In memoriam

Jaswant Singh 1938-2020

IF it were not for a man-made earthquake in a desert 7,500 miles from Washington, I might never have met Jaswant Singh. For me, that would have been a great loss.

India’s surprise test of nuclear devices in May 1998 alarmed much of the international community, notably the American president whom I was serving. Bill Clinton’s slogan for his second term was ‘a bridge to the 21st century.’ The Cold War seemed to be over, and he wanted to turn to other parts to the world. India was high on his list. Now he was in the position of sanctioning a country he had wanted to partner within a stable world order.

But, as the saying goes, in every crisis lies an opportunity. Sometimes in life, friendships are forged by how disagreements are handled. That can happen in politics and diplomacy, although it took some time to get over the anger on both sides.

India asserted the right to an arsenal of the ultimate weapons to defend against enemies, especially two problematic neighbours, Pakistan (known to have a bomb in the basement) and China (which had the bomb for over 30 years).

Now that India’s capacity was out in the open, the U.S. and many other countries around the world urged the BJP-led coalition government to follow international agreements, but to no avail.

However, both President Clinton and Prime Minister Atal Bihari Vajpayee were determined not to let this conundrum backslide into the era of ‘estranged democracies’ that had hobbled their predecessors for half a century.

Thus, Jaswant Singh and I went to work. In our first meeting, we settled that we would use the word ‘a dialogue’, not ‘a negotiation’. The latter would have signalled a treaty of some kind in due course, and none was on the horizon.

Early in our marathon – fourteen consultations over two and half years in seven countries on three continents – I found Jaswant as a man of parts. He had been a soldier and held himself ramrod straight, a posture that gave him an air of severity mixed with elegance. He spoke in a sonorous baritone and measured, often rather complex sentences.

As Jaswant and I came to know each other, we introduced our families. In Delhi, he invited me to his home in Teen Murti Lane, where I met his wife, Kala, his son, Manvendra, and the household peacock Piku. After tea in the garden, we often retired to his study with its impressive library, including his own books. I also found him to be someone of unusual intellectual breadth and depth. It was, moreover, often an edifying one for me. I came to understand much that I had not known about Indian history and lingering effect of British rule; the complexity of Indian society, culture, and religion; the ins and outs of Indian politics; and, crucially, Indians’ adamancy about their sovereignty.

But we almost always returned to our on-going assignment. He often recited a proverb from his native Rajasthan: ‘Don’t ask the way to a village if you don’t want to get there.’

In other words, a wise life is directional, not necessarily destinational. Even if the village is too far or unwelcoming, you may find others places to rest and find valuable experiences.

Jaswant’s catchphrase was a staple in our banter over the next two years, in part because it suited the itinerant nature of the enterprise. But more to the point, our governments were not getting anywhere with international agreements after the Pokhran test.

Even though our dealings were marked by profound and often irreconcilable differences, I found Jaswant’s conduct to be candid but courteous, and when he ran into roadblocks in New Delhi, he let me know.

The longer we grappled with the principal objective of the dialogue, a breakthrough seemed more and more a mirage. Rather than giving up, we took a piece of advice from Dwight Eisenhower: ‘If you can’t solve a problem, enlarge it.’ We would use our channel to deal with other issues that might come out of the blue.

That contingency came into use the next year, big time.

I had already credited Jaswant as a hero of trust-building between India and the U.S., but the cardinal example was the Kargil incident. It could have been a catastrophe, possibly with a nuclear war.

As that crisis escalated, P.M. Vajpayee was worried that Nawaz Sharif was in Washington pleading with President Clinton to take his side. In Delhi, many in the Indian high command were increasingly worried that America would revert to type as Pakistan’s protector. Jaswant, however, at Vajpayee’s side, was keeping an open mind that the outcome could be to India’s advantage. He was right. Clinton gave Sharif no comfort. Pakistan had to withdraw.

I will never forget the phone call from Jaswant: ‘Something terrible has happened these past several months between us and our neighbours. But something quite new and good has happened this weekend between our own countries, yours and mine – something related to the matter of trust. My prime minister and I thank your president for that.’

