Hell hath no fury like a man scorned. The old saying has been tweaked a bit to describe Konijeti Rosaiah who was all fire and brimstone on this particular occasion. 

He was angry. Furious is more like it.

Niceties did not matter anymore. He had run out of patience. In fact, his patience was put to test beyond measure. Unreasonably.

The senior Congress leader was known to shout his vocal cords dry if it meant he had to convey something to an audience that would not understand what could be understood when explained with simple words and in a matter-of-fact way. He would rip apart anyone with his acerbic tongue, and especially in the assembly, with high decibel levels.  In short, there can never be a dull moment when the seasoned politician takes to the mike to speak.

And here was the mike. The whole nation was hooked on to the television. The results of the 1998 parliamentary elections were pouring in. I was associated with a team that was coordinating politicians in Hyderabad to appear on national television. As the results were being announced and analysed on Doordarshan, the team in Delhi desired that we have a senior Congress leader on board and join the panel at the Doordarshan studios at Ramanthapur.

I could immediately think of only one name. Senior Congress leader, Konijeti Rosaiah, a much respected and knowledgeable leader who would mince no words to speak his mind. I called up his house. Mobile phones had only just about come in the market. But it was still only landlines to get across to people.

When the phone rank, someone picked up the phone at his residence and informed that he had gone out. I was asked to try again. Five minutes seemed forever. When I called again, he was just stepping into the house. “Sir, I’d like you to participate in a discussion on the election results,” I told Rosaiah. “You have to come to Doordarshan at Ramathanpur,” I told him. “I’ve just returned from somewhere…” he said. “Sir, this is important and I called you because you are the right person,” I told him. “Since you are requesting so much, I will be there,” he said.

That was a big relief. It was promptly conveyed to the studio in Delhi that Rosaiah was on his way.  The coordinator from Delhi kept enquiring every few minutes if he had arrived at the Doordarshan Studios at Ramanthapur. His arrival was much awaited. Panels of politicians in different cities were being interviewed by the anchors in Delhi.

I received Rosaiah as soon as his car entered the premises. We walked to the podium where he was to sit and I explained to him that the anchors in Delhi had actually been waiting for him. Delhi was informed, and they could see, that Rosaiah was seated and ready to take question. “We’ll come to him in five minutes,” they informed. I went to Rosaiah as whispered that in his ear. Delhi next went to another city. Then, they got connected to another city. And next, the panellists in Delhi went about discussing the results among themselves.

We called up Delhi in desperation. “Rosaiah is a senior politician and very well respected. He has obliged our request to come. You cannot delay him further,” the coordinator was told from Hyderabad. “The panel will speak to him next,” the coordinator assured. On the split screen, you could see the central panel anchors and panels of politicians seated in different cities. In one of the panels, Rosaiah too was seen. He also could see it himself.

Half an hour elapsed.

One hour.

One-and-a-half hours.

Delhi kept repeating the assurance mechanically.

With his lips pursed tight, one could make out that Rosaiah was feeling restless. It was like his time was being taken for granted. I walked up to him again to reassure that we had been informed that in a couple of minutes, it would be his turn to answer questions from the anchors in Delhi.

Another half an hour elapsed.

Delhi was being cruel. As I was walking towards Rosaiah (of course, to assure him that his turn was next to speak), he flew into a rage. He pulled out the wires of the microphone and flung them on the table. The towering personality that he was, Rosaiah rose to his full height, showed disgust and anger and got down the podium. All this was happening on live television. I rushed towards him. Not to stop him but to prevent him from slipping.  Or accidentally tripping on the wires.

I accompanied Rosaiah till his car. The expression on my face was enough for him to understand how I myself was feeling bad at Delhi’s behaviour. Though seething with anger, Rosaiah did not give vent to his feelings of anger or hurt on me. He chose not to hurt me. 

Adieu Rosaiah garu.

(Konijeti Rosaiah passed away on December 4, 2021. A Congress leader, he was an MLA, MLC, MP and went on to become chief minister of Andhra Pradesh. He also served as Governor of Tamil Nadu and Karnataka). He served for a record number of times as finance minister in erstwhile Andhra Pradesh. He was 88 when he passed away in his sleep.)  

