Archive for the 'Obituaries' Category

Charlie Wilson: 1933-2010

The man who masterminded covert US support for the mujahideen during the Soviet-Afghan war. From the Guardian:

His accomplishment in launching and sustaining America’s largest clandestine war – supplying arms to Afghan rebels fighting the Soviets in the 1980s – might have been more understandable had he been one of those discreet figures who slide greyly through the corridors of power. In reality, he was a loud-voiced, 6ft 4in Texan, addicted to outlandish clothes and notorious for his womanising. He staffed his congressional office with beautiful female assistants (dubbed Charlie’s Angels on Capitol Hill) and had well-publicised brushes with the law, including allegations of cocaine-sniffing and drunk driving.

Yet he somehow managed to persuade the Bible belt of rural east Texas to return him for 11 successive congressional terms and to attract huge financial support from American Jews and from the strict Wahhabi Muslims of Saudi Arabia. His inexhaustible capacity to be all things to all men brought him enormous influence in American governance, allowing him to spend the Reagan years virtually running his own foreign policy. More:

Also read All Things Pakistan:

In many ways Charlie Wilson was as much an architect of today’s Pakistan as General Zia-ul-Haq. Only a lot more colorful, and maybe a little more well-meaning; even if equally misguided.

[Image: All Things Pakistan]

The last journey of Jyoti Basu

Manini Chatterjee in The Telegraph:

There was no hysterical outpouring of raw grief, no unruly outburst of manufactured emotion, no orchestrated display of organisational might.

Today’s moving and fitting tribute to Jyoti Basu — Bengal’s most enduring icon and among the foremost national leaders of post-Independence India — came not from the three-volley rifle salute nor the galaxy of leaders and VVIPs who thronged the bedecked stage in the Assembly before a huge battery of television cameras.

It came, instead, from lakhs and lakhs of ordinary people — men and women from the city and its suburbs, from distant villages and far-flung districts — who stood patiently in serpentine queues and lined every inch of the roads his last journey meandered through, having gathered in silent clusters along the entire route.

Most of them had come on their own, not shepherded by local party bosses as to a Maidan rally; some of them had never voted for the CPM in their lives, and many had ceased to vote Red in recent years. Yet they came, in an unceasing flow from early morning till journey’s end at 4.40 in the evening, to pay a homage that was spontaneous yet sombre, heartfelt but restrained and entirely in keeping with the persona of the man they had come to say goodbye to.

An era had come to an end, they knew, and they had come to make their tryst with history. More:

Jyoti Basu: 1914-2010

Jyoti Basu, who ruled Bengal for a record 23 years but was stopped by his party from becoming Prime Minister, died today minutes before noon after a 17-day battle with pneumonia. He was 95. As he had wished, his body will be donated to the medical school. [Full story here]

Below, from The Telegraph, Calcutta:

Born to charm

Sunanda K. Datta-Ray in The Telegraph:

Manmohan Singh once adapted a famous comment about Britain’s R.A. Butler to say that Jyoti Basu was the best prime minister India had never had. The prime minister may long ago have outgrown that personal view privately expressed before he held a governmental position; but there is no denying that Basu had a panache that never failed to impress. This writer too waxed eulogistic about the former chief minister in an anthology published about 15 years ago. It’s only when West Bengal is compared to other states that doubts about Basu’s long stewardship creep in.

People who worked with him in his early years in politics say he strove to model himself on Bidhan Chandra Roy, his hero. If so, the main resemblance was in his relationship with his party. Basu towered over his comrades as Roy had done over other Congressmen. He also had a broader perspective than other Bengali Marxists. Legend had it that he was on first-name terms with Indira Gandhi, whom he had known as a student in England. Others (P.N. Haksar, Bhupesh Gupta, Mohan Kumaramangalam) had also fallen under Rajani Palme Dutt’s spell and returned to join either politics (Congress or communist), law or the civil service. But surrounded by sycophantic civil servants, Basu was intolerant of independent appraisals. More:

Master of the politics of feasibility

Ashok Mitra, a younger comrade, pays homage to Jyoti Basu.

India is to be without Jyoti Basu. The new reality will not sink easily into most minds. For most of the past half-a-century, the man had filled a crucial spot in the country’s political landscape. It was a movable spot since circumstances were evolving all the time, but the picture would never be complete without this man’s position and point of view. Allies, permanent or temporary, would be there to seek his counsel. Adversaries, too, would be aware of the differences and the weight of his views. The general feeling of a lack of coordinates, which has accompanied the announcement of his passing, is therefore understandable. This vacuum of feelings will, however, be different from person to person. That too owes to the magic of his persona. He had a way of interacting on the individual plane with whomever he met.

