By Kunal Dutt
I had gone to cover an election rally of Ram Vilas Paswan a few years ago in late summer at Jhunjhunu in Rajasthan. I was supposed to fly with the LJP supremo in his chartered flight along with his son Chirag. But, the overcast conditions in Delhi prompted him to take the road route. I was asked to report early morning at his bungalow in Lutyens’ Delhi, which I did, and was asked to wait until Paswan came.
When he saw me, he first asked me, “Aap PTI se hain na, kya naam hai aapka“. After that, he took me inside his living room and eventually to the dining room. There like a caring father, he told me, “acche se nashta kar lijiye, lamba safar hai” even though I insisted, I was fine and not hungry, he made me eat, parathas that he also ate sitting on the table across me. While eating, he picked up conversations about my education and native place. Learning that I hailed from Patna, brought a smile to his face. Of course, a constant query, I get from people, he also asked, “Engineering ki naukri ke baad patrakarita mey kaise aa gaye“. As usual, I gave him the shorter version of the answer, the longer one reserved for extended conversations on other occasions. And, finally, we left for Jhunjhunu, I rode in a separate car just behind his vehicle.
At the guest house, Paswan was mobbed by a posse of news-hungry local reporters and cameramen. The sight was disconcerting, and I could tell, he was not very appreciative of it.
The public rally took place under a shamiana and people just admired him as he attacked his political rivals, which have changed with time, as per the trajectory of his party. After winding up the rally, I informed his secretary that I was going to a nearby small cyber cafe, which I had hunted with eyes on my way to the venue, given the mobile signal was almost nil, so I could not have filed the story on phone.
Soon as the speech ended, I dashed to the humble cyber cafe, which I recall had only two old faded white desktops, straight out of the 90s windows era, and I quickly fired away the story and had just pressed the sent button when the power went kaput, with no USP back up. For a minute, I went blank, fearing if I had Iost the draft. I didn’t even know if my story had reached the desk in Delhi, but I prayed it did reach the destination.
I had no choice left, so I walked out of the cafe and towards the main street when I saw multiple cars lined up on the dusty street. I could gather, Paswan had returned from the guest house long back, and waited for me to finish the story. When I reached near his shiny luxury car, he quipped, “Kunalji, story file ho gayi, aapki“. I was amazed, I thought he would either be bristled at me for the delay in departure or snap at me like an arrogant politician for making a VVIP leader wait in the scorching heat. He instead, rolled down the car’s window shield and asked me to hop in his sedan for the return journey.
We reached Delhi at night, and soon as I made it to the office, I asked, if the story had landed on time, to which the desk person, replied in the affirmative. On the way back to Delhi in the car, I did a poll interview of him, which ran the next day. Today, he did not wait for anybody but departed all alone to the final destination. That was Ram Vilas Paswan. That’s how I will remember him.
The writer is Delhi based journalist.
