In January 2015, I was in Baroda when an
‘unknown’ number flashed on my mobile. Thinking it was a friend from abroad
whose number normally doesn’t show up, I greeted him exuberantly expecting a
similar response.
Instead, the voice on the other end said,
‘This is Manohar.’ Puzzled, I rather curtly replied: ‘Who Manohar?’ ‘Parrikar,’
the caller replied.
It was India’s Defence Minister
Manohar Parrikar. He had personally called. From his own mobile. No PA, no
exchange, nobody holding the line. He had simply dialed directly. ‘I want to
meet you,’ he said in a matter of fact tone after I had apologised for being
slightly rude in my initial reaction.
‘Don’t say sorry. We have never spoken before
and my number doesn’t flash. How would you know who is calling,’ Parrikar
pointed out and immediately put me at ease. I told him I was away and would
return to Delhi in the next couple of days.
‘Done. Let’s have lunch on Sunday. I
am staying in Kota House. Please come there around 12 30,’ Parrikar told me. My
next question was, ‘who should I be in touch with?’ ‘No one. You call me.
Please note my number.’ And just like that, my short but memorable association
with Manohar Parrikar begun.
At Kota House, I was ushered in
straight into his suite. A smiling Parrikar, dressed as usual in his trademark
open bush shirt and trousers, instantly put me at ease. After a moment of
awkward silence on my part, Parikkar asked me " Tell me, why does the MoD
function on a principle of mistrust?’
Taken aback at the rather direct remark, I
asked asked him to elaborate. ‘In these two-three months that I have been here,
the most striking aspect I noticed is the all-pervasive atmosphere of
suspicion. Everyone is looking over his or her own shoulders. There is very
little coordination; the overwhelming tendency is to first say no to
everything,’ a visibly agitated Parrikar explained.
I was astonished at how quickly a
newcomer like him (no previous experience at the Centre) had gauged the work
culture in South Block. ‘It has been like this for decades,’ I concurred. What
can be done to improve the system,’ was Parrikar’s next question.
‘Well, there are no ready made solutions,’ I
added.
‘There has to be a solution! I think
the key is in getting everyone to sit down and evolve a fresh approach. I will
call you again to discuss something that I have in mind,’ he said ‘but let’s
not keep the fish waiting, gesturing towards the dining table.
That’s where I first got a glimpse of
his legendary love for fish. As we finished lunch, another point I noted was
the ease with which he interacted with his personal staff. Upendra Joshi and
Mayuresh Khanvate were among the two most trusted of his personal staff. They
also ate with us, sitting on the same dining table.
Later I knew why. When he trusted a person, he
trusted him or her fully. No half measures.
As weeks went by, we met more
frequently—always at his initiative—since I had insisted that I will meet him
only when he wanted. Gradually, his calls started coming daily. He was hungry
for new information, fresh insights. I provided whatever I could with my
limited knowledge.
One day, Parrikar said he wanted to
revise the Defence Procurement Procedure (DPP). Give me some names of experts
who can revise, rewrite and simplify the procedures, he told me.
So I suggested half a dozen names. He chose
four of them for the committee that eventually wrote the DPP 2016. It had many
revolutionary ideas and Parrikar’s stamp was very clearly visible. He overcame
stiff opposition from within to introduce a new category for procurement in the
MoD called IDDM--Indigenously designed, developed and manufactured--products
giving them top priority in acquisition.
I dare say that the improved
transparency in the MoD and the willingness of top officials to meet and
explore collaborations is the lasting legacy Parrikar has left behind in the
South Block.
As months went by, he started calling
me home at 10 Akbar Road. Sometime early morning at 7, many a times after 10
pm, after he had finished with his official work. At night, he would inevitably
share a beer (Bira had become his favourite) and ruminate, bounce off ideas and
sometimes express his frustration about the obstacles he faced in the system.
So much so that even when I went off to Honolulu for the 40-day Advanced
Security Cooperation Course at the Asia-Pacific Centre for Security Studies in
September-October 2015, he would occasionally call from his staff’s Whatsapp
number just to chat.
By middle of 2015, he had understood
what could work in the murky world of defence, and what could not. However, he
was never comfortable in Delhi’s culture of sycophancy. His bungalow was open
to everyone but fixers and influencers.
So I had to be doubly careful since word had spread about my
unrestricted access to India’s defence minister. I must have blocked at least
14-15 numbers in the period that Parrikar was in Delhi because people of
dubious credentials wanted to use my closeness to him. I would inevitably tell
him about who I had blocked. He would smile and say, ‘good!’
Every info was on his fingertips. His
phenomenal memory and eye for detail was clearly evident during my
interactions. Parikkar knew how to extract the best out of a diverse set of
people. He was loved, respected and followed blindly but Goans for over two
decades. He had his faults of course.
For one, he hated to decentralise or delegate.
Calling him control freak would be an exaggeration but because he was a
perfectionist, Parrikar preferred to do most of the work himself. He also
therefore, did not or could not groom second rung political leadership in Goa.
He could also be very acerbic when he wanted.
Parrikar carried the zeal that had made him such an adored leader in his own
state to Delhi but the workload in the MoD was enormous. So he would invariably
wake up at 4 am and not sleep until 11 pm. The punishing routine and the fact
that he worked all seven days a week (five days in Delhi and two days in Goa),
took its toll. He was practically running the MoD and the state of Goa
simultaneously.
When in Delhi, he would miss the
informal Goan way of life. He had to behave formally as defence minister most
of the time. But when Parrikar felt he had to unwind, he would suddenly call
and ask if I was in Delhi and free. If I said yes, he would ask me to request
my wife to cook simple, home- made fish curry and rice and tell me to keep a
couple of bottles of beer in the refrigerator before he arrived. For the next
90 minutes or so, India’s defence minister used to regale us with anecdotes
from his personal life in his typical witty style, forgetting all the burden
that he carried on his shoulders.
We in the family too developed such a close
bond with him that none of us felt he was an outsider. For us, it became an
accepted fact that Parrikar would drop in at home without much notice. Now,
looking back, we have suddenly realised that we don’t even have a single photo
with him in our house although I have many snaps with him in public functions.
As I write this, my eyes well up and
thousands of memories come flooding back. I am an emotional jumble at the
moment but even when I look back after some months, I am sure I will feel the
same way about Parrikar—Bhai to everyone in Goa, but like an elder brother to
me in the two years that I got to know him so closely in Delhi.
To say we will miss him is to state the
obvious but for me the bigger loss is for India as a nation. You went too soon
Manohar Parrikar. Travel well my friend. You will remain an inspiration for
life. The biggest lesson I draw from your life is to remain humble, no matter
what heights you reach.
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