Time Out

Rafi Ahmed Kidwai died on October 24, 1956. Had he been living today, one wonders if he could have survived the shock of what the postal department has come to! The ordinary post has virtually been orphaned. One occasionally finds even registered letters just disappearing. Receiving a letter from Delhi at Bhopal within a week is something that calls for a celebration. I have before me a speed post letter costing Rs 45 posted on October 9 at New Delhi P.O., delivered at Bhopal on the 11th at 5 pm, when there is a daily flightbetween the cities. Are we sought to be pushed back to the era when mail was carried by pigeons? And why not, if that be possible?

While Kidwai is remembered for his public achievements, not many are aware of his personal qualities. Because, apart from other reasons, he is not among the favoured ones who are eulogised day in and day out. Noted journalist Omkar Sharad narrated an amusing story of the great man.

quot;I was lucky enough to be a bit close to him and used to address him as Chacha,quot; he says. quot;Those days trains used to have attached saloons for the ministers8217; travels. Once when I stood in a crowd gathered at Allahabad station to see him off, he beckoned me to sit and wait in the saloon. This was watched by a certain Sikh gentleman, a railway TTI, who came searching for my house the very next day. His daughter, a telephone operator, had been suspended for selling unrecorded trunk calls. He wanted me to help her get reinstated. He just would not take a no8217; from me. He took me to Delhi by first classand we were at Mr Kidwai8217;s bungalow the next day as he was leaving for Parliament. He asked me to come in the evening when we would dine together and talk. By then a lengthy representation was typed out by my newly acquired friend. He placed it in Uncle8217;s hands. This poor man8217;s daughter has been maliciously implicated and suspended,8217; I pleaded.

quot;Kidwai Sahib just glanced at the application and asked him his occupation. I am a TTI,8217; he replied. Mr Kidwai threw away the application. You must have brought him without a ticket?8217; Yes, sir, in first class.8217; Oh! You have brought him along in first class and your daughter is cheating through free calls. You are a family of criminals. Get out!8217;

quot;Disgraced, the man withdrew. What type of people are you escorting to me?8217; Uncle asked. I did not know anything,8217; I confessed. I only narrated the tale he had told me.8217; Kidwai sent his servant with instructions to buy a first class ticket for me and to return after properly seating me in the next train. I wasterribly downcast but helpless. So-on after the servant left, the Sikh friend turned up from nowhere! He is a Muslim, that8217;s why!8217; he began. He cannot help a Sikh. Now my job is gone. What we came for and what we achieved!8217;

quot;We reached Allahabad at nine in the morning. Muttering invectives, he got down. His daughter was there at the platform the same girl who was in a soup. He shouted at her: How did you know I was coming?8217; I received a trunk call at midnight saying I had been reinstated and asking me to receive you.8217; See how he scolded me to make me wiser while at the same time benefitting the other man!quot;

This little episode gives an inkling of his philosophy. What a pity that it is becoming more and more rare. The greater the need to remember him!

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