Jaswant deserved undying appreciation for advancing his nation’s interests while also, as he put it, harmonizing U.S.-Indian relations. All that dialoguing around the world paid off. He kept us on the way to that village of his. We must make sure that our two countries remain on that journey. He will be missed.

Strobe Talbott

Former U.S. Deputy Secretary of State

 

IT is indeed difficult to write about a friend who one has known for almost half a century, and describe his graciousness and kindness throughout that period.

I first met Jaswant at the Jodhpur Palace, hard at work helping the Maharaja to put up structures and trusts that are still there today. The great Mehrangarh Fort that attracts over a million tourists a year also attracted the likes of the late Martand Singh, Neil MacGregor of the British Museum, and Mahrukh Tarapor of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, as honorary trustees because the trust was of international standard ruled by transparency of operations and for the larger good to survive change.

Then one day he upped and left for Delhi, where after a brief stint at Kelvinator, he fixed his sights on ‘public service’. It was then his brother-in-law, Sardar Angre, took him to meet Mr Vajpayee and Rajmata Scindia. He impressed them greatly with his thoughts and ideas that very soon saw him nominated by the BJP to the Rajya Sabha.

I would stay with him on and off for decades, in his home on Teen Murti Lane, en route to the home of my in-laws in Dehra Dun. His was an extraordinary home. Both Jaswant and Sheetal, his wife who we call Kala, were deeply religious and every day after their early morning prayers, Kala would go out into the garden and call for the birds. All sorts would come, some whose wings were damaged and that she had mended, others for a free feed. The sparrows would land on her shoulders, a parakeet sometimes, and there were peacocks too. One called Piku used to behave much like a family pet. The dog too behaved like he was a member of the family. Never in my life, in any home, have I experienced anything like that.

It was during those days that he showed me two of three personal letters from the legendary Indira Gandhi. In one, a couple of paragraphs remain etched in my memory where she wrote, ‘Jaswant, what a wonderful debate we had yesterday in the afternoon, it went on for hours, I must compliment you that during all that time you never mentioned a name, or were personal about anyone, it was a debate on principles and subjects. A huge broad sweep that got everyone thinking.’ It was signed with a flourish, Yours, Indira.

He would read somewhere between sixty to one hundred pages every day, on subjects that ranged from biographies to history, from foreign affairs to economics. All pretty dense. This put him on top of any job he did. If anyone ever suggests that they had helped him formulate his ideas in any of the three ministries that he headed and was at the helm of, that person should be laughed out of sight. Jaswant chose his bureaucrats carefully, and after extensive discussions with the PM, he would get to work and follow his intentions to their conclusion.

When the Ayodhya movement was at its peak, and just one day before the Babri Mosque came down, I happened to walk into his home, and there he was. ‘Jassu, what are you doing here? You should be in Ayodhya,’ to which he responded by saying, ‘Mr Vajpayee says God save us from these Ram bhakths, stay at home.’

Then Kargil happened. Who but Jaswant would have the sagacity to bring in Arun Singh (a close friend of Rajiv Gandhi and Defence Minister in his cabinet) to assist and help for the next couple of years? That was the kind of man he was.

The earlier Defence Minister, George Fernandes, and Jaswant became friends. He would narrate the story of how George, in frustration, feeling bogged down by the bureaucracy around him that was slow in taking critical and necessary decisions, found the six bureaucrats who were sitting on the files that were to provide snowmobiles, warm clothes and boots for our men in Siachen. In frustration he just packed them off to Siachen for six days and made them wear the same clothes as the men at those formidable heights were clad in; forced them to walk from post to post in the snow in ordinary shoes, and made them experience the reality for what it was. The bureaucrats returned, the files moved in haste, and the sanction was approved in twenty four hours!

When as Foreign Minister, he was told by the PM that it was time to turn India’s foreign policy towards the United States, Jaswant built trusting relationships with Madeleine Albright and Strobe Talbott, but despite his efforts, it was very difficult to get the bureaucrats at the Foreign Ministry to change tack. He always said he was blessed to have a Foreign Secretary who was like a Gurkha officer, as determined as his Minister, to achieve their joint goals.

As Finance Minister he continued to open up the markets whenever he found a consensus – a difficult task. But at all times he remained an officer and a gentleman.

