On 30th May,
2013, B Raman tweeted, “Hanumanji willing, shd
be back home coming Saturday.” Instead, he left for his heavenly abode,
yesterday 16th June, 2013 in the evening. He had shared every detail
of his illness on his blog and also on twitter, including the fact that it was
terminal cancer he was dealing with and he didn’t have much time. Although
quite active on facebook, I am not on twitter and missed his updates. The grief
is profound: had I known, I would have spoken to him, even gone to India to see
him. I was unaware of his hospital stay, of the end that was near and I am left
now with deep regrets and a profound sense of personal loss. I couldn’t read
the ominous signs of things to come. Since 11th May, there was no ‘article
alert’ in my gmail; South Asia Analysis Group, which carried his articles, have
none of his pieces on their first three pages; since 14th May there
were no posts on his blog (Raman’s strategic analysis); his cancer update
posted on 11th May suggested
of a serious relapse. I am now only left
with memories, of the most extraordinary person with whom I worked so closely
and who in so many ways was the perfect ‘guru’, the best teacher.
Bahukutumbi Raman (1936-2013) was an IPS officer of 1961 Madhya
Pradesh cadre who later joined the Research and Analysis Wing, of the
Intelligence Bureau. He served in the R&AW for 26 years, heading the counter-terrorism
unit from 1988 until his retirement in 1994 as Additional Secretary in the
Cabinet Secretariat. He spent his post retirement years as a prolific commentator
and analyst on terrorism and strategic issues and was a regular media presence.
He churned articles on a daily basis! He also had brief stints with various
research organisations and think tanks. With his death, an era of strategic
thinking in India has ended; he was a walking-talking data base of terrorism
and counter terrorism; a recognised expert all over the world.
Between September 2003 and November 2005, I worked with him at the Observer
Research Foundation (ORF), a think tank in Delhi. He was Head of the
International Terrorism Watch Programme which he had set up at ORF and also
served as Director of ORF’s Chennai Chapter. I had completed my Masters degree
in International Relations at JNU and was hired to coordinate the Terrorism Programme
at the ORF. When I first met Raman Sir
at ORF’s Delhi office, he asked me a few questions about why I wanted to work
on terrorism, what I thought were the terrorism issues, what my plans were etc.
and then after his return to Chennai sent me a long list of things to do. That
was his style. Everything was well compartmentalised and every detail was mapped
and that helped enormously in implementation. He sent regular instructions on
emails and I reported to him on a daily basis. It was a wonderful working
relationship and I don’t recall having worked harder in my life before or after
that period.
The good thing about Raman Sir, contrary to popular view, is that he never
actually imposed his views. With his junior colleagues and beginners like me, he had
all the patience and always ensured that we expressed ourselves even if we
disagreed with him. This was special, because in India, kowtowing to the bosses
is common and contrary opinion is never tolerated by those in authority. He did
have issues with his contemporaries and former intelligence colleagues
(although he always extended professional courtesy to everyone, including those
whom he disliked) but he was kind and extremely generous towards those whom he
mentored. I don’t recall one harsh word that he ever spoke to me, going out of
the way to write references and supporting my career aspirations in so many
ways. He knew I wanted to train in academia and pursue a PhD in gender and
terrorism studies. I was not going to be a regular mainstream terrorism analyst
and he always supported my decisions. From the moment I met him, I only had
respect, admiration and affection for the man who has had a very big role in my
career. Although I am now quite well published and in some internationally
acclaimed journals, my proudest moment was when South Asia Analysis website
carried my article next to his!
The first conference we organised at ORF brought in experts from South and
South East Asia together to talk about the regional impact of terrorism. I had
just started working and was not even proficient in handling computers those
days! After the conference programme was drawn up, I noted that one of the
panels had no chair and another had a missing paper presenter. I pointed it out
to him and to my utter shock, he calmly said that I was going to be chairing
that session and would also present a paper! I had only 24 hours to think and
my affirmative decision then put me on a career path that has never let me look
back. After the conference, it was my turn to invite one of our organisers to
offer the vote of thanks. Raman Sir asked
me to wait as he had something to say. He was most generous in his appreciation
of my efforts and lavished so much praise that only left me humbled and tearful.
It was as if our mutual faith had been vindicated. I still have the transcript
of that speech he made and in moments of self doubt, it gives me inspiration
and motivation. It was his confidence that he allowed me to co-edit the
proceedings of that conference with another colleague and it was finally
published as a book. He organised a massive book release function at IIC and
made sure I was given credit for every bit of hard work I had put in. He
ensured that there were ample opportunities for everyone who worked with him to
realize their potential. His faith in the young and the untrained was
remarkable.
While at ORF, I had started looking for PhD opportunities and I was uneasy
telling him I wanted to leave. The intelligence man that he was, he was good at
keeping some secrets. He resigned from ORF without discussing or deliberating
with anyone; we had no clue this was coming. One morning he sent an email
saying he had dissociated himself from ORF and after
returning the few things at their Chennai office, “‘c ést fini between me and
the ORF once and for all”, he wrote. He appeared whimsical at times like these
and those of us who worked with him were very upset. Within moments of his
resignation, I found another long email from him explaining (in bullet points
which was always his style) why he had dissociated from ORF. He ensured that he
played by the rules of the democratic and transparent work culture which he had
created for all of us at ORF. He didn’t care about seniority or hierarchy and
worked very hard to build a team in which the junior most members were also
respected and valued. As someone who was such a big mentor and teacher to all
of us, it was amusing when we met his elder brother Mr. B. Raghavan at a conference
in Chennai. Raman Sir was visibly embarrassed as his older brother addressed
him as ‘Ramu’ and chided him in front of all his staff. We giggled as we witnessed
the great and proper Raman Sir, endearingly addressed as Ramu by his elder
brother.