 

“How does one kill a cockroach?” Jyotirmaya Sharma asked. This was during one of the morning meetings we used to have with him as Resident Editor of The Times of India, Hyderabad. This meeting with heads of departments would not be just about work. Philosophy would always take centre-stage.

So, how does one kill a cockroach? Everyone sitting in his chamber for the meeting knew how they killed a cockroach. Jyotirmaya Sharma himself knew how people killed a cockroach. If he had a question, he also had an answer. “If a cockroach has to be killed, just use the little amount of force one would need to,” he said. Beyond that ‘little amount of force’ would mean ‘excessive violence’, is what I understand. That is because some stamp on it. Some stomp on it. Some crush it to death as if with vengeance.

More about Jyotirmaya Sharma’s philosophy. He called me aside one day. “Just stand by him. Be his comfort,” he advised me. It was supposed to be the colleague’s last day in office. Jyotirmaya Sharma understood the emotional upheaval that the colleague was going through and suggested that I sort of be a balm at that moment.

Why have I cited these two incidents? It is to bring to the fore the man’s principles of not seeing someone or something hurt. His latest book ‘Elusive non-violence – the making and unmaking of Gandhi’s religion of ahimsa’ is something that only someone of his stature in thinking could have written. Every page by Jyotirmaya Sharma who is a professor of political science at the University of Hyderabad, is rich and goes to show how much of research went into it for more than a decade.

If one has a perception of Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, also commonly referred to as the ‘Mahatma’ or described as ‘the father of the nation’, the book which throws a lot of insight into the personality and philosophy of Gandhi, is bound to alter some of the perceptions one has of him. Jyotirmaya Sharma produces evidence in the form of people who questioned Gandhi on some matters and the responses they got from him.

One wonders if Gandhi had come under attack from Jyotirmaya Sharma. It does not happen blatantly. If that is the impression one tends to get, it is only based on the arguments put forward by several people and how Gandhi chooses to project himself through his various writings. By opening up some windows, Jyotirmaya Sharma facilitates us take a peek into Gandhi’s thinking and form an opinion.

On a personal front, let me vouch for the fact that Jyotirmaya Sharma encouraged one to develop an opinion. Not just develop it and express it. In the right way, in the proper format. “It is simple child,” he once said to me. “One should not assume that writing an editorial is a difficult task,” he said to me. During the period that he was Resident Editor of The Times of India, Hyderabad in the early 2000s, I wrote a few editorials. He explained a few simple steps and made writing editorials look like child’s play. Of course, one had to have a concrete subject, concrete thoughts and valid points to base an opinion on. He guided me to write all those editorials, most of the times, making little intervention. There would always be a pat on the back.

Appreciative as he always was, he made sure my name appeared in the imprint line as Editorial Coordinator when we launched the ‘Entertainment’ supplement which was a weekly. Lunch at some of the star hotels with him was frequent. There was no need for an ‘occasion’ as such to go out for lunch. He would never allow me to pay.

In one of his earlier books, he also mentioned my name, along with the names of a few other colleagues – which only goes to show his large-heart.  I also remember the lunch he used to host at his house. An art aficionado, he would display the art that he bought in his drawing room, and also other rooms. So, it was not just about lunch but about admiring the art and the philosophy of the artist, if we chose to understand the art, and the man who bought it.

With the kind of philosophy, he was dictated by and the approach he had, Jyotirmaya Sharma can be credited with managing to do a coup of sorts. At a get together organised by the newspaper for the top brass of the political leadership, bureaucrats and society, he got Y S Rajasekhar Reddy and N Chandrababu Naidu to share the same dinner table.

They were supposed to be political rivals but Jyotirmaya Sharma wanted that both attend the dinner. It was tricky. Chandrababu Naidu would have preferred to put in an appearance and leave before Y S Rajasekhara Reddy came.  Such was his persuasive power, logic and goodwill that both Naidu and YSR agreed to not only share the dinner table but spent more than an hour chatting, joking and just being like how they were when they were friends several decades ago when they both began their political career. If political differences existed they did, but for Jyotirmaya Sharma, life was all about being human first.  

