Jyoti Basu and I: A tête-à-tête with history

It was around seven in the evening. I was busy polishing my day’s last copy before submitting it to the copy desk. Suddenly Sujit-da (Sujit Roy), the then Deputy Chief of Bureau at The Asian Age, summoned me to his cabin. The general elections were just around the corner. And all reporters in the Kolkata bureau were supposed to meet Sujit-da to chalk out a coverage plan, a routine affair before elections. I saved my copy in my folder and headed for Sujit-da’s cabin without the faintest idea about what was in store for me.

May 2004, the BJP-led National Democratic Alliance (NDA) government had deluged every possible media outlet with their ‘India Shining’ campaign. India was on the brink of history. It was supposed to be an election to be fought and won on development plank, the first in its near six-decade long history. Elections had been fought and dictated by emotional outbursts – independence, death of an iconic leader, war victories, emergency et al – but never by basic issues affecting the life and livelihood of people. The changing times have victimised many a tradition, and India’s electoral politics was no different. We, the so-called intellectuals, tied to our cosy chairs in our well-maintained, air-conditioned offices were savouring the change. The NDA was riding high on India’s economic growth. The Congress was sliding down our memory lanes. And fringe players such as the Left Front and its ‘secular allies’ were trying to stay relevant on India’s electoral map.

I entered Sujit-da’s cabin and, to my shock, realised that I was the only one to have been summoned. He was busy on a call. I took my seat and waited anxiously for his call to end. I could sense trouble. Did I miss any story? (I was covering the Writers’ Buildings, the citadel of Bengal’s power politics, at that time. And I strongly believe that it’s the toughest beat after crime, especially in Bengal). It was quite difficult for reporters to go unscathed after missing a story, no matter how small or insignificant they were. Like a true old school journalist, Sujit-da used to minutely go through each and every story, especially those concerning Bengal, in several mainstream dailies.

Sujit-da put down the phone. And I could sense an adrenaline rush in me. “We are doing a story on the elections and likely post-poll alliances,” he continued, “please call up Jyoti-babu for his opinion. I have already reserved some space for it on the front page”. A chill ran down my spine. What are you saying? You expect me to call up Jyoti-babu and seek his opinion on the unfolding scenario? I wanted to tell him, but could not. Sujit-da sensed the dilemma brewing within me. “Don’t worry, you are a journalist. In the worst case, he will not talk to you.” He tried to assuage my fears. “But, you have already reserved a place for it,” I retorted. “Just get going. Leave the rest to me,” he told and turned to his computer screen. I took tortoise steps out of his room towards history, in the truest sense.

Jyoti Basu was no more the Chief Minister of West Bengal. He had stepped down in 2002 citing ill health and had handed over the baton to the incumbent Buddhadeb Bhattacharjee. But, he remained a Marxist icon, around whom Bengal politics was still moving. A call from Jyoti Basu could still unite the otherwise bickering Left partners in a jiffy. He commanded enormous authority, not just in Bengal politics but also in national politics – so much so that he had almost become the first Communist as well as Bengali prime minister of India in 1996.

I fetched Dial, a telephone directory published by Ganashakti, the CPI(M)’s mouthpiece, to search for Jyoti Babu’s residence telephone number. I slowly dialled the number. The phone rang. I was sweating like a pig. My legs trembled. What should I ask him? Maybe, his opinion on NDA’s India Shining claims, maybe a possible post-poll alliance with the Congress. The phone stopped ringing after a few seconds. Someone had picked up the phone. It was probably Joy Krishna Ghosh, Jyoti-babu’s confidential assistant, a party whole-timer who stood by him wherever he was until his death. “Hello, aami Jyoti-babu’r saathe ektu katha bolte pari? (Can I speak with Jyoti-babu, please?). “Yes, but who are you?,” the voice on the other side replied. Who am I? An ordinary citizen who had been under Jyoti Basu’s rule since birth…who had never dreamt of coming closer to him, leave alone a conversation. I recalled Sujit-da’s assurances, gathered some confidence, and told the person on the other side of the phone that I was calling from The Asian Age and I wanted to talk to Jyoti Basu for five minutes. The person on the other side asked me to hold on for a moment. I felt a sense of relief, as I was almost certain that Jyoti babu will refuse to talk to me, and the person on the other side would come back and apprise me of Jyoti-babu’s inability due to lack of time.