I will truly miss him, and in a few years when I meet him up there in the open sky, I will say to him what I have said to him over the decades, ‘Jassu do not forget that it was the great Shivaji, who with forty sturdy Marathas, rattled the cage of an Empire!’ And he will most definitely respond as he always did, ‘do shut up you Maratha bigot and have a drink.’

RIP

Deepak Vaidya

 

Sir Terence Conran 1931-2020

IN 1964 Terence Conran, aged 32, opened his first Habitat home furnishing store in trendy Chelsea, London. Seated on the Summa chair he designed, he cut a fashionable figure in the swinging sixties, more James Bond suave than mop topped Beatle. The English designer wanted to shape homes that responded to the changing times, breaking away from post war solemnity. He described his market as appealing to ‘young moderns with lively taste.’

Introducing ideas from all over the world, Habitat showcased shag pile Afghan rugs, plastic tables and lamps in fantastic colours from Italy, beanbags in glamorous covers elevated from student squat to chic interiors, flat-pack storage systems. Woks and chicken bricks introduced different cuisines and the duvet, an idea he shipped from Scandinavia, ‘revolutionized the sex life of Europe’, he always claimed.

Critical to his life changing view of Habitat and the role it would play in Britain was India. A student of textile design, and later furniture, at The Central School of Arts and Craft in London, he sought a contact in India to introduce soft furnishings to his UK company.

In 1965, Terence Conran met John Bissell, the gregarious networker and talent spotter, who had founded his export business, Fabindia five years earlier. This serendipitous encounter endured for thirty years. John Bissell found the best carpet makers and textile weavers throughout India and while supporting Indian handicrafts and rural artisans, at the same time encouraged a more sustainable method of production to meet his growing order book. Hand block printed bedcovers, applique work and embroidery on bedcovers, cushions, table linen, and throws introduced exuberant colour and pattern to British homes.

On his first trip to India, Terence visited with John the dhurrie weavers of Ambala in the Punjab. He lay on the floor, surrounded by threads of yarn, to select the three colourways he knew would sell in the UK. Orange and red, black and white, and blues with greens were instantly woven into samples by the workers into the pattern Meena Chowdhury named ‘Haseena’, and a best seller was born.

‘In Terence, John found a partner to fuel his creativity’, observed Radhika Singh in her entertaining book, ‘The Fabric of Our Lives: The Story of Fabindia’, published by Penguin in 2010. Terence’s sister, Priscilla Conran, who joined the trips before managing The Conran’s Shop noted that ‘John was really able to teach Habitat how they should work in India. He had a deep sense of responsibility which he passed on to Habitat in those days.’

Hyderabad, Madras, Cochin, Calicut, Kerala, Goa and Bombay, they criss-crossed India meeting suppliers, initiating designs and colour trends, approving samples and planning the monthly production and shipping strategy for all Habitat and Conran stores, and to fill up Fabindia’s export order book for the year.

John’s wife, Bim Bissell, recalls Terence coming to India every year in those formative years of doing business together. ‘At one point he became intrigued by a couple from Gujarat who brought to our house in Delhi samples of embroideries from Kutch. I remember him squatting on the floor in a room piled high with textiles, the abhala small mirrors gleaming in the dim light, going over the intricate geometric patterns with Jethi Bai whilst her husband sang Gandhiji’s favourite bhajans, twanging on a one stringed instrument.’

The Habitat team continued to visit India every year for this pilgrimage to Fabindia until in 1990s Conran lost control of Habitat while retaining control of the Conran brand. New management appointed another representative in India. The following year John Bissell had a stroke. William Bissell, now the Managing Director of Fabindia, ensures his father’s values are enshrined in the company: ‘It seems contradictory that we pursue both profit and a social goal but I believe that is the only way to do business,’ he says.

