’ between me and Venkat and, therefore, by definition her husband became my ‘b-i-l’. And, 'Billoo' was just a feline or facile - albeit affectionate - extension of that).

The Rao’s sailed in like a draught of cool breeze – through the re-cycled air of the Kats social circuit - populated primarily with the embassy gentry, a handful of Nepali aristocrats ( both Royalty and Commoners ) and a motley group of Indian businessmen and company executives. Soon, they were the flavour of all the parties in town. Malathi’s infectious vivacity and Venkat’s unaffected joviality made them an instant hit and a popular pair all thru’ their 3 years of stay in Kathmandu.

At first look they might have appeared to be 2 very different people – but it didn’t take long to realize their relationship was built on the bond of a very strong and deep understanding - which made them, as Nina aptly put it, “not just a couple but a team” who beautifully complemented each other. Venkat obviously enjoyed the attention his ‘bubbly and spirited’ wife received in all social gatherings - while she, in turn, thrived on the admiration and respect he commanded with his reputation of being a very competent officer. And, together they made wonderful parents to their 2 lovely kids – Aniket and Amulya – strongly moored, as they were, in solid family values.

I am not sure if the Pew Survey covers what the Nepalese feel and think about India and Indians. But, I guess it can’t be very different from what the USA scores not just from its immediate neighbours but the world at large. In such a context, the First Secretary Political at the Indian Mission at Kathmandu is not usually the most liked diplomat. But, Venkat proved to be different. He never put on the patronizing big brotherly air that comes so naturally to the ‘southern neighbours’ of the Himalyan Kingdom ( nay, Republic ). With his self-effacing style, he quickly won the trust and confidence of the politicians cutting across party lines and affiliations – friendships he carried long after he moved out of Nepal.

He was his own man wherever he went. It was this trait that stood him in good stead even when he was in Uncle Sam’s country. Something that comes through clearly from the tributes he received from those who knew him there – most notably K. P. Nayar of The Telegraph and Chidanand Rajghatta of the ToI. On being interviewed by Arnab Goswami on TIMES NOW, the latter began by paying a personal tribute to Venkat and condolences to Malathi – to use his own words “ they had won many friends in Washington during their stay there”. I got a glimpse of his wide network and circle of influence - when I went to WAS DC last year on some semi-personal work.

Venkat moved to Kabul around the same time I shifted to Delhi in 2006. We’d joke that we were both in “non-family stations” – with me appropriating the self-appointed status of being the local guardians of the “sister” and her kids much to the discomfiture of some of our afore-mentioned common friends who, undoubtedly, had the best interest of his family at heart. In Afghanistan, Venkat shed some weight and with a clean-shaven look was every bit the dapper diplomat. We frivolously attributed this to the therapeutic value of the juicy, lycopene-rich Kandahar pomegranates and the Chinese R & R center next to his house. Kabul being a ‘hardship’ posting his tenure would have normally lasted for 2years. But, Venkat did consider extending it by a year more – finally deciding against it as he wanted to be around for Aniket’s final years in school.

My last email exchanges with him were less than 2 weeks ago. I was in the US and read the statement of the Afghan Intelligence Chief on the assassination attempt at Karzai a few weeks back. I thought it significant that for the first time the Afghan government openly accused a Pakistani ISI hand in the incident – with Karzai – probably in a fit of bravado - even threatening to send his troops into Peshawar to flush out Taliban elements. I wondered if the Political Counselor had something to do with eliciting such a strong reaction from the host government – who were known for carefully calibrating their responses in playing a difficult balancing act.

In his reply, Venkat wrote that he was getting ready to pack his bags after a very fulfilling stint and would be back in August. He mildly chastised me for not coming to visit him in Kabul ( which he always insisted was “safer than Delhi” ) and even had a jab at me saying that, I was probably waiting for his successor to come from Tanzania – who we also knew from our Kathmandu days. He mentioned that, he might come to Delhi on a short official visit in early July when we should try to catch up. As luck would have it – I was in Delhi the last weekend – but somehow didn’t manage to connect. The rest, of course, as they say was splashed all over the newspapers and regurgitated endlessly on our TV channels.

Seeing Malathi’s brother Girish, an Air-force officer, saluting Venkat for one last time as they blew the bugles at the War Crematorium in Brar Square and clutching on to Aniket close to his chest trying hard to hold back his own tears as a proud serviceman – I thought, I can never feel even an iota of what he was going thru’ at the loss of his sister ’s husband.

Ten

I met Vijay Tendulkar (Ten - as some of his young friends called him and he liked to sign-off on emails) only once. That was just a couple of years back, when I took him for an art exhibition by a group of young Bengali artists from Santiniketan – which he had agreed to inaugurate at the instance of a mutual friend.

We had arrived a little ahead of time at his tiny apartment near Sher-e-Punjab Society in Andheri East. But, there he was waiting for us – dressed in a crisp turquoise blue kurta and white churidar – a picture of calm and dignity. It was mid-monsoon and by the time we came down it was pouring. He was not keeping well even then – though I didn’t know it was myasthenia gravis. I was concerned as much for him as I was about his kurta getting wet – so offered to hold an umbrella and give him a hand for getting into the car. But, he declined both casually.

