Manmohan Singh: A gentleman politician India was lucky to have | M.R. Narayan Swamy

I was one of some 30 or 40 academics, scholars and journalists who went to Prime Minister Manmohan Singh’s official residence in the heart of Delhi on account of a book release. The author was J.N. Dixit, the veteran diplomat who later served as Manmohan Singh’s National Security Adviser. After the formal release by the prime minister, the gathering was served biscuits and cakes as well as tea and coffee.

After a good 45 minutes or so, when the first of the guests prepared to leave, Manmohan Singh – this was March 2005, his first full year in the country’s top office – rushed to the door of the hall where the event was held. He stood there with his hands folded, greeting each visitor as they stepped out. He even bowed his head slightly as some people walked past him. The man had no air. If a foreigner with no idea of India had walked in, he would have found it difficult to make out that this man was the prime minister of the world’s largest democracy.

I was among the journalists who got more than one chance to travel with Manmohan Singh when he flew to other countries on Air India One. I also saw him speak in parliament and at other events. Here was a leader who was listened to with utmost respect by global leaders, particularly when he spoke on economic issues, even if he did not command similar respect at home from those who were happy to make fun of him as a puppet of Congress leader Sonia Gandhi, the woman instrumental in picking him for the top post.
Manmohan Singh, without doubt, was an accidental politician. When Jawaharlal Nehru invited him to join his government, he politely turned down the request because he was in love with academics and the Panjab University. Even when Prime Minister PV Narasimha Rao sent a message asking him to become his finance minister, Manmohan Singh initially thought that a joke was being played on him!

Manmohan Singh’s qualities as a human being outshone both his successes and failures as an administrator. He was, at the very core, a thorough gentleman, unlike most political animals, someone who would never want to intentionally hurt anyone.

He was after all a victim of the horrific 1947 partition of the sub-continent that forced his family to migrate from Pakistani Punjab to Hindu-majority India. It meant starting life afresh from the scratch. Similar suffering made many Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs turn bitter in an “us-and-them” syndrome. Manmohan Singh never allowed any hatred for anyone to creep into his heart. For decades, he remained in love with Gah (in Pakistan) where he was born and where he studied under the light of a kerosene lamp because the place had no electricity and no piped water. But he never spoke about his childhood hardships, either to make an impression or to win votes.

I saw him get a rousing welcome when he returned as the prime minister to the University of Cambridge, where he had studied economics. One of his two teachers was the legendary Joan Robinson, whom Manmohan Singh described as “brilliant”. This was before he did his DPhil at the University of Oxford. But no amount of academic qualifications that he earned ever went to his head. He remained humble, down to earth and very polite. For long years, he drove, in Delhi, a humble Maruti 800.

For a politician who spoke only when it was necessary and who never abused or threatened anyone, Manmohan Singh was no pushover. I never agreed with professional colleagues who argued that he was controlled by Sonia Gandhi. He came across to me as one who had strong views on many subjects, both domestic and foreign. He no doubt had a lot of respect for Sonia Gandhi but he would not compromise on principles. Unlike most politicians, however, he did not make any noise when he wanted something to be done or when he had to convey a strong message.

In parliament, he occasionally – only occasionally — gave it back to his critics in a language that surprised many. He never raised his voice but he knew when he put an opponent down. As the finance minister, he took on his former boss and prime minister, Chandra Shekhar. Once when the Left pounced on him, on account of his free-market reforms, he chided them for calling India’s independence from British rule as “jhooti azadi”. But there were two things he always respected – the country’s democratic institutions and the media, even if the latter was often unkind to him.

During a 2009 visit to the United States, Manmohan Singh told President Barrack Obama bluntly that Afghanistan and the world at large would pay a heavy price if the Taliban was allowed to defeat the United States. When President George Bush visited India, Manmohan Singh – in a one-on-one – found fault with Washington’s intervention in Iraq. After the Mumbai terror attack, Manmohan Singh was livid with Pakistan – and told an American diplomat who came rushing to India to convey to Islamabad that “enough is enough”.

I strongly believe that Manmohan Singh’s stature was one of the key reasons the Congress retained power in the 2009 parliamentary elections – when the country voted after five years of him being the prime minister. Although not a professional Congressman, he won millions of hearts when he apologized for the anti-Sikh brutalities that followed Indira Gandhi’s assassination. His second five-year stint was noisy and wobbly. When he read the popular mood ahead of the 2014 elections, he decided wisely to bid goodbye to politics although nobody pushed him out.

It is no wonder that the Independent newspaper once described him as “one of the world’s most revered leaders” and “a man of uncommon decency and grace”. Khushwant Singh lauded Manmohan Singh as India’s best prime minister, rating him even higher than Nehru. On a rare occasion, Manmohan Singh himself said: “History will be kinder to me than the contemporary media and the opposition parties in parliament.”

India will surely miss Manmohan Singh – the man more than the politician.