Let me come back to the book. What is also striking about his latest book ‘Elusive non-violence’ is that he leaves us at a place where we would have wanted to continue to read. He makes no conclusion. He keeps his subject open-ended. Which means, he does not want to force his philosophy down the throat of his reader. Much respect. Allow me one more say here. Jyotirmaya Sharma also gave me the opportunity to compile the ‘Sacred Space’ column which appears in the editorial page of TOI. During the period that I did this for several months, I was exposed to the thinking of various philosophers. It widened the horizon of my thinking. Significantly, he also came up with another addition. It used to be called ‘Raja dharma’. It would be a quote from anyone famous, from among the sages of the yore, or even modern and respected thinkers. But that had to be something relevant to that particular day’s happenings – mainly political. That too was a learning experience.

The last time I met Jyotirmaya Sharma was in 2004 for a small farewell lunch a few of us had for him. This year, that is in 2021, I watched his interview in The Times Literary Fest online talk about his latest book. I promptly placed an order for the book. The book has been so engrossing that I would pick it up as soon as I finished the day’s work. So, if my son who is in London would call to speak to me, my wife’s first response would be: He’s engrossed in reading ‘Elusive non-violence’.

 

 

Not that anyone expects that all politicians give all right answers all the time. They are adept at dismissing questions. Ignoring them. Poking fun at them. Digressing and not giving a direct answer. And attributing motives to the person posing the question.

Communal clashes had broken out at Musheerabad in Hyderabad. This was unprecedented. Despite such incidents in the old city, Musheerabad was largely incident-free. But not this time.

Nedurumalli Janardhana Reddy was chief minister of the erstwhile united Andhra Pradesh from  December 17, 1990 to October 9, 1992 when the incident occurred.

When a communal situation flared up at Musheerabad, Janardhana Reddy quickly chose to visit the place. Ostensibly, it was to reassure the general public that the situation was under control and that they should also not give scope for communal elements and anti-social elements to take advantage. He said the police would handle the situation and ensure there was peace and sought the cooperation of the public. The chief minister addressed the people from an open top vehicle.

“Is your presence here to embolden the perpetrators of the communal violence and those behind the scenes?” I asked. Janardhana Reddy down to listen to my question as I walked along his vehicle. The question upset him. He was infuriated. Instead of giving me a reply, he took the mike, and in the hearing of all people said: “You are a cynical person.”

Was I? The talk that did the rounds, the interpretation that was given to his visit and the questions that were being raised in connection with his visit were all the basis for my asking the chief minister the question to his face.

Not that I had any doubt about his sincerity in wanting to handle the situation well so that it does not snowball but little did I expect that I would be publicly put to shame for asking a question as harmless as I thought it was.

In hindsight, I felt the chief minister was justified in his reaction. I’d meant no offence but wasn’t his reaction disproportionate? I wondered about it.

I had a question. He had a response. Both of us played our roles.

 “You have to pay me Rs 5,” R K Laxman told me. Sternly. Firmly. Looking at me straight in the eye. “Of course, of course,” I said reassuring the ‘uncommon man’ as I watched a smile escape his lips. And so, I perched myself on the hand rest of the sofa in which he was sitting. The photograph was clicked. I asked for another click. This time I squatted on the floor. Better.  “Now, you have to pay me Rs 10,” Laxman said. “Because you clicked two photographs when you asked for one!” Laxman said as he guffawed. The world knew his sense of humour. I experienced it directly. No money was paid – needless to mention – it was not expected as R K Laxman was being the best of himself – humorous.

We built a rapport because of an incident that had taken place just a few minutes before that. The legendary cartoonist had flown down from Mumbai and walked into my office, The Times of India, Hyderabad office, “Times House” on Road no. 3, Banjara hills, for a meeting several years ago. He was invited and accompanied by a former IAS officer who was heading the programme.

And then, a shocker. A security person, like it is the routine, was about to ask Laxman to fill in his details in the register as he was a ‘visitor’. The fact was that all arrangements were made for Laxman to see him through the entire process without a hassle. What happened was that Laxman without waiting for his host to usher him into the office had already stepped inside and the host was left behind by only a few steps.

I was on my way out of the office on a certain work and when I opened the door, here was I face to face with R K Laxman. The security person’s body language indicated that he was wanting to impress upon Laxman to go through some security formalities. The security person did not know who Laxman was. He was only doing his job.