And this is perhaps what charisma is about. After Subhas Chandra Bose, Jyoti Basu was the next idol the Bengali masses created and clung to. More

A patriarch remembered

Gopal Krishna Gandhi, till recently the governor of West Bengal:

“See my condition,” he said, “I have to meet you like this, sitting on my bed.” It was the day prior to his 95th birthday. “I can’t hear in one ear, and can’t see in one eye.” “You are not missing much,” I suggested, “there is so much around us one doesn’t want to hear and so much one does not like to see.” He smiled a wan smile, a variant of the dry smile of his that has been the photographer’s despair. I am not sure he had heard me.

When I went to call on him again on December 13, 2009, a day prior to my demitting office, he was weaker. He started the conversation by saying, “I cannot see, I cannot hear…” More

CPM’s Vajpayee? More like CPM’s Advani

And in The Indian Express, Saubhik Chakrabarti:

The biggest scandal in 30-plus years of Left rule in Bengal (of which two-thirds saw Basu as CM) is not poor industrial progress but the fate of the aam aadmi. There are tons of statistics. A few will make the point.

A warning first. Whenever Bengal’s data is assessed it is useful to remember Kolkata (Calcutta during Basu’s days in office) is an outlier, being by Bengal’s standards far richer and more modern than the rest of the state. To understand Bengal, one should look at its other 18 districts.

Consider, for instance, that Bengal’s official Human Development Report estimates that over 78% of Purulia’s population is below the poverty line. This is a shocking statistic for a state ruled for 20-plus years by a progressive moderate CM, whose policy centrepiece was agrarian change. Overall poverty levels in Bengal are better only compared to states like Bihar, UP, MP, Orissa and Jharkhand.

Bengal does poorly in schooling — its dropout rates for primary students are worse than all states save Bihar and some North-eastern states. Assam has more schools per lakh people. Himachal Pradesh has a better teacher-student ratio. More:

RIP: Vishnuvardhan

In Rediff.com Sunaad Raghuram’s tribute to Vishnuvardhan, the silent superstar of Kannada cinema

I woke up to the news of the sudden demise of a man Kannada filmdom was so used to knowing as Vishnuvardhan. The name on his passport, though, would have actually read: Mysore Narayan Rao Sampath Kumar. Born 1950. Mysore. Vidyaranyapuram if I may add. As I sit down to pen my thoughts on the man whom I had liked, admired and enjoyed watching on screen right from the 1970’s, there comes a visage so handsome and smart that I yearn to see it all over again. more

Obituary: Gayatri Devi, Maharani of Jaipur

From the Economist:

gayatri-deviTHOUGH India has not been ruled by princes for many decades, it is not hard to find princesses about the place. Bollywood stars, for example, in sheaths, shades and bling, whose every move and change of wardrobe is recorded in flashy magazines; fashionistas, aping Kareena’s T-shirt or Priyanka’s bobbed hair, who spend their afternoons eating ice cream in Delhi’s malls; and the VIPs, or VVIPs, who force their cars through the traffic with horns blaring, and who refuse the indignity of being searched at airports.

In contrast to these one may sometimes find, at high tea at the Delhi Polo Club or in the lounge of the Taj hotel, the genuine article. Gayatri Devi was among the most famous of these. Her beauty was astonishing, praised by Clark Gable, Cecil Beaton and Vogue, but liner or lipstick had nothing to do with it. She had a maharani’s natural poise and restraint. From her grandmother, she had learned that emeralds looked better with pink saris rather than green. From her mother, she knew not to wear diamond-drop earrings at cocktail parties. A simple strand of pearls, a sari in pastel chiffon and dainty silk slippers were all that was required. The fact that she looked equally good in slacks, posing by one of the 27 tigers she personally eliminated, or perched, smoking, on an elephant, merely underlined the point. She was a princess, and a princess could make Jackie Kennedy appear almost a frump. More:

Ali Akbar Khan, sarod virtuoso, dies at 87

Three legendary Indian classical musicians, Ravi Shankar, Ali Akbar Khan and Alla Rakha Khan, in concert.

From NYTimes:

Mr. Khan, who was named a national treasure by the Indian government in 1989, carried on the musical traditions of his father, Allauddin Khan, whose ashram in East Bengal produced some of India’s most celebrated musicians, notably Mr. Shankar, the flutist Pannalal Ghosh and the sitarist Nikhil Banerjee.

Unlike his father, a volatile and uneven performer, Mr. Khan maintained an austere demeanor onstage while coaxing passages of extraordinary intensity from his sarod, an instrument with 25 strings, 10 plucked with a piece of coconut shell while the remainder resonate sympathetically.

