This month marks the birth centenary of Pran Chopra – reporter, editor, political analyst and a supremely perceptive, principled man.
He grew up in pre-Partition Lahore and, like Rudyard Kipling, began his career there in 1941 on the Civil and Military Gazette. During the 1940s, he moved to Delhi to All India Radio, as a reporter and war correspondent. After the Second World War, he joined The Statesman and became its first Indian editor-in-chief, a post from which he was sacked in the late 1960s when he refused on principle to agree to the proprietor’s demands for a more partisan editorial stance.
In later years, he offered perceptive commentaries on politics and international affairs. He was much admired at the BBC World Service and domestic radio for clear, penetrating insights. He also produced important books on a remarkable range of topics: India’s politics, its Supreme Court, parliament, Kashmir, Pakistan and Bangladesh. When Zulfikar Ali Bhutto’s final statement was smuggled out of prison, it was sent to Pran who edited it for publication as If I am Assassinated…
His unquenchable curiosity made him appear to be forever young, even deep into his 80s when I often met him. He repeatedly refused suggestions that he should write his memoirs because, he insisted, looking back might age him. He focused resolutely on the present and the near future. But occasionally, when prompted, he would recall events from his past. A few of these are worth recalling, since they offer brief glimpses into what would have been a riveting autobiography.
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There were of course many meetings with Nehru which were routine when Pran was editing The Statesman. More remarkable were his accounts of contact with Gandhi in January 1948. Pran was then a reporter in the New Delhi newsroom of All India Radio, and on several occasions, he was sent to record prayer meetings at Birla House. He sat next to and a little behind Gandhi, holding a microphone close enough to capture his words and devotional songs, for recorded broadcasts to the nation. In a later taped interview, Pran explained that on the night of the assassination, he was on duty at the AIR office. He rushed to Birla House once the news broke, but he did not witness that ghastly event.
There were, however, other startling encounters beyond India. During the Second World War, Pran was sent by AIR to report from China. He managed to visit the Communist headquarters in the caves at Yan’an and there he interviewed Mao Zedong. It did not go well. Mao turned out to be a pompous egotist who did not offer even minimal courtesies to a foreign visitor. Pran did his diplomatic best, got a disappointing interview, and came away chilled and alienated.
Another remarkable episode was very different. At the end of the war, there was a brief anarchic period in Hanoi. There was standoff – peaceful but very tense – between a small, ill-organised French force, recently released from incarceration by the Japanese that intended to reassert control, and the Viet Minh which had declared independence and planned to seize power.
Pran pitched up at a hotel where he met two other journalists – a nationalist Chinese and (as Pran thought that he recalled) an American. They knew that the city faced an extreme food shortage and that several ships laden with provisions were anchored just outside the harbour at nearby Haiphong. Their captains refused to deliver the food because clearance from either the French or the Viet Minh might lead to violent resistance by the other side.
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People were close to starvation, so at the hotel bar Pran and the other two decided to declare themselves an ‘international rescue committee’ to try to break the deadlock. They knowingly inflated their importance in official-looking identity documents and set about contacting the Viet Minh and the French. The American (if that is what he was) was sent to the French and Pran went looking for the Viet Minh.
His was the more difficult task because, for understandable security reasons, the Viet Minh leaders were in deep cover. But Pran persisted and was eventually taken to meet Ho Chi Minh. He was warmly welcomed. In contrast to Mao, Ho turned out to be relaxed, unpretentious and eager to arrange an accommodation that would permit the food to be unloaded.
The French were also agreeable, but the negotiations required the members of the ‘international rescue committee’ to pay repeated visits to leaders on both sides, to iron out procedural details. In the process, Pran had multiple meetings with Ho, who remained congenial and pragmatic – good company. An agreement was eventually hammered out, and the food was delivered – saving many lives.
Few if any others would have encountered Gandhi, Mao and Ho. Pran could have told this story much more effectively, but it is still worth recalling as we remember his extraordinary life.
James Manor is a professor in the School of Advanced Study, University of London.