My being there at that moment saved some blushes as I accompanied Laxman into the office with the host who had by then joined. We went into the brand head’s office room. And that is where I asked the branch head, Anil Kumar, to click the pictures of me with Laxman.

On Laxman’s birth centenary on October 24, 2021, I would describe him as a jolly person. That’s not just because of the unexpected and good-humoured demand for Rs 5 and Rs 10 but because of another encounter with him. We spent an evening together a few years before that when I was working for another newspaper. Girish Sanghi and his father Ramsharan Sanghi were there at an artistes-in-residence camp they had organised and Laxman and his wife Kamala were also invited as chief guests. The evening was well spent with Laxman, who in his characteristic style cracking jokes in an informal setting.  

Laxman breathed his last on January 26, 2015 at the age of 93 but lives in. His pithy cartoons are relevant even now and ever will be. As for me I have memories to cherish. 

                  

“Do you know who I am?” he asked. I was amused at the question.

 Was I really expected to answer that question? 

“Of course. I was there when you performed on stage last night. It was you who was singing for the most part of the concert,” I responded. That, as an answer, should have sufficed. Or so, I thought.

“Do you know who you are speaking with?” he asked again. This time, I could notice a bit of amusement on his face.

Just what did the question mean. I had spoken to him on the phone from the hotel lobby. He said I could come over and meet him after 45 minutes. After what seemed like hours of waiting – but not wasting time – I rang his door bell. He opened the door. Smiled. It was a warm welcome. He made me feel comfortable. Then I told Kumar Sanu, who was the rage of the country, how his songs from ‘Ashiqui’ were such a huge hit. Obviously, this was the way to start a conversation with the singer who I was about to interview. It would lead me straight into the topic. There was a concert the previous night at exhibition grounds in Hyderabad and I had attended it. I stood towards the end of the crowd – which was quite a distance away from the stage. It was intentional on my part to choose that place as I could see the crowd reaction too. “You would not have been able to see from the stage how the crowd went gaga,” I explained.

Just then Asha Bhonsle trooped in to the room. “I’m going out and should be back in a couple of hours,” she told him. She trotted out. In the few seconds that she was in the room, I did not think it wise to try to strike a conversation with her as she seemed to be in a hurry. In the given scenario, I thought it would even be impolite to try to exchange pleasantries as she did appear to be in a tearing hurry.  After she left, Kumar Sanu gazed at me. This time, there was a bit of discomfort in his face. If there was some anger which he was probably trying to hide, I could not see it but sense it from the tone of his voice which changed now.

“Who do you want to speak with?” he asked. To me, it appeared as if he was trying hard to be civil.

“Why, of course, Kumar Sanu!” I answered, this time with a little bit of more enthusiasm. Kumar Sanu looked at me for a second. It appeared as if he was taking pity of me. “When you go out of the room,” he began. Was he asking me to get out? Had I spoken what I should not have? Did I put him off in some manner? But hadn’t he himself kept me waiting for 45 minutes to come over for an interview that I had asked that I do with him?

Kumar Sanu’s face was plain. “When you go out of the room, take a left,” he said. He gave me a room number. “That is Kumar Sanu’s room,” he said. My heart pounded. Then who was he? In a split of a second, it became clear to me who he was. He was Sudesh Bhosale. The popular singer had performed on stage the previous night in the concert and I had heard him too. But not seen him clearly. All the while I had been assuming, thinking and taking it for granted that I was speaking with Kumar Sanu when in fact I was talking to Sudesh Bhosale.

“I’m sorry,” I said to Sudesh Bhosale, who I felt, was only too glad to see me off as I had wasted his time. Not only had I wasted his time, nothing can be more offending than talking to him and not recognising his face. I now understood the meaning of the question he repeated three times. “Do you know who I am?” he had asked. Quite clearly, I did not know who he was.

When I entered his room, I should have realised who I was face to face with. Kumar Sanu’s face is unmistakable. He has long hair. When he speaks, you can make out from his voice that it is him. Then what was I blind to?