My relief was short-lived. Or for that matter the sense of it. “Hello, bolun, ami Jyoti-babu bolchhi”. (Jyoti babu this side, tell me). His firm voice scared the shit out of me, almost. But, somehow, I could gather my courage and finally I entered into a tête-à-tête with history.

“Hello, I am Raj, a journalist with the Asian Age.”

“Good, so what do you want to know?” he asked.

“Are you entering into an alliance with the Congress?”

“No. They will remain our main opponents in West Bengal, Kerala and Tripura. Our party’s stand is that we will extend support to secular candidates where we are not a significant force to stop the communal forces from coming to power. We are not going for any seat adjustments, either.”

“Will you extend support to Congress to form a government at the centre, if the NDA fails to cross the 272 mark (the Lok Sabha, India’s lower house, has 543 seats. A party or an alliance must secure 272 seats to form government),” I asked, keeping in mind Sujit-da’s golden advice: be to the point and don’t interrupt while he spoke.

“That comes much later. We will discuss when the time comes. First, the Congress will have to check its slide. We are not here to resurrect the Congress. We have fought the Congress since independence. We are still opposed to their economic policies. But, at present, the Congress is a lesser evil than the BJP.”

The conversation continued for ten minutes. I could sense that the ‘India Shining’ campaign had hardly any effect on the nonagenarian Marxist icon. He was quite convinced that the NDA will be defeated and a secular government will come to power, a minority view at that time with the media and the so-called intellectuals going gaga over India’s achievement under the NDA regime. But, he could sense the pulse of a billion. That was his strength. He knew India wasn’t shining; Bharat was actually crumbling. Although some people had moved up the social ladder, a majority was struggling to make both ends meet. India was growing at a scorching pace, but the fruits of economic development were not trickling down to the bottom.

In between the serious political discussions, there were some private discussions, which I prefer to keep it private. Those were my moments with history, which did not have any bearing on public life. Let them remain private. Finally, I could not resist asking him the question that remained a festering wound refusing to heal until his death.

“Will you become Prime Minister, if the need arises again?”

“That’s a closed chapter,” he replied and put down the phone.

I realized that I had infringed into a disputed territory. But, by that time, I had gathered enough to write a full-fledged story. I rearranged my notes, typed them and mailed it to Sujit-da. After a couple of minutes, I went to Sujit-da’s cabin to seek his permission to leave for the day. “So, how did it go?” he asked. “Amazing!”, I replied. “Can you imagine we had conversation on my career?”, I said. “That’s Jyoti-babu my dear, always expect the unexpected,” Sujit-da replied with a grin on his face.

I stepped out of the office and headed towards the nearest Maidan metro station to avail the last metro. A taxi suddenly stopped by me. And without a second thought, I boarded the taxi. It was a luxury that time for a cub reporter drawing a paltry four-figure monthly salary, yet I could not resist the temptation to cherish those royal moments with history alone on my way back home.

What happened in 2004 is history. The NDA was uprooted from power, turning the multi-crore ‘India Shining’ campaign into a mockery. A new United Progressive Alliance government under the leadership of Manmohan Singh took charge. The Left parties extended their support to the government from outside. But, his party didn’t bother to consult him in 2009 and withdrew support from the government on the Indo-US nuclear deal, hardly any issue in a country where a vast section of the people still do not have access to bijli, sadak and paani (electricity, roads and water). The Congress came back to power riding on the success of the National Rural Employment Guarantee Scheme, which many, even in the ruling coalition, believe was the Left’s brainchild.

Jyoti Basu is no more, but I will cherish this conversation until I breathe my last. Today morning, when the news about his death broke out and I expressed my grief through social networking sites, some of my friends asked me – did he do more harm than good to Bengal? Maybe yes, maybe no – you may love him, you may hate him but you can’t ignore him. That’s Jyoti Basu. Red Salute.