Habitat’s product catalogues rapidly became essential reading for youthful trendsetters. Within a decade the print run rose from 30,000 to 130,00 before becoming best sellers worldwide. In 1986 I was asked by Terence Conran to use the images published in the catalogues to produce three small Habitat/Homebase books, each retailing for under five pounds GBP, to explain how to furnish ‘Halls and Living Rooms’, ‘Bedrooms and Bathrooms’, ‘Kitchens and Dining Rooms’. A fourth book in the series, ‘Small Gardens and Back Yards’ by David Stevens, meant the quartet could be parcelled up in one volume as ‘Conran’s Encyclopaedia of Interior Design and Decoration’, an American book-club choice in 1988. Meanwhile, the four original Habitat/Homebase books were reprinted and distributed throughout the world in 1987, 1994, 1996, and 1998.

At our weekly meeting to wrap up the project in under four months, I learnt how keenly Terence kept an eye on costs. Value for money drove his decisions personally as much as in business. Travelling as design writers do to the annual Salone del Mobile furniture fair in Milan, I was surprised to find that he always turned right upon entering the aircraft to sit at the back of plane. ‘Not worth spending business rates on short haul travel,’ he said.

His attempt to build a retail giant that included Mothercare and British Home Stores foundered after confrontations with business corporations who did not like his autocratic style. ‘Sir Tel doesn’t like it’ became the challenge to be met within his publishing company, Conran Octopus, often used as an excuse for timidity when he hadn’t even seen the proposal, let alone condemned it.

Terence never hesitated to say if something didn’t meet his high standards. I was reminded of this with a new collection called FFF (Family Follows Fiction) by Alessi, the Italian stainless steel with style manufacturer of kitchen and dining ware. The Conran shop stocked their kettles and coffee pots designed by world famous architects but when Alessi introduced humorous, resinous add-ons to a new line of serviceable steel products, he disapproved. The ‘Anna G’ bottle opener with her pleated resin skirt and long steely arms that clasped around the neck of a bottle, ‘Nutty the Cracker’ nutcracker with a polyamide red squirrel perched on top, the fruit plate sprouting a green tree never saw the light of day in Conran shops. Alberto Alessi called it putting fun back into function. Sir Terence, a modernist at heart, said it added nothing to the performance.

A bon viveur with an eagle eye for detail and an appetite for life, he opened restaurants that included Quaglinos, Bibendum, the Bluebird Café, Mezzo and Le Pont de la Tour which had the hallmarks of fine dining with silverware, fresh flowers, damask table clothes and napkins and menus serving hearty Mediterranean bistro food cooked with the finest, fresh ingredients.

At home in Barton Court, his 145 acre 17th century estate in Berkshire where he lived for more than 30 years, he ushered in contemporary living with large open plan spaces painted white and a mix of antique furniture and design classics. Married four times, he fathered five children, Sebastian and Jasper, Tom, Sophie and Ned. Terence is survived by Vicki whom he married in 2000, his children, 13 grandchildren, two great grandchildren and Priscilla.

His greatest legacy is the Design Museum which consumed a considerable amount of his fortune. In 1989 he opened The Boiler House in the Victoria and Albert Museum to chart the course of contemporary design with Stephen Bayley as its director. When it outgrew that space, he poured millions into rehousing the Design Museum in a former warehouse on river Thames in London. His urban regeneration on the 13-acre derelict site developed the idea of mixed use housing, offices, the museum and a restaurant in buildings like warehouses and telephone exchanges made redundant by new technology. He presciently wrote in his foreword to my book, ‘Converted Spaces’ published by Conran Octopus that ‘Space is the greatest luxury of the modern age.’

Then in 2016 the Design Museum under the directorship of Deyan Sudjic moved to the former Commonwealth Institute in Kensington where visitor numbers soared dramatically from 120,000 a year to 600,000 annually. A purist makeover of the building by the minimalist John Pawson creates cathedral-like spaces bathed in light to illuminate just how design and the built environment impact on the social, cultural, and economic well-being of society.

Its philanthropist, Terence Conran modestly observed that ‘moving the Design Museum to Kensington is the most significant moment of my whole career in design because it allowed all my early dreams and ambitions to come true.’

Homeware, Interiors, Fashion, Furniture, Architecture, Lighting, Products, Advertising, Transport, Type, Communications, Packaging, every subject marketed in the 20th and 21st century is showcased in this marvellous memorial to a man whose life was dedicated to making the world a better place.

Nonie Niesewand

Contributing Editor, ‘House & Garden’ and ‘Architectural Digest’ India