It was Buddhadeb Bhattacharjee’s first meeting as Chief Minister of West Bengal at the Communist Party of India (Marxist) headquarters in the national capital. And I was then in charge of the Delhi bureau of a media house that always questioned the Marxists.
The newly inducted member of the Polit Bureau climbed up the stairs to enter AKG Bhawan in his signature spotless white dhoti-kurta, aware of the excitement and the media glare but ignoring them.
Amidst the clamour seeking a "reaction" – how he felt as chief minister about the BJP's politics – I shouted, "Chief Minister, how do you propose to develop education and health infrastructure in West Bengal?"
A 'different' politician
I was aware that he was keen on introducing major changes in these two areas after taking over the mantle from Jyoti Basu in November 2000.
He turned towards me, walked down, and gave “bites” on several issues – including the role he perceived as chief minister and the politics of the BJP.
Soon, several mics crowded his face, but there was no irritation on the part of Bhattacharjee. However, a few minutes later, he pointed at his watch, and with a polite "thank you" walked up the short flight of stairs and vanished inside the party office.
At that time, CPI(M) members occupied 33 seats in the Lok Sabha, of which 21 were from West Bengal (out of the 42 Parliamentary constituencies in the state). Other Left Front allies had nine Lok Sabha MPs, of which eight were from his state.
The Left was a force to reckon with those days, and the poet-chief minister was a person who was being keenly followed even by national players in the media. At times, perhaps, more than his party’s central leaders.
Mamata Banerjee was then a distant threat...
The day he was supposed to leave Delhi, he addressed a crowded press conference at the state guest house in central Delhi – Banga Bhawan. Most reporters rushed back to file their copies but a few of us chose to hang around for an "exclusive".
A little later, a couple of senior correspondents were ushered into his suite, but two of us media men, considered CPI(M) baiters, were left to hang around the corridor.
However, I again chose to chance it, and knocked on the door. An aide responded and I handed over my card. Soon the Chief Minister himself came to the door and asked us in.
All through the conversation, I was jittery. The others were print journalists, so they noted down Bhattacharjee's observations, while I represented television, and needed his "bite".
As he sought leave to proceed towards the airport, I blurted out my concern. He thought for a moment, pointedly looked at his wristwatch, but asked me to wait at the porch, by his vehicle.
He gave me an exclusive longish "tic-tac" that was aired in full. And that conversation was not soft and cosy, but animated and at times, on the brink of being aggressive.
And to think that he was considered "touchy" and short-tempered! I realised then West Bengal will now have a "different" person at its helm.
The reformist
More than five years later, when I was heading the Eastern India Bureau of a newly launched national channel, the thought of this "difference" re-echoed. By that time, Bhattacharjee was being touted as the poster boy of reforms in the red bastion.
Foreign and domestic investors were being wooed, malls were springing up, pubs served into the wee hours, and the ancient relic of hand-pulled rickshaws were on their way out.
"People carrying other people is barbaric," Bhattacharjee had observed.
Roadside billboards loudly proclaimed "krishi amader bhitti, shilpa amader bhobishyot" (agriculture is our base, industry is our future) and "sanskritir rajdhanite boichhe shilpayaner hawa" (winds of industrial development are blowing across the culture capital).
A new Bengal was emerging. Information technology parks and special economic zones were coming up in major towns of the state. While seeking investment he once famously said, "Money has no colour or nationality”.
But some of his comrades saw red in reforms. Yet they could not do much. And among his other statements that ignited a debate was "reform or perish".
Even as his party bosses were trying to put up a brave face, Bhattacharjee repeated, "Reform, perform, or perish."
On occasions, he even dared top leaders. He was perhaps the only person who could stay away from a party meeting when miffed. No other leader could muster that courage in a party which followed a strict diktat.
Man of his word
It was his commitment to reform that attracted the media spotlight. The new channel that I represented too sought an interview with him. The Chief Minister granted an appointment late in March 2006. I was jubilant since the channel was not known to many and was a late entrant after the satellite-and-cable television boom.
Equipment and team started arriving in Kolkata for the big day when the then CPI(M) state committee secretary Anil Biswas died of a brain haemorrhage. Biswas was not just his comrade, but a friend who was born a day after Bhattacharjee on March 2, 1944. He joined the party just months after Biswas.
The two shared a unique bond and understanding. Thus, his untimely death came as a blow to Bhattacharjee. On our part, there appeared an uncertainty over the interview.
I kept on calling his close confidant who repeatedly assured me that the Chief Minister has not cancelled the appointment. I asked him if the rest of the team could come down for the interview, to which he said yes. But I was on tenterhooks. So was the team.
There was no way to reach him directly as I was told he did not use a mobile phone. Also, it would not augur well to put such a question to him given the situation and when there was no official cancellation.
Two days later, Bhattacharjee sat down for the interview at the state party office in Kolkata's Alimuddin Street and patiently fielded all questions for almost an hour.
I thanked him and apologised for the inconvenience we may have caused in his period of grieving.
He smiled and stated that in spite of such incidents, one has to attend to duties and that life goes on.
I never considered myself close to Bhattacharjee, nor was ever in regular touch with him, but I always had a way with him. Being a critic of his in certain matters, I was fortunate to have earned his respect.
Yes, he was different – straightforward and upright. Yes, he was different -- challenging antiquated tenets and moving with the times. He was different because he was a politician with the heart of a litterateur.
Or, was he perhaps too ahead of his time?
