An accomplished life

Who could have believed the end would come so tamely, so uneventfully, on that dull, unspectacular October morning? Shakti Sinha, after all, was not just another one among the thousands of people that you make acquaintance within your journey through life. He was a larger than life figure, a cut above, a phenomenon.

I first came in touch with him about two and a half decades ago through his wife, Mrs Surabhi Sinha, several years my senior in the Indian Revenue Service. He struck me as a maverick genius. Somewhat casual about his appearance, he sported a not so carefully tended beard, and spoke in a hurried manner, which made it difficult to catch some of his words. But he was a storehouse of information on a diverse range of subjects and very much the centre of everyone's attention in the gathering.

Unknown to me at that time, our career paths were to coincide time and again as the years rolled on. Our fates were linked in a manner I could not have foreseen when I first met him. My entry into the personal office of the Prime Minister at 7, Race Course Road in May 1998 was no accident. Mr Vajpayee, supported by a diverse coalition, was now the Prime Minister of India, and Shakti Sinha, who had already been working with him when he was in the opposition, was now Private Secretary to the PM. From Leader of the Opposition to incumbent Prime Minister, the volume of work in the personal secretariat had gone up exponentially. Not surprisingly, Shakti Sinha was looking for a deputy to share his burden, and I happened to be in the right place at the right time. I soon joined as Additional Private Secretary to PM, reporting to the Private Secretary.

While there is no barometer by which the relative performance of Private Secretaries to PM can be measured, there is little doubt that Shakti Sinha elevated that office to a new level. His hair-trigger reflexes, ability to think several steps ahead, and his sheer versatility stood him, as well as the Prime Minister, in good stead. The job brooked no slip-ups without attracting adverse national or even international attention, and there would be none so long as Shakti Sinha was in command. He handled the job with great aplomb and went on to chronicle it all decades later in his book, 'Vajpayee: The Years That Changed India'. The book provides a blow-by-blow account of the trials and tribulations of an uneasy political coalition, of Pokhran-II and its fallout, of the bus journey to Lahore, and the Kargil war. I understand the book is in its third reprint now. As Shakti Sinha's shadow, I was fortunate to have had a ringside view of the momentous events that unfolded during those tumultuous times.

He seemed to enjoy every minute of the attention and focus he received as the PS to PM. Yet, even during those eventful days, he would often talk of leaving the PMO and taking up a quiet assignment elsewhere. I must admit, I never entirely believed him. Yet, less than two years later, when a vacancy arose in the Indian Executive Director's office in the World Bank, he thought the opportunity was right, handed over the baton to me, and left. Those were some very large shoes to fill. Thankfully, Ajay Bisaria from the Foreign Service joined soon after, and the pressure eased considerably once there were two of us.

By the time I joined the ED's office in the World Bank following his example, Shakti Sinha, to all appearances, had transformed into a full-fledged economist, engaging with the best international brains in the field on equal terms. He had worked hard to teach himself economic theory, even joining a graduate program at George Mason University in Washington DC. He was already well-appreciated by the Board of the Bank for his cogent, well-grounded interventions. His job description now was as different from the last one in the PMO as chalk is from cheese. Yet Shakti Sinha was on the top of his act and had even developed an appreciable international fan following.

He went on to wear many other hats, which included an assignment with the UN Mission in volatile Afghanistan, and a stint as the Director of the Nehru Memorial Museum & Library, bringing buzz and vibrancy to that ageing organization. His last distinct avatar was clearly that of a full-fledged intellectual, thinker, author, columnist and panel discussant, articulating his views effortlessly on a diverse range of subjects, most of all, on strategic affairs.

Everyone who ever knew Shakti Sinha was struck by his phenomenal memory, his seeming ability to docket neatly in his head every little fact or figure he had ever read, seen or heard anywhere. Equally impressive was the retrieval system which brought it out at the most relevant juncture, completely baffling everyone in attendance. From the appreciation of fine wines to the sovereign debt crisis in a faraway country, from exotic Peruvian cuisine to internal party politics in Lithuania, from the fine arts to nuclear disarmament, nothing was out of the syllabus for him. In between an animated discourse on any of these topics, he wouldn't fail to notice that the painting which was hanging on a particular wall of your house the last time was no longer there!

Such was his intellect. Yet what really set Shakti Sinha apart were not the qualities of the head but that of the heart. He was completely guileless and devoid of the arrogance that comes with the high positions he held. Always ready to engage with anyone, no matter what caste, creed, language, religion or nationality, even age. He invested in people and developed lifelong relationships. He was an indulgent father and a caring husband. As someone said at the remembrance meeting held for him, knowing Shakti Sinha was like joining a club – as a life member. He could lapse into Konkani, or Tamil or Punjabi as the occasion demanded, having picked up a smattering of each during his assignments at various places. Above all, he was passion personified. Passionate about everything he did, passionate about the relationships he built and nurtured over the years.

Perhaps we should not grieve for him at all. In his 64 years, he lived longer than most of us can aspire to in 80 or 85 years that we may be generous enough to grant ourselves. In the end, it is not about how long but how well you lived. One is reminded of the climax of the film 'The Last Samurai' where Emperor Meiji asks the protagonist, Capt. Algren, to tell him how the great Samurai leader Katsumoto died, to which Capt. Algren responds: "I will tell you how he lived".

Views expressed are personal