Note: This article was first published on August 17, 2018 and is being republished on December 25, 2018, the 94th birth anniversary of Atal Bihari Vajpayee.
For eight years, from May 1996 to May 2004, as a member of the 11th, 12th and 13th Lok Sabhas, I closely observed and frequently interacted with Atal Bihari Vajpayee. In spite of my reservations about the ideological tendency of which he was a veteran leader, I developed a profound admiration for him.
My first experience on my arrival in parliament was of Atalji’s 13-day government in 1996, his first stint as prime minister. At that time, we were on different sides politically. I joined the Trinamool Congress immediately on its birth in December 1997 and we became part of the National Democratic Alliance (NDA) in 1998. I still vividly remember the grace and stoicism he showed in parliament when that first NDA government lost the confidence motion by a single vote in April 1999. India is fortunate that he was still at the helm in a caretaker capacity during the Kargil War that followed.
When I ran for the Lok Sabha for the third time from Jadavpur in the autumn of 1999, Vajpayee came to campaign for me. I recall a big rally the Trinamool Congress organised in September 1999, at a spot in Kolkata’s southern suburbs on the ‘border’ between the Kolkata South and Jadavpur constituencies. It was a joint rally for me and Mamata, who was contesting for the fourth consecutive time from Kolkata South. Atalji was his usual self, dignified eloquence personified and the rally was a roaring success.
During the term of the second NDA government (1999-2004), I sometimes sharply criticised the Bharatiya Janata Party on the floor of the parliament on specific issues – such as the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh’s efforts to ‘saffronise’ education, the intermittent calls to build a Ram temple in Ayodhya and the Gujarat pogrom of 2002. Ever the keen parliamentarian, Vajpayee always listened intently to my speeches and other interventions. When I finished, he, the prime minister, would come up to me, smile warmly and shake my hand. Although he never said anything explicitly, I got the distinct impression that he rather liked these critical interventions of mine!
Also read: Vajpayee Was a Prime Minister Who Knew the Limits and Responsibilities of Power
In June 1999, when Vajpayee was the caretaker prime minister and the Kargil War was raging, my husband, Sisir Kumar Bose, suddenly fell critically ill during a visit to Mumbai. He was admitted to the Breach Candy Hospital, where he was in intensive care for a couple of weeks. Vajpayee called me almost every morning from Delhi to enquire about his health and to ask if he could do anything to assist. On the rare days he did not call personally, Sudheendra Kulkarni did on his behalf from the Prime Minister’s Office.
Two years later, in mid-2001, Vajpayee and I were admitted simultaneously to the Breach Candy Hospital in Mumbai. We had a common problem – with our knees! We were to have knee-replacement surgery on the same day, to be done by Dr Chitranjan Ranawat, who had specially flown in from the US. Of course, the prime minister’s turn came first. He was wheeled out of the operation theatre as I was being taken in. He smiled gently at me and said: “Don’t be afraid”.
During the days of recuperation, he was on the floor just above mine. He would sometimes call me to his room. When I arrived in my wheelchair, he would, propped up in bed, initiate discussions on various matters. At the time, the Agra summit with President Pervez Musharraf of Pakistan was imminent and we discussed that most of all, because of my role as chairperson of the parliamentary standing committee on external affairs throughout the term of the 13th Lok Sabha (1999-2004). Vajpayeeji had chaired the committee a few years earlier, as had Inder Kumar Gujral, a good friend of Sisir’s and mine. I realised from our conversations that he badly wanted to do something about the bleeding sore of Kashmir and had therefore reached out to the Musharraf regime – at considerable political risk to himself, just two years after his bus diplomacy to Lahore had been answered with the Kargil incursion.
Vajpayee’s legendary indulgence of food was continuing during our stay in the hospital. I mostly restricted myself to the hospital diet but Vajpayee’s daughter Namita, who was with him, always shared the food that came for the prime minister with Sugata, my elder son, who was accompanying me.
When Musharraf arrived for the Agra summit, Vajpayee still had some mobility issues as a consequence of the operation, as did I. So, arrangements were made at the official banquet in Delhi’s Taj Palace Hotel to ensure that the two of us didn’t have to climb stairs or walk more than a short distance. Vajpayee, Musharraf and the senior members of our cabinet sat a table, named ‘Ganga’, placed closest to the entrance. I sat with Sonia Gandhi and a few others at the next table, ‘Jamuna’.
One Delhi winter, a year or two after Vajpayee had ceased to be prime minister, I called on him at his residence in Delhi with my sons, Sugata and Sumantra. Namita was there, as was Brajesh Mishra. Vajpayeeji was visibly happy to see us. As usual, he did not speak much, but his face said it all. The Delhi cold dissipated in the warmth of the evening. When we rose to leave, Vajpayee insisted on walking out with us to the portico – a not inconsiderable distance – to see us off. He disregarded my protests and briskly walked along with us, using his stick for support. Just before I got into our car, I turned to him and said: “Vajpayeeji, please keep well. The country needs you”. His eyes lit up. Looking back from the car window, I saw him smiling radiantly and waving goodbye to us, leaning on his stick with the other hand.
Farewell, Atalji.
Krishna Bose, an academic and writer, was a Member of the 11th, 12th and 13th Lok Sabhas, elected from West Bengal’s Jadavpur constituency and the chairperson of the parliamentary standing committee on external affairs from 1999 to 2004.
