‘I’m just Nigam for you. Cut the ‘Mr’ out. No need for formality,’ opined Nigam Prakash, a retired Indian Foreign Service officer. ‘Don’t we know each other well over the past two sitting?’ asks he as we sip piping hot tea seated on the verandah of the India International Centre, the prestigious watering hole of India’s power elite, on Lodhi Road.He’s just plain. Simple. I watch him closely as he niftily lifts a potato wafer from the porcelain plate and scoop a bit of Tomato sauce from another plate kept near me. Soon I hear the crunchy wafer getting crushed inside his oral trapdoor.
‘How is the toasted cheese sandwich?’ Again Nigam. He recommended that I try this out, a favourite with many regulars at IIC. This is was my second sitting with him in the past 72 hours as we explore. I did not cherish the cheesed sandwich. Can I afford to be impolite to the diplomat? What diplomat? Is he not an ex? Don’t be fussy, I tell myself. Be straight. Tell him the truth. The journalist in me raises his head. Cool, Cool. ‘It’s fine. But it’s a bit heavy,” I respond. Before he recommends another serving, I politely move the plate away. Quietly my hands move towards his vegetable sandwich plate to pick up one quarter. In no time, it is melting in my mouth. Divine feeling.
Nigam was born hardly 24 hours before Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi – Yes, India’s father of Nation – launched the Quit India movement. ‘Possibly I heard his call to quit the country from my mother’s womb!,’ jokes the tall and lean bespectacled 1962 IFS cadre officer who had spent most of his life outside India serving India’s interests in far off lands. His last posting was at Buenos Aires, the capital of Argentina where he served for a six-year long stint – the longest stay at a single posting in his career.
In my first sitting with him, when we sat inside the airconditioned cafeteria at IIC, both were a bit stiff. Very formal and quite business like. Though hungry, I politely declined his offer of sandwich or hot pakoras. Nevertheless, I had partaken a quarter of slice with yummy salad and hot cuppa by the time we parted. When we left that day, we never knew that we would come together again so soon. But it so happened, we were together again in a jiffy.
One thing I must confess. He is possibly the only person who had beaten me on punctuality. For a 4 p.m. appointment, I meet him at the parking lot 10 minutes before the deadline on day one. Second time, I reach 30 minutes early – again for a 4 p.m. rendezvous. As I gingerly amble across the empty IIC reception desk, I see him occupying a cane chair in the open air space under shades. Shucks! Beaten again. Next time, I must reach an hour earlier with a prayer on my lips that he does not turn up before me! Don’t be in business, if you cannot manage your time properly. If you fix a programme, better stick to it. No excuses, please!
‘Hi,” he waves at me with a cigarette dangling between his lips. ‘National Security’, screams a library edition book lying on the lawns near him. On the way for this meeting, I had decided that let me play the journo role to perfection. No business-like postures: Maybe I am too raw to play that role. Journo will be a cakewalk.
By the way, what is journo role? Simple. Make the other party feel comfortable. Loosen him/her up with light banter. Absolutely go for a freewheeling conversation. Talk anything and everything under the sun. Play by ear. No structured agenda. Not a formal q&a session. Just be yourself, I tell myself.
“What were you doing in Argentina of all places?,” is my opening gambit. That too for six years. ‘A beautiful country. As big as India, you can say… The full credit goes to my daughter…” responds Nigam. Daughter? What’s this mystery? Could not help asking the inevitable ‘how?’.
Nigam’s second daughter was studying in British School and one fine morning told her diplomat father that the best British School in the world is in Buneos Aires. So what? asked the dad. She wanted to pursue higher studies in the US/Canada and felt a hop from South America will be better and quicker. Who told you so?, asked the father. Another highly placed officer’s ward, her classmate, was the one planting the seeds of Nigam’s Argentina plans. Anyhow, he did not pursue. During a casual meeting with his senior colleague in the foreign ministry, Nigam was stumped when he was asked: ‘I am hearing that you are looking for Argentina posting.” Nigam’s daughter was lobbying hard behind his back on his behalf. After all, she is a diplomat’s daughter and knows how to lobby. The rest, as they say, is history.
Do you know Tagore spent three months in Argentina? Nigam asks.
You mean Rabindranath Tagore? I demand and Ambassador Nigam (that is how he is introduced to me by a mutual friend) nods his head affirming that is the truth.
What was Tagore doing in Argentina? According to Manishankar Aiyer, a cabinet minister in the present government and a former IFS officer, Tagore had fallen sick on his way to Peru and spent time in Buenos Aires for three months under the care and watchful eyes of the government. After all, he was the Nobel Prize winner for literature and a friend of the British. Incidentally, Mani was Nigam’s senior batchmate. Another interesting fact: Nigam had played Mani’s father in one of the stage plays and they maintain that father-son relationship even today. ‘Mind you, I am younger to him at least by 2 years,’ reminds Nigam.
A lot of stuff he had shared with me on Argentina is meant for my ears only. Too hot and will be impolite to share with one and all. Maybe Nigam is planning a Memoir. ‘Don’t know… I love poetry,” interjects as he seems to be in an open-sesame mood. Twinkling and smiling eyes. Relaxed posture. Tea pot gets empty in double quick time and sandwiches are vanishing.
What about his Gulf stint? That’s another story.
