In remembrance of India’s Prince Charming

I was surprised when Rajiv Gandhi inquired if I had my meals and offered some chocolates

Twenty-nine years ago, on May 21, 1991, India lost its youngest Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi in a dastardly attack. Described as ‘Prince Charming’, he contributed to the country’s development, including introducing it to the world of the internet. But, as a tribute to him, I propose to dwell only on his personality and qualities, which I observed during my eight-day stay with him in March 1990.

He had taken me exclusively on a trip when we stayed together in Zambia and Namibia, touching London on way back home. Rajiv was going to Windhoek to attend Namibia’s Independence Day celebrations as president of the Indian National Congress. The government was represented by the then Prime Minister, VP Singh.

Flying from Delhi to Mumbai thence to Zambia’s capital Lusaka in economy class, we reached the Presidential Palace. Setting aside protocol, the then Zambian President Dr Kenneth Kaunda placed his arm around Rajiv’s shoulders as he came down his palace. That reminded me of how in the Indian context, such affection is given by an elderly uncle to his young nephew.

Yes, to Dr Kaunda, Rajiv was his ‘bhanja’ (nephew), son of ‘sister’ Indira Gandhi, with whom he had worked closely in the Non-Aligned Movement (NAM). The trip provided me with an opportunity to watch from proximity how people abroad viewed him and showered affection on a person who was equally loved at home.

In Windhoek, when Independence celebration tableaux were being taken out, Rajiv’s car escorted by pilots got stuck in the crowd. “Hey, it’s Rajiv Gandhi,” shouted a white cameraman triumphantly to his colleague. They discovered a good ‘subject’ despite the half-closed and tinted windows of the car. The overzealous cameraman almost touched Rajiv’s sharp nose with his camera’s tele lens for a close-up.

Instant star attraction

In Zambia, Namibia and even in London, Rajiv was an instant star attraction. He never had to stick out his face to be seen. He was spotted by people everywhere.

During one of the flights, I was recording an interview with him sitting by his side in economy class, on an old tape recorder, which was behaving erratically. He took it from my hand, examined it and said, “What a rotten recorder you have brought.” Then he said, “I will help you buy a new one either in Windhoek or London.”

At Lusaka airport, I was buying some mementos at a souvenir shop. When I was making the payment Rajiv held back my hand saying, “Don’t worry. These are on me.” I am preserving them as precious gifts to cherish his memory. While I was preparing a dispatch in Kalahari Sands Hotel, the biggest one in Windhoek, an Indian diplomat came to inform me that Mr Gandhi wanted to see me. I was simply surprised when Rajiv inquired if I had my meals and then offered some chocolates of which he himself was quite crazy about.

In fact, his charming personality and demeanour laced with an infectious smile were his greatest assets, which won him many friends whether he was in or out of his office. Who knew that 14 months from then, the same charming face would be mutilated beyond recognition and that, if exposed, his admirers would have been shocked to see whatever was left of him.