“He was not as flashy as Ravi Shankar, but he had the ability to play a single note, or a simple passage of notes, and draw out such amazing depth,” said John Schaefer, the host of “New Sounds” and “Soundcheck” on WNYC-FM in New York. “That’s why he was able to get a world of emotion and color out of ‘Malasri,’ which is often called a three-note raga. That, for me, stands as the calling card of the genius of Ali Khan.” More:

The guru who introduced Ashtanga yoga to the west

Rachel Morarjee in the Financial Times:

yogaOver the decades, the residents of Mysore got used to the sight of westerners dolled up in saris wandering through the streets. Blonde girls in Indian dress were among the thousands of students who flocked to the south Indian city to study Ashtanga yoga with Sri Krishna Pattabhi Jois, the man credited for doing much to bring the discipline to the west.

Jois died on May 18, just short of his 94th birthday, in the city where he arrived, aged 14, to beg on its streets and study Sanskrit. Today, Mysore is the site of one of the world’s biggest IT training centres run by computer group Infosys.

India’s transformation over the past century did little to alter Jois’s daily routine. For more than 70 years, he could be found teaching yoga from four in the morning until midday to scores of eager students from across the world. More:

RIP: Vishwanath Pratap Singh

Posted by Namita Bhandare:

vpsingh2Former Prime Minister V.P. Singh, who formed a non-Congress government at the Centre that dethroned Rajiv Gandhi in the 1989 general elections, died in Delhi on Thursday after a prolonged illness.

Singh was Uttar Pradesh chief minister during Mrs Indira Gandhi’s tenure. He resigned, owning ‘moral responsibility’ after a series of dacoit attacks (including one that claimed the life of his brother).

Singh was rehabilitated into the political mainstream by Rajiv Gandhi who made him his finance minister; a man who was widely known as the Mr Clean of Indian politics, vowing to cleanse the system of corruption. He ordered a series of raids to look into the financial affairs of such heavyweight businessmen as Dhirubhai Ambani. But when it was revealed that Singh’s investigators had hired — without Cabinet authorisation — the services of an American investigative agency called Fairfax to look into the affairs of Ambani, things began to unravel.

Towards the end of 1986, two letters allegedly written by the head of Fairfax to Singh’s investigating officers surfaced. They gave the impression that the agency was not only investigating Ambani but also Amitabh Bachchan (then Rajiv Gandhi’s closest friend) and even, worse, Sonia Gandhi. Singh said the letters were forgeries, but the damage was done and the relationship of trust he seemed to share with Rajiv Gandhi had been breached. Singh was transferred out of the finance ministry into the defence ministry where, of course, another hot potato awaited him in the form of what would eventually come to be known as Bofors.

The rest as they say is history. Singh marched out of the Congress and into the waiting arms of the Jan Morcha (where Rajiv Gandhi’s now estranged cousin, Arun Nehru awaited him). Amitabh Bachchan resigned from Parliament — and Singh easily won the byelection for Allahabad caused by Bachchan’s resignation. Giani Zail Singh, then the Indian president, joined hands with Rajiv’s worst critics (The Indian Express, Nusli Wadia and Ramnath Goenka). Rajiv himself lost the huge mandate he had won in the 1984 general election (which he won largely on a sympathy vote created by the assassination of his mother). He lost the 1989 general election as Bofors became synonymous with corruption (though to this day there is not a shred of evidence linking Rajiv Gandhi or his family to any sort of illegal kickbacks by A.B. Bofors).

As the head of the Janata Dal which won 141 seats, V.P. Singh became prime minister with the support of both the BJP and the Left. But this government was doomed to self-destroy, which it did through a series of crises, including Kashmir where militants kidnapped the daughter of Singh’s home minister Mufti Mohammad Sayeed (the government agreed to swap militants for her release, sowing the seeds of insurgency which persist to this day).

In the end, the man was known as Mr Clean lost the sympathy of India’s middle classes with his decision to push ahead with the Mandal Commission (increasing caste-based reservations in educational institutions). A horrified nation watched as angry, protesting students began committing suicide by immolating themselves to protest against Mandal. It is perhaps Singh’s only legacy to continue to have ramifications and implications to this day.

By the time, the Congress returned to power under Narasimha Rao, following the assassination of Rajiv Gandhi in 1991, it was all over for V.P. Singh and politically at least he had become yesterday’s man as a new set of power brokers and career politicians took over in Delhi (though he would resurface from time to time from his hospital bed). In 1991 he was diagnosed with blood cancer, and V.P. Singh, once the most powerful man in India, slowly withdrew into his private world, writing poetry and painting. Here’s a sample:

Every time I wake up

It is night.

The world is just beyond

My hospital window

My only company

A distant window light.

That goes off.

First details go

Then colour

Finally even form

All that is left is a blank

In the fog of age.

With only my echo to tell me

How far away I am.

All have fallen asleep

None to tell me

‘Go to sleep.’

