Mani shankar aiyar biography of christopher

I first heard of Mani Shankar Aiyar sometime in 1990 when I was serving with Mr. I.K. Gujral, the Minister of External Affairs in V.P. Singh’s government. The Pakistan Foreign Minster had called on Mr. Gujral at South Block and they were reminiscing over old times when the conversation turned to Indian diplomats who had served in that country. Somehow, Mani’s (as he was known to both friends and foes alike) name cropped up (he had recently resigned from the IFS and had joined the Congress). The Pakistani Minister chuckled and said: “Oh, Mani! You know, your Excellency, that old adage about Mani being the root of all evil?” And thereby hangs the “maverick” tag!

Thereafter, I would occasionally read about him in the papers, as he made his way through politics like an IED, but never had the chance to meet him. And then, one day in 2023, he suddenly dropped in at my Mashobra cottage with Mrs. Aiyar and a friend. We spent a couple of very pleasant hours over coffee, leaving me with the impression that here was a man with an almost photographic memory of events, an acerbic sense of humour that could shred a reputation in no time with a few well chosen words, further blessed with the story telling powers of a master raconteur! And these three unusual traits are all too evident in this book. Which makes it eminently interesting and readable; Mani pulls no punches and takes no prisoners!

This is the second volume of his memoirs. It begins with his joining the Congress and winning his first Parliament election. He is a quick learner for someone handicapped with a career in bureaucracy, is eager to dive deep into his constituency’s problems, to ensure its development by taking initiatives in industrialisation, shrimp farming, food processing, setting up IT units, tourism promotion. He works hard, in the words of a friend does his best to turn “Mayiladuturai first into a Dubai and then a Hawaii” but loses his next elect

Dear Mr. Mani Shankar Aiyar,

It is only with great trepidation that I am committing the audacity of addressing a letter to you. I live in a crowded suburb of western Mumbai and am fully aware that I am not fit to live within a radius of 100 km around you. After all, I did not go the Doon School, nor studied at St. Stephens or Cambridge. I was not in Indian Foreign Service for 26 years and cannot count Jawaharlal Nehru’s grandson among my friends.

In case you are interested, I studied in a Gujarati medium school whose class rooms were part of a chawl inhabited by lower middle class families in a western suburb of Mumbai. My father whom I lost at the age of 9 was accountant in a large shop. My mother worked in a cigarette factory to bring up her three children. I am an office assistant in a small firm. In short, I belong to what you call “People Like Them”, far removed from “People Like Us”.

According to you, Narendra Modi can distribute tea at AICC session; he can never be PM. As a Congressman, you might have heard of someone called Lal Bahadur Shastri. Hailing from a poor family in a small village in UP, he used to swim the river everyday to reach his school. I read that as the prime minister of the country he died with some uncleared debt. Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan, who became our president, also saw poverty in his childhood. Both were misfits by your standards, no doubt. I have no doubt you would have advised Shastri to take up supplying milk to Congress workers in and around his village, and Dr. Radhakrishnan to take up teaching in some village school in Madras Presidency rather than teaching philosophy at Oxford.

It is really unfortunate that unlike me, Narendra Modi does not understand his limits. He refuses to believe that if he sold tea in his younger days, he should have continued doing that and not ever dream of becoming prime minister.

Modi did not know that if he sold tea in his younger days, he should have just continued doing that and