It was 26 years ago that I first met Basty Premanand Shenoy — a quick-witted, eager beaver sexagenarian. We took off famously from the word go. What made our conversation especially riveting was our shared native ‘roots,’ not to speak of our common lingo, Kannada. That he had a fabulous memory was one thing — but, what took the cake was his interminable repertoire of factual stories from the past. Shenoy Uncle, as I called him, was, for a long time, the top guy, also a specialist, with a petroleum major. He was now leading a quiet life. He doted on his son, Kiron, a corporate honcho, my great friend, also soul brother.
I’d meet Shenoy Uncle during weekends — but, once in a while — and, I’d always look forward to his stirring anecdotes, or glimpses, from his ‘archives.’ Our tête-à-têtes would last for some time, or more — and, I’d yearn for our next with animated enthusiasm. The best part — a plethora of stories, all real accounts, reside perpetually in my memory, years after he’d told them, but the most fascinating of them all, which is also my all-time favourite, relates to his ‘tryst’ with Jawaharlal Nehru, our first prime minister, scholar, author and statesman — who was born, November 14, 1889.
Shenoy Uncle’s gripping narration was captivating. He was once in charge of work, in New Delhi, close to the area where Nehru’s private plane was slated to land. He quickly communicated to the authorities that there was just no question of landing for a while. His terse message was radioed to the pilot. He’d no choice, but to circle in air, and await the ‘all-clear.’ Nehru, a man famed for his mercurial temper, who was with a visiting British dignitary, a Duke, was getting pumped up. He was furious with what was happening, or not happening. His adrenaline had, perhaps, reached its crescendo.
When the plane landed, Nehru stormed out. He’d turned crimson. He ‘hit it’ straight to where Shenoy Uncle was packing up after a hard day out. He just let it ‘roll:’ “Aap kaun hai; aur kya ho raha hai?” [“Who are you, and what’s going on?”]. Shenoy Uncle, always the natural wit, responded ever so gently, “Main Goud Saraswat Brahmin hoon” [“I’m a Goud Saraswat Brahmin”]. His articulation, “I knew about Nehru’s famed temper. I also knew that he’d cool down just as quickly.” Nehru was, perhaps, mystified. He loved humour in fiddly situations. His anger melted—like always. It was a given that Nehru would ‘blast,’ as it were, when something would irk him. He’d, however, be his usual charming self, the next moment. He quickly enquired as to what had delayed things, and said, “That’s okay. You did your job.” There’s no trace of resentment. This was his greatness.
It would be apt to paraphrase the late UN Secretary General U Thant, in the context, “Nehru was one of the greatest torch-bearers of new concepts, new approaches, and new attitudes towards new problems. He realised more than anybody else that the old concepts etc., were facing a completely new set of circumstances. He, therefore, tried to lead humanity to new concepts with the needs and circumstances of our times. If he had bitterness, if he had temper, I believe they were directed against bigotry, fanaticism and extremism for which he had no tolerance. It’s universally recognised that Nehru was endowed with great wisdom and great moral virtues. His greatness lay in the fact that he was so adaptable and he was so capable of adjusting himself to new environments and new conditions that he was a tower of strength both in regard to intellect as well as in regard to moral values.”
There was yet another tryst waiting, four years down the line. Nehru was given a grand welcome in Guwahati — the inauguration of a new project. Shenoy Uncle was part of the reception committee. He was standing close to the podium. There were several others too, but Nehru, who’d have met a multitude of people, from every walk of life, during the interregnum, strolled briskly towards the podium. He paused suddenly, for just a second. He had recognised Shenoy Uncle in a flash. He now looked at him and said with a grin, “Hum bhi Goud Saraswat Brahmin hai” [“I’m also a Goud Saraswat Brahmin”]. Shenoy Uncle could not believe it — he was flummoxed, lock, stock and barrel. He quietly escorted Nehru to the podium. Nehru stopped and smiled, again. He’d touched the railing now, where the paint was still fresh, and it stuck to his palms. He remarked, “This is for me, because I was coming and inaugurating [the project].’”
When the event was over, most of Shenoy Uncle’s colleagues and others who had noticed Nehru’s ‘repartee’ with him were curious to know what it was all about. Shenoy Uncle told them that the prime minister asked him a few routine questions — and, that’s it. He thought it was best, at that time, to keep it private. He told me that there’s no way that he’d garner mileage and/or pretend that he knew the great man well, lest anyone coaxed him for favours, or whatever. Shenoy Uncle was a man of principles — a Nehruvian to the core. A sepia-toned photograph with Nehru adorned his drawing room. He would always sit close to it when we would meet.
He admired Nehru and respected him immensely. That amazing rendezvous with Nehru was personal, also ‘bespoke’ — not for popular pizazz.
— First published in Madras Courier