As we started in the car, he turned towards my companion and enquired - “now tell me about yourself”. Taken aback a bit – she said shyly, “I am just a house-wife”. “I wanted to know you and not what you do” – he snapped gently and I could immediately sense that a chord had been struck.

At the exhibition, he took time over every single painting – chatting up the artists. To me it was clear that he was doing it simply to encourage the young lot. By the end of it – they were so touched that one of them jumped up and plucked a painting off the wall and gifted it to him in a very spontaneous gesture.

On the way back, we talked about a lot of things. He comprehensively trashed the culturally challenged Indian media, lumped our leaders for not understanding the importance of the arts in the evolution of a nation, lamented at how the politicians have made a hash of New Bombay (he was a part of the committee alongwith Charles Correa which had originally conceived it )… but he was hopeful about the resurgence of Indian theatre and was particularly impressed by some new Marathi playwrights (one of them a young woman – whose name I forget ).

While dropping him home I wanted to present him a bottle of Single Malt and a set of Swami Ranganathananda’s Gita Commentary that I had carried. The latter (“the Gita – in the light of modern needs and modern thoughts” ) is my favourite gift for many whom I consider to be of liberal intellectual disposition. He accepted the whiskey but was livid about the books. He kept them all the same – sensitive of my sentiments. I knew he was an agnostic but didn’t think he would have a problem with the Gita. I apologized and got up to leave. He came to see me off to the door and invited me to come over and share the whiskey with him sometime. He promised to visit - health permitting -my daughter's school in the Sahyadris. But Bombay being Bombay – I couldn’t make it again. Soon he started spending more time in Pune.

The newspapers wrote, he didn’t want a fuss over his death. He had borne the untimely passing away of his daughter (Priya) and son ( Raju - an ace photographer ) a few years ago with equanimity. He told a close associate a few days back that, he was content with his “innings” coming to an end and wished a “quiet exit” for himself. His Doctor said, he tried to keep his last days at the ICU normal , listening to music and watching movies on his laptop. He had left strict instructions that the press should not be informed of his death before he was cremated. He had said "no" to condolence meetings. Amol Palekar remarked, “he wanted space for himself and we should allow him that.” Now, I understand – he didn’t need to read the Gita because he truly lived it.

(Vijay Tendulkar passed away at a Pune hospital on Monday - the 19th of May, 2008. He was 80)

A Gandhi without the Gandhi Cap

Ramu Gandhi, I would often joke, was my inspiration and role-model at the IIC..... Bar.

He would unfailingly make his entry into the bar at the dot of
7.30 every evening, 360days of the year ( the remaining 5 being "dry
days"....including, notably, the birthday of his grand-father – the rare occasions when he probably tippled at home ) – after completing his daily walk and evening meditation in the Lodi Gardens.

He would come in with his own plastic chair ( which he carried around all over the IIC - including the haloed tea-lounge ) and place it in a pre-assigned
corner at the end of the bar-counter against a pillar, which was
reserved for him by tradition and grant audience selectively to
a favoured few (one for the archives was when, a few months back,
his brother Gopal - the Governor of West Bengal came calling upon him
- in his full gubernatorial attire and ADC in tow - he was made to
stand at a respectful distance). He always ordered 3 drinks at a time
(usually Old Monk Rum ) and mixed them in some patented proportion
with water and soda. He would be the last to leave the bar - long
after the final call and the closing bell.

After that, he would adjourn to the portico (with his chair ) to have
a pre-ordered packed dinner from the main kitchen
before setting off for the day to, what I have been told, his tiny abode near Bengali Market.

His untimely and sudden departure has left me, and many others of a similar disposition – I suspect, nearly orphaned, even before I was able complete my full induction. Or probably - he was only too relieved at finally finding a worthy apostle in whom he could safely hand-over his mantle, nay the bottle....

It was only befitting that, he passed away at the IIC which in
many ways had become his home and last port of call. I saw him only
last week before leaving for Pune....and, didn’t imagine he won’t be around when I return.

I am sure, many like me would out of sheer force of habit look for him each time at his appointed corner, while entering the IIC Bar... Anywhere else in the world, for someone who had become a veritable institution like him ( and of such distinguished lineage - the grandson of Mahatma Gandhi and C Rajagopalachari - from his mom's side ) , the gentry would have no doubt proposed, keeping his chair in the same corner and his photo above it on the wall or even rename the Bar after him. But, bureaucratic constraints and political proclivities of the IIC apart, Ramu certainly would never have approved of such a proposal ( and, probably would have gone on a Satyagraha from whichever world he has been transported to).

In a touching obit – Sanjaya Baru – the PM’s Press Advisor, described him as an “Iconoclastic Icon” – A Gandhi but not a Gandhian. He couldn’t have summed him up better.