IT was a crisp November afternoon last year when I received a call that promised a date with history. Weeks ago, I had contacted Maharaja Krishna Rasgotra – who served as India’s 12th Foreign Secretary (1982-85) – regarding his book, unsure if a meeting would ever be possible.
But now, I was being invited to meet this living repository of diplomatic memory who had turned 100 in September.
At his residence, I walked into a room where history lived. There were many books, and his photographs with nearly every statesman of the 20th century. He greeted me with diplomatic grace and grandeur. With formal courtesies exchanged and a tray of tea placed before us, the conversation was all set to begin. I asked the only question I could think of, still in awe of his presence: “Sir, you had the pleasure of working with Nehru, right?”
He smiled, eyes twinkling, and rolled them slightly as if replaying a cherished memory. “I have very fond memories of him,” he began. He recalled how accessible the Prime Minister was during those days. On a whim, he presented Nehru with a compilation of 25 Hindi poems written by him. He did not expect a response, but the very next morning, he got a letter – Nehru had read all the poems and liked them. Imagine receiving appreciation for your writings from the Prime Minister himself!
By the time the samosas arrived, we had already exceeded our scheduled time, but the real conversation had only just begun. As the mood turned light, Mr Rasgotra shared a delightful anecdote. “Once, our ambassador to China received a call from a senior US diplomat. As the ambassador was away, his guard answered the phone. The guard, known for his tendency to get names wrong, later informed him, ‘Sir, some Kishen Singh from California had called.’ The ambassador was amused and quick to realise that it was none other than Henry Kissinger!” Chuckles followed.
There I was, a 20-year-old college student, in deep conversation with a 100-year-old former diplomat. It felt surreal. Our two-hour-long meeting was a master class in diplomacy, history and geopolitics.
Just before I left, I handed him a copy of his book for his signature. He looked at it and asked, “Is this still being sold?” I replied, “Of course, sir.” When I mentioned that I had ordered it from Amazon, he paused and asked with curiosity, “Is Amazon a bookstore somewhere?” For a moment, I considered explaining the whole concept to him – and then chose not to. Some mysteries are better left untouched.
It was already dark outside. As I took his leave, promising to return, I realised something profound: between bites of samosas and sips of tea, the pages of history had turned themselves.