Salaam Sam

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Over a year back, on a rather uneventful news day when I was left to meet the many bureaucrats one hopes to get a tip-off for a story from... I got a call from my editor. The National Affairs Editor at CNN-IBN was calling to assign me a story. My assignment for the afternoon was a rather urgent one. In the call that he made, my editor also warned me that I may end up getting no bytes for the story but I was still to try. My only hope was to seek help from the defence correspondent in the office who knew my story subject well. Sam Manekshaw was unwell. Out of the hospital but not quite alright. We were to do a story. The defence correspondent gave me the requisite details. Names... Addresses even phone numbers.

The job at hand was to go to Hauz Khas, the residence of Sam Mankeshaw's daughter, Maja and get her to speak about her father who had just been discharged from the hospital and was being nursed there. The job required me to also get a few shots of Manekshaw himself. I called the numbers given to me. Spoke to his very polite daughter who said I could go to her house and check on her father. He was mostly drifting in and out of sleep. Not in a position to chat up. If he was up and willing to talk, she had no problems. I was thrilled. Not because Sam Manekshaw was ill but because a childhood dream seemed close to coming true. I could possibly be meeting the man I grew up hearing stories of.

For those who grew up in Dehradun, Sam Manekshaw was a part of life... A part of growing up and tales from then. The Dehra valley took pride in its Indian Military Acdemy (IMA) cadet who had become India's greatest military icon. Evening chats in Dehradun over rounds of chai for the grownups and fruit drinks for the kids were peppered with Mankeshaw tales. Uncles who had served in the Army loved to regale us with their war stories and very often stories about Sam Manekshaw. Their stories were fascinatingly real. Their black and white pictures of Army get-togethers, yellowed and a little frayed at the edges looked more regal than usual. And for a child's mind, these were stories that converted Sam Manekshaw into a larger than life hero. And it only helped that Dehra wanted to claim every bit of Sam... And so did we.

That afternoon, as we drove through the maze of lanes in Hauz Khas, looking for the address I was given, I was secretly hoping that I'd get to see the Field Marshall. From the wire copies that I had been reading over the week, I knew the Field Marshall had been very ill. Going by the reports on his health... it seemed I wouldn't even be allowed to get a glimpse of Manekshaw. But there are times in life when one hopes to get lucky. When one hopes that dreams come true. I was hoping for just that. And after having spoken to Manekshaw's daughter, I had reason to believe I was close to doing that.

The first floor house in Hauz Khas was quiet and beautifully done up. I rang the bell and a house help answered the door. There was pin drop silence in the house. So quiet that it almost forced me to whisper...I told the help that I needed to see the Field Marshall and that his daughter had okayed it. She nodded, escorted me to the living room and told me to wait. ``I have to go check,'' she said. Adding that he may be sleeping. In my head, I was wondering what I'd tell the Field Marshall when I saw him. I was nervous. Mankeshaw's wit was legendary. And I didn't want to look like a fool. Vishal Thapar, our defence correspondent had told me that in all probabilities if Mankeshaw saw me that afternoon, he would be the first one to crack a joke. So I needn't worry. I had told Vishal that maybe I could begin with asking Manekshaw why had he given all of us a scare... Vishal had said that would make the Field Marshall smile...Enough to break ice, I had thought. The living room was still. Even as the cameraperson accompanying me chose a sofa to sit on, I stood in a corner, waiting for the help to return. Thoughts...conversations... pictures racing through my head. The help returned soon enough. I didn't want to hear what she had to tell me. The Field Marshall was sleeping. The effect of the medication he had been on was still strong. I was disappointed. She had no idea how long he'd be asleep. I had little choice. I couldn't have been insensitive to say that I'd wait on for however long it took for Manekshaw to wake up. I stepped out of the living room and called her daughter again. She suggested I came back later when he was in a position to talk. She didn't want to speak about her father's health herself on camera. But I could check with her about his status later. I called up my editor and told him. The story wouldn't happen he said. I was to go back to work. As I walked back to thank the help she pointed to his room and said, ``He's sleeping there.'' She'd left the door ajar and from where I stood I caught a glimpse of our collective childhood hero. Manekshaw looked every bit the royal that my Uncles' had made him out to be in their stories. Suddenly, all those stories turned real. Almost come to life. For a moment I felt like telling the help that I'd stay. Wait for him to wake up, speak to him and then leave...

It was a selfish thought. Driven by my own compulsions and beliefs. In life I believe, one must pay one's dues. Pay one's dues to the cities, surroundings and people that make for one's existence... That make a person that he or she ends up being. Doing a story on Mankeshaw meant just that to me. Paying my homage to a hero that all of us had looked up to and taken pride in. Deep inside I wanted this story to happen just for that reason. Just like the few other heroes that I had fed on in my childhood and written about later in my days as a print journalist...paying my dues to them...I wanted to pay my dues this time too. The only way I knew that could be done was to do a story... This time however, it wasn't meant to be.

I got back to work and begged Vishal. Told him I needed to see Mankeshaw once. Whenever. He just smiled. A few days later the Field Marshall left Delhi, went back to his home. I thought I'd get to see him someday. Only Thursday night made sure that it was never to be...

Sometimes a loss feels more personal than it logically should be. There's something about some people that makes you feel like you knew them all your life and when they go... it's like losing one of your own. Call them larger than life... national heroes... or people simply blessed with the rare quality of touching every life. But it's deaths like these that leave one sad and empty. Sam Manekshaw was one such person. And today, it feels like I've lost one of my own.