Bajpai: A brilliant diplomat, a fine friend

Icould never have imagined when I first met Shankar Bajpai that, one day, we would become good friends. It was March 1980. He was ambassador in Pakistan. I was a 24-year-old who had lost interest in his Oxford D Phil and, instead, become attracted to journalism. The Spectator commissioned a cover story on Soviet-occupied Kabul and, en route to Afghanistan, I broke journey in Pakistan. It was my first visit. My cousin Ramesh suggested I contact his friend Shankar.

It was past 7 pm when I hesitantly called. The warmth of Shankar’s response put me at ease. “I have a dinner party tonight and you must come.” I said I didn’t have suitable clothes. “Oh don’t worry. You’ll be fine. I’m sending the car.”

Shankar treated me as an adult — which, of course, I was trying to be — but also someone special. At dinner, he seated me beside the chief guest. I don’t recall his name but I’ll never forget Shankar’s introduction. “I have a feeling this young man will tell you a few truths about India you won’t hear from me!” His eyes were twinkling with mischief — or was it merriment? Years later, I realised this was his trademark expression.

After that first occasion, we didn’t connect for decades. Sometime in the early noughties, our paths crossed again. Shankar was now retired. He invited me to dinner and I accepted without realising how memorable the evening would be.

I discovered Shankar was a consummate host. His dinners were never large and always sit-downs. He would invite an entertaining but varied collection. It could include politicians or diplomats, artistes, authors and academics, even businessmen.

The good and great were often in Shankar’s drawing room. Henry Kissinger was a close friend. Hamid Ansari and S Jaishankar were two others. Vikram Seth was frequently there, softened by the martinis he imbibed. And there was always a generous sprinkling of foreign service officers, many 20 years younger than their host. The guests were chosen because they were interesting, not important.

Shankar would mix the drinks. His martinis were as lethal as they were legendary. But food was his forte. Everything he served was cooked by him. It was always three courses and eaten leisurely. He kept a wonderful table and Meera, his wife, ensured it looked as good.

Conversation was Shankar’s second strength. A gifted raconteur, he had the right anecdote for every occasion. If a thought couldn’t be adequately expressed in English, Shankar would know how to say it in French. He had a turn of phrase that combined cleverness with meaningful sentiment. Last December, when he gave my nephew Vikram and his wife Laila a wedding gift, this is what the card said: “LoVe — will bind both your initials as time will strengthen it. Thank you for letting me know you — and rejuvenating me.”

In recent years, the Bajpais and I dined with each other sometimes three times a month. Covid-19 put a stop to our meetings but not our conversations. Shankar spent his time writing. “If what I’m doing works it could be the start of a memoir. Would you read it?”

I thus discovered Shankar’s writing was as special as everything else about him. It was deliberate but not pretentious. His command of language extensive, his sentence construction artful, he could convey things without actually saying them. A few days later he rang to ask for my opinion. “You have such an engaging style I’d love to read the love letters you wrote Meeraji”. Shankar laughed. “So you think I should continue writing?”

He did. Before falling ill he said he would send more. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. The next we spoke was when he rang from hospital to say he was better. I recognised the number and trilled “Mr Bajpai”. He answered as he often did: “I wish you’d call me Shankar.” I didn’t while he lived. Mr Bajpai felt more appropriate. Now it’s too late.

I shall miss you Shankar. You were a wonderful friend.

THE GOOD AND GREAT WERE OFTEN IN SHANKAR’S DRAWING ROOM. HENRY KISSINGER WAS A CLOSE FRIEND. HAMID ANSARI AND S JAISHANKAR WERE TWO OTHERS. EVERYTHING HE SERVED WAS COOKED BY SHANKAR HIMSELF

Karan Thapar is the author of Devil’s Advocate: The Untold Story The views expressed are personal