Just Like That | Away from the spotlight, a remarkable President
As a person, R Venkataraman was exceptionally polite, carrying his many distinctions lightly. In his work style, he was a bureaucrat-politician
R Venkataraman was certainly among the few luminaries who have graced the Rashtrapati Bhavan (RB). I had the privilege of serving as his press secretary during his presidency (1987-1992). Venkatraman brought unprecedented experience to that office. He was a member of the Constituent Assembly, a pioneering decade-long minister for industries in the Tamil Nadu government, a four-time member of the Lok Sabha, and a Union minister, at different times, of finance, industry and defence. In 1984, he became Vice-President, and in 1987, the President.
As a person, he was exceptionally polite, carrying his many distinctions lightly. In his work style, he was a bureaucrat-politician. The President has no formal office and usually operates out of one of the formal drawing rooms. But Venkatraman wanted a regular office and converted a smallish room called Shanti Niketan into one. He followed a strict schedule and was a great stickler for time. In the rooms of his senior officers, a light would come on when the President entered his office. It was always at 10am sharp.
My daily time to meet him was at 10.45am, to brief him on any interesting news items and editorials that merited his attention. These meetings became a great learning experience because, often, while hearing a particular point of view on politics or economics, he would launch into a mini-tutorial on the subject. I was also his speechwriter, and his comments or changes to the draft were always illuminating. He took decisions strictly within the ambit of the Constitution, on which he was an expert, working with four Prime Ministers and appointing three. “The President is like an emergency light, which comes into play only when needed,” he would often quip.
Like all great men, Venkatraman too had his idiosyncrasies. When I first met him, he said, “Please remember, I do not want publicity.” This aversion sometimes led him to shun media coverage even when it was necessary. An example of this was his State visit to China in 1992, the first by any Indian President, when he decided no media delegation would accompany him.
I disagreed and consulted joint secretary Gopalkrishna Gandhi, who knew the President like few others did, having served with him since he was Vice-President. His view was that on this matter, the President was unlikely to budge. However, I felt it was my duty to try. When I did, his immediate response was a flat “no”. It required courage to persist, but I sought permission to do so: “Sir, your visit to China is not a personal one. It is, in fact, a historic visit. The nation would be interested in knowing about it. I agree we should not take the usual media delegation, but would you agree to consider five or six senior journalists, whom you know well?” He was taken by surprise, and asked, “Who do you have in mind?” I was prepared. “Sir, I was thinking of Dileep Padgaonkar, editor of Times of India, HK Dua, editor of Hindustan Times, KK Katyal, veteran journalist of The Hindu, Saeed Naqvi, well-known columnist, Prem Prakash, chief editor of the ANI news agency, and, of course, Doordarshan and All India Radio.” He was silent for a while, and then said, “Go ahead.” As a result, and much to his satisfaction, his China visit received widespread and front-page coverage.
Venkatraman was very health conscious. At the age of 80, he would walk briskly for an hour, play badminton thrice a week, and golf on Sundays. It was, of course, “Presidential golf”, where if he hit a bad shot, another ball was placed before him!
Once, on a visit to Rohtang Pass at 14,000 feet, he needed no oxygen support, while much younger members of his entourage did. His great love was Indian classical music, and often, he would ask me to find a rare recording in the archives of AIR. The small concert hall in RB became a vibrant hub of the best classical artists. He was a vegetarian, did not drink, and believed that if you live a balanced life, you will — according to our shastras — live for 100 years. Prophetically, he died in 2009, at the age of 98.
Pavan K Varma is author, diplomat, and former Member of Parliament (Rajya Sabha). Just Like That is a weekly column where Varma shares nuggets from the world of history, culture, literature, and personal reminiscences. The views expressed are personal