It was 26 years ago that I first met Basty Premanand Shenoy—a quick-witted, eager beaver sexagenarian. We took off famously from the word go. What made our conversation especially riveting was our shared native ‘roots,’ not to speak of our common lingo, Kannada. That he had a fabulous memory was one thing—but, what took the cake was his interminable repertoire of factual stories from the past. Shenoy Uncle, as I called him, was, for a long time, the top guy, also a specialist, with a petroleum major. He was now leading a quiet life. He doted on his son, Kiron, a corporate honcho, my great friend, also soul brother.
I’d meet Shenoy Uncle during weekends—but, once in a while—and, I’d always look forward to his stirring anecdotes, or glimpses, from his ‘archives.’ Our tête-à-têtes would last for some time, or more—and, I’d yearn for our next with animated enthusiasm. The best part—a plethora of stories, all real accounts, reside perpetually in my memory, years after he’d told them, but the most fascinating of them all, which is also my all-time favourite, relates to his ‘tryst’ with Jawaharlal Nehru, our first prime minister, scholar, author and statesman, whose 58th death anniversary falls today: May 27.
Shenoy Uncle’s gripping narration was captivating. He was once in charge of work, in New Delhi, close to the area where Nehru’s private plane was slated to land. He quickly communicated to the authorities that there was just no question of landing for a while. His terse message was radioed to the pilot. He’d no choice, but to circle in air, and await the‘all-clear.’ Nehru, a man famed for his mercurial temper, who was with a visiting British dignitary, a Duke, was getting pumped up. He was furious with what was happening, or not happening. His adrenaline had, perhaps, reached its crescendo.
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