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Remembering politicians
Indira Gandhi?s wit, it would seem, is forgotten. Her ferocity is what lingers in our memory, writes Karan Thapar.
I’m old enough to recall a time when the phones did not work. No matter what you dialled, it was either engaged or you got through to a wrong number. Once in an interview to Peter Ustinov, Indira Gandhi was asked about the problem. “They call our system cross bar,” she replied, “but I think they mean cross wire.” Her comment was spot on. Today, sadly, we don’t remember her for such humour. Her wit, it would seem, is forgotten. Her ferocity is what lingers in our memory.
Not so with British politicians. No matter how great or small, fierce or gentle, successful or otherwise, once out of power they’re remembered by the anecdotes connected with them. More often than not this means they’re recalled amidst smiles and happy laughter. Even if history is not kind, folk memory certainly is.
Perhaps Churchill is the greatest beneficiary of this British trait. Of him stories abound. On one occasion when Lady Astor, the first woman MP, was pouring coffee at a dinner, she said: “Winston, if I was your wife I’d poison your coffee.” Churchill’s bulldog face smiled sardonically. “And if I was your husband,” he shot back “I’d drink it!”
Actually there are several Churchill and Lady Astor stories. No doubt they’re apocryphal but they’re always flattering to the old PM. Another has him stumbling out of the House of Commons much the worse for wear. As luck would have it he fell down the stairs and landed at her feet. “Winston,” she shrieked. “You’re drunk!” “And you’re ugly,” the old man replied, struggling to his unsteady feet. “But tomorrow I’ll be sober.”
But it wasn’t just with Lady A that Churchill got the better of the encounter. He even had George Bernard Shaw stumped. In the 1920s, when one of his plays was opening at the West End, GB sent Churchill two tickets for the first night. “For you and a friend, if you have one”, the accompanying note proclaimed. “I’m awfully sorry I can’t make the first night” Winston wrote back. ”But I’ll be there for the second, if there is one!”
However, don’t for a moment believe you have to be a grand politician to be remembered by anecdote and story. Even lesser ones are thus recalled. Of course they don’t always emerge smelling of roses but little damage is done to their reputations. Witness this tale of George Brown, a former deputy PM from the mid-60s. Brown is remembered for his fondness of drink. Once on a trip to South America he happened to imbibe far more than he should have and ended up disoriented at an official banquet in Lima. As the band struck up, old George felt the urge to dance. So, after casting his eye around for a suitable partner, he spotted someone who might do and walked up to ask for the pleasure of the next twirl.
“Certainly not!” came the astonished reply.
“Why?” pleaded Brown, perplexed and disappointed.
“For three reasons. First, you’re drunk. Second, this is not a waltz but the Peruvian national anthem. And third, I’m not a woman but the Cardinal Archbishop of Lima.”
Unfortunately, the story doesn’t tell how Georgie beat his retreat but each time it’s told it warms the cockles of his countrymen and they remember him with a touch more affection. Would we be so generous and forgiving to our erring politicians? I doubt it.
In this respect Americans are more Indian than British. Like us, they remember their politicians for their forbidding moments. The humour, if they had any, is interred with their bones.
Yet in the middle of his David Frost interviews, where he cried with remorse, Richard Nixon came up with a real winner. Asked about Kissinger’s ratting on him after his fall from grace, Tricky Dicky smiled and said Henry reminded him of his three-year-old granddaughter. “How so?” Frost asked. “Well,” the ex-President replied, “once when my granddaughter had been a little mischievous and I had told her off, she crept onto my lap and said ‘Granddaddy, sometimes I like being naughty.’ Henry’s a bit like that!”
I’m not sure how Kissinger responded but he quickly rediscovered his loyalty for Richard Nixon and never lost it again.
Vajpayee, Manmohan and Sonia may not be joked about in the same vein. But I doubt if they’ll be remembered with the same fondness either. Indians may be more correct with the living, but we’re also more unforgiving of the dead.