For more obituaries and tributes click here, here and here.

Catherine Galbraith

Catherine Galbraith, wife of economist, writer and former ambassador to India John Kenneth Galbraith, and “the great woman behind the great man,” died at the age of 95. Her obituary in Boston Globe:

After the Galbraiths returned from India in 1963, their home on Francis Avenue in Cambridge became a center of intellectual life.

They held an annual Harvard commencement party for more than 25 years, where guests invariably included heads of state and Nobel Prize recipients. Benazir Bhutto, the late prime minister of Pakistan, visited their home as a Harvard freshman in 1969 and later stayed with them in 1989 when she was in Cambridge to give the commencement address at the university.

More:

Sir Arthur C. Clarke: 90th birthday reflections

Hello! This is Arthur Clarke, speaking to you from my home in Colombo, Sri Lanka.

As I approach my 90th birthday, my friends are asking how it feels like, to have completed 90 orbits around the Sun.

Well, I actually don’t feel a day older than 89!

…Watch the video:

Sundown With Arthur

Jeff Greenwald in Wired:

arthur_c_clarke.jpg

When last I saw Arthur C. Clarke, in March of 2005, his memory was already fading.

It was late afternoon. We sat on the patio of the Galle Face Hotel, one of Arthur’s favorite spots in Colombo, Sri Lanka. It had been nine years since my last visit to his adopted island. Now I was back working with Mercy Corps, an international aid agency, on a tsunami relief project. Clarke sipped his tea and stared west, where the Indian Ocean stretched in an uninhibited arc to the coast of Somalia.

“I don’t remember anything about working with Stanley (Kubrick) on 2001,” he said, “or my months at the Chelsea Hotel. I don’t remember my last scuba dive, or what my mother’s face looked like. The only thing I remember with any real clarity is the first kiss with the love of my life — and our last words, before we parted.”

[Photo: Clarke stands by his private satellite dish, one of the first private dishes in Asia, on the deck of his Sri Lanka home.]

More:

For Clarke, issues of faith, but tackled scientifically

From the New York Times:

spaceodyssey.jpg“Absolutely no religious rites of any kind, relating to any religious faith, should be associated with my funeral” were the instructions left by Arthur C. Clarke, who died on Wednesday at the age of 90. This may not have surprised anyone who knew that this science-fiction writer, fabulist, fantasist and deep-sea diver had long seen religion as a symptom of humanity’s “infancy,” something to be outgrown and overcome.

But his fervor is still jarring because when it comes to the scriptural texts of modern science fiction, and the astonishing generation of prophetic innovators who were his contemporaries – Isaac Asimov, Robert A. Heinlein and Ray Bradbury – Mr. Clarke’s writings were the most biblical, the most prepared to amplify reason with mystical conviction, the most religious in the largest sense of religion: speculating about beginnings and endings, and how we get from one to the other.

[Photo: Keir Dullea in the film version of Arthur C. Clarke’s “2001: A Space Odyssey.”]

More:

Previously on Asian Window:

Sir Arthur C. Clarke: RIP

The world’s foremost science-fiction writer dies at the age of 90 in Colombo, Sri Lanka. A tribute to his life in The Telegraph, UK.

arthurcclarke.jpg

Sir Arthur Clarke, who has died aged 90, was, for many, synonymous with science fiction, and in particular with 2001: A Space Odyssey, Stanley Kubrick’s film of his novella The Sentinel; his principal gifts, however, were his ability to popularise science and his genius as one of the most prophetic voices of the space age.

In the 100 or so books he wrote, co-wrote or edited, Clarke predicted, with remarkable accuracy, such developments as the moon landings, space travel, communications satellites, compact computers, cloning, commercial hovercraft and a slew of other scientific developments – though he was also, inevitably, often wide of the mark.

more

And below, “the dawn of man” — an amazing clip from Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey

Farewell to a hero

In Reuters, pictures of the state funeral of Sir Edmund Hillary in Auckland.

“Good night, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.” Hamlet, Act V, sc 2

hillary-funeral.jpg

complete slideshow

RIP, Sir Edmund Hillary: 1919-2008

Sir Edmund Hillary 1919-2008

 1919-2008

Sir Edmund Hillary, who has died at the age of 88, made it to the summit of Everest in 1953, and became the first man on the planet to reach its highest point.

As a boy in New Zealand, Edmund Hillary’s fragile appearance belied his ground-breaking potential.

At school, he was in a gym group for those lacking co-ordination and admitted to feeling a “deep sense of inferiority”.

But the 40-mile journey to school in Auckland each day gave young Edmund many hours to pore over adventure stories and travel ever further in his mind.

Continue reading ‘RIP, Sir Edmund Hillary: 1919-2008′