I went to the room number that Sudesh Bhosale told me and I knocked on the door gently. I wanted to make no mistake this time. A man opened the door. I knew it was him. Kumar Sanu. “I’ve come to meet Kumar Sanu,” I said. Surely, Kumar Sanu would have been amused at what I said because here he was in front of me and I was speaking to him like I was unsure about who I was speaking to. I was being too cautious. “Yes, yes, it’s me. Come in,” he said after I introduced myself. Strictly speaking I had come without an appointment. But he did not mind at all. “Yes, we can speak,” he said as we sat down for a chat.

It was an interesting interview. A memorable one.  

But what about the bungling? How did I go to Sudesh Bhosale’s room initially when I had to meet Kumar Sanu? It was such a stupid thing to do. Quite silly, speaking to Sudesh Bhosale assuming that he was Kumar Sanu.

The mistake happened at the hotel lobby. When I asked for Kumar Sanu’s room extension number, the receptionist put me on to him. I introduced myself as a reporter and that I had come to interview him if he could give me time. Since he was woken up from sleep, he requested that I wait for 45 minutes at the lobby and come over and that would give him time to get ready.

Instead of making me speak to Kumar Sanu on the phone, the receptionist had put me on to Sudesh Bhosale. And this was the beginning of all the confusion. The receptionist had dialled the wrong number. I went to the room number the receptionist gave me and I took it for granted that I was speaking with Kumar Sanu himself. But don’t blame the receptionist. Mistakes happen.

Shouldn’t I have been more familiar with the face of the man I was supposed to interview? Silly me.

(Early 1990s)

              After the fight, a healing touch

That was good because I could also watch the shooting, how he went about his work, and then I could be on my work - which was to talk to him. Several things struck me. First, the manner in which he addressed everyone on the sets showing due respect to everyone - and also affectionate in responding to greetings. It was a fight sequence. The fight master was ready. To me, it looked like a tough thing to do. 

Well, anyway, I was not the one who was acting. So, I waited to see how he would execute the fight. Of course, as a matter of abundant precaution, there was a safety arrangement on the ground. The fight choreographer called for 'action'. I relaxed. Everyone on the sets was alert. The gangsters arrived at the designated place. The hero tackled them in what were well choreographed moves. All of a sudden, there was applause on the sets. The shot had been canned and it was perfect. The hero walked towards me. But took a moment to step back to tap on the shoulders of the fighters to appreciate them for their work. Here was one, when everyone was applauding him on the sets, he appreciated the fighters for their neat execution. They were mighty thrilled. 

The shooting was wrapped up for the day sometime in the afternoon itself. But I was not done with the conversation I was hoping to have with the hero. He understood my predicament. He came up with an idea. "Why don't you travel with me in my car ad we can talk on the way?" he asked. He noticed that I was hesitant. "How did you come?" he enquired. I told him that I had come on my two-wheeler. He did not take even a few seconds to find a solution. "Don't worry about your bike. You will get it at my house," he said. "Can I have the keys please?" he asked gently. I gave them to him. He handed it over to one of the persons in his security and drive back to his house on the two-wheeler. Otherwise, he was supposed to be one of those who followed him in another car behind him. 

I was only too happy with the arrangement. I sat in his car at Koti and we kept talking. I was taking mental notes - because it was not just about writing what he said but what he meant and what would give an insight into his thinking. On the way, he suddenly got distracted. "Take the car to the side and stop," he told the driver. I wondered what had happened. He had noticed something that I hadn't. In fact, I was not even looking outside. His security car also stopped wondering why the boss had taken his car to the side. He called them on the mobile and instructed them what to do. "I just saw that someone met with an accident and the victim is bleeding on the road. Put him in your car and take him to the hospital," he instructed them.

It was a hit and run case and the victim was lying on the road. The motorist who was the cause for the accident had sped away from the scene of offence. A group of people had gathered around the man but it did not appear that they were doing anything to take him to the hospital or give him medical aid. All this he noticed in just a couple of seconds as were in the car. "Take him to the hospital and also pay for his bill. We do not know who he is and whether he has money or not. But take him to the hospital, get him treated and also see to it that he is dropped at his house," he said. 

An unknown person was helped by the hero. The person also was not aware as to who had helped him in distress. 

I kept thinking about how a big star like him and helped a total stranger. But Chiranjeevi did not think he had done any great thing.

 "I did what I thought I should be doing. Those around him were only being spectators when the victim needed help," Chiranjeevi told me as we reached his house.