Most people say, he showed no emotions or sentimentality. I disagree,
for, I saw Raman Sir extremely angry at times, also disappointed, tired, happy
and always curious. I remember his laughter was uncontrollable and long after
those around him stopped laughing and sat sombrely (waiting for the next
instructions) he would keep chuckling at a joke only he understood. He deeply
mourned the death of his friends K. Subrahmanyam, H. S. Chittaranjan and R Swaminathan (as I
remember) and he was devastated by the untimely demise of his young and dynamic
friend, Shakti Bhatt. We talked for a long time on the phone that day. He never
seemed like a loner to me and knew how to communicate with himself. His single
status and not having a family used to be a joke at work and most people found
him socially awkward. I recall the two large pegs of whisky he relished at all
social events and since his cancer diagnosis he really missed drinking, he told
me. After his set quota of two drinks, he would leave immediately afterwards,
often unnoticed and quietly without a fuss. I often wondered (if I hadn’t asked
him earlier) if he had had dinner. It was impossible to not feel affection for
him and care about his well-being. I remember at one such post conference
event, he turned up in a bright yellow printed Hawaiian kind of shirt! For
someone who always wore dull safari suits, this was bound to attract gossip and
attention. I finally dared and complimented him as he shyly replied, it was a
gift from a Malaysian friend!
He always travelled and walked into the office with his old briefcase. When
in Delhi he would reach office before any of the regulars would. He would
always thank me profusely for that hot coffee I would make him in a proper cup,
whenever I found that he was there. I remember a colleague once admonished that
I was being servile to my ‘boss’. He was more than a ‘boss’ to me; a father
figure, a mentor, an inspiration, always a good listener, a very humble man
with impeccable manners and work ethics. I last met him in 2008 at Chennai where he invited Ravi (my husband) and I to a five star restaurant for
dinner. He ate only curd rice and laughed heartily over his own jokes. I kept in touch over phone and email and he was always keen to know about
my career, new projects and publications. If he was disappointed that I didn’t become
a mainstream terrorism analyst, or if he thought my work on gender and
political violence was not important, he never showed it. He was always so
curious, so pragmatic and yet positive. I see that he endorsed Narendra Modi as
Prime Minister a few weeks ago on twitter. I am convinced that it must be a
frustrating moment for him because he had all along disliked the Sangh Parivar’s
brand of Hindutva politics. He had no patience for right wingers who harassed
him continuously in the cyber space.
For a man who had dutifully served in India’s spy agency, he lived a remarkably public and transparent life. Every detail of his cancer was there on his blog and other web spaces (to the annoyance of some and curiosity of others). Although he was not active on facebook, I noted today that on twitter he expressed himself all the time, sharing his feelings. He posted a picture of himself after he was diagnosed with terminal liver secondary cancer; he also posted pictures of his parents and the music he liked. He wrote a remarkable number of posts about personal aspects of his life. He also expressed concern at how the poor would afford cancer care in India. To possibly family members, he admonished on twitter, “I can eat only what my tummy can tolerate. I can't eat what others want me to eat. Affection for terminal cancer patients shd be simple and normal, not instructive.” He called cancer, the ‘terrorist’ he would not be defeated by and always wished to avoid radiation therapy. The ironies were plenty, as he reminded his readers after his 11th May cancer update on his blog that he would be 77 in August this year. For the last 8 years, I have never forgotten to wish him on his birthday which falls on 14th of August (Pakistan’s Independence Day!).
I am absolutely gutted that I couldn’t get to speak to him one last time. But there is a comforting thought, that he lived and died like true ‘karmayogis’ do. In our country when corruption is the norm these days and public servants amass wealth, the spartan and inspirational life of Raman Sir will keep reminding us that there once was an India, where government officials cared for their jobs, their country and their people. After he was diagnosed with cancer in 2009 and told me he had 5 years or so in this biggest fight against ‘terrorism’, I always dreaded writing this obituary. His presence was comforting and although we lived continents apart, I always know his blessings have stood me in good stead. His phone ring tone was A. R Rehman’s Jai Ho (from Slumdog Millionaire), and in many ways captures what Raman Sir lived by and believed in. I have been extraordinarily fortunate in having had the best mentors in my life and B. Raman was the most special of them. I dedicated my PhD thesis to him and it will be my eternal sorrow that I will not be able to hand over a copy of my book personally to him, when it is out. Rest in Peace, Sir. There will never ever be another like you and may Hanumanji take care of you in the heavens above.
For a man who had dutifully served in India’s spy agency, he lived a remarkably public and transparent life. Every detail of his cancer was there on his blog and other web spaces (to the annoyance of some and curiosity of others). Although he was not active on facebook, I noted today that on twitter he expressed himself all the time, sharing his feelings. He posted a picture of himself after he was diagnosed with terminal liver secondary cancer; he also posted pictures of his parents and the music he liked. He wrote a remarkable number of posts about personal aspects of his life. He also expressed concern at how the poor would afford cancer care in India. To possibly family members, he admonished on twitter, “I can eat only what my tummy can tolerate. I can't eat what others want me to eat. Affection for terminal cancer patients shd be simple and normal, not instructive.” He called cancer, the ‘terrorist’ he would not be defeated by and always wished to avoid radiation therapy. The ironies were plenty, as he reminded his readers after his 11th May cancer update on his blog that he would be 77 in August this year. For the last 8 years, I have never forgotten to wish him on his birthday which falls on 14th of August (Pakistan’s Independence Day!).
I am absolutely gutted that I couldn’t get to speak to him one last time. But there is a comforting thought, that he lived and died like true ‘karmayogis’ do. In our country when corruption is the norm these days and public servants amass wealth, the spartan and inspirational life of Raman Sir will keep reