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When Manmohan Singh passed away last month, India lost a statesman who had the unusual distinction of having been Prime Minister for 10 years, Governor of the Reserve Bank of India, head of the Planning Commission, and then leader of the Opposition in Rajya Sabha.
St. John’s College in Cambridge was the home of the great Alfred Marshall, the doyen of British economists. I was admitted to study Economics. On the other hand, Makarand Dehejia, also from Bombay, had broken all records in science and was therefore admitted to study engineering. We came after earning our Bachelor’s degrees, since we had parents who could afford to send us to England. Manmohan came from a very modest family in Punjab and had to wait for financial support from the vice-chancellor of his university to come to Cambridge.
Unlike other students such as myself, who attended debates or punted in the river, Manmohan concentrated on his studies. I was impressed also by the fact that, before settling down to work through his assignments, he took a cold shower in the early morning while his roommates shivered under several blankets. I speculated that Manmohan would go far, but little did I think that one day he would be our Prime Minister!
Later, especially when he joined the United Nations in New York in his first job after completing his doctorate in Oxford, I discovered that Manmohan also had a large heart. Those were the days when Indians were given a pittance by way of foreign exchange when they went abroad. So, numerous friends and even their friends from Punjab arrived in New York and descended on Manmohan, seeking dollars and even expecting him and his wife, Gursharan, to put them up in their home. And they obliged, unwilling or unable to say no.
Manmohan’s generosity was legendary. I saw it on display often as our paths crossed
occasionally in Delhi. I recall a striking instance when Rajiv Gandhi was giving an Endowed Lecture at Columbia University. Sonia Gandhi was standing by herself alone, while the students flocked around Rajiv. Manmohan then approached my wife, Professor Padma Desai, and asked her to talk to Sonia. Padma told me that Sonia had told her that she was worried about the safety of her children in the United States, and would shift them to study instead in England where she thought they would be better protected (which she did but lost Rajiv to a LTTE terrorist later).
I went often to Delhi when Manmohan was the Prime Minister. Every time, he graciously wanted to invite me to tea or lunch. But I was hesitant because he was the Prime Minister and his time was surely more important than mine. I would often sneak in and out, not bothering to call him. But I recall that once I got caught spectacularly. I was on a panel and Manmohan turned out to be also on it! I apologised for not calling him; and he turned around, looking at me and asked me to do so. Amusingly, the newspapers the next morning had a photograph of the two of us talking on the panel, with the caption: The Prime Minister consults Professor Bhagwati on the economy!
No one can become the Prime Minister without overwhelming good luck. Manmohan was no exception. He was lucky twice.
First, he became the Finance Minister in 1991 when Narasimha Rao was the Prime Minister. P C Alexander, a senior bureaucrat, had been consulted and had recommended I G Patel and Manmohan as possible candidates, with IG being the senior candidate and also, like Manmohan, a Cambridge First in Economics. But IG (as everyone called him) apparently declined; it seems that he was cautious because India was in the middle of a balance of payments crisis and the prospects of a successful tenure as the Finance Minister were dicey. Manmohan accepted.
Second, he became the Prime Minister when Sonia Gandhi was looking for someone who would take on the role and hold it until her own son was ready, leaving the position without fuss when asked. So, he lost autonomy to the “dynasty” and his tenure this time around would be more controversial.
No reminiscence of Manmohan would be complete without my recalling that he once told me that, while economists were taught to get prices right, it was equally important to get values right. His life reflected his concern with values. I saw this when, despite his gratitude to his vice-chancellor who had financed his education at Cambridge, he sided instead with the Class IV workers who were striking to unionise. His humane voice is silenced with his passing. But his example endures.
The writer is University Professor of Economics, Law, and International Relations at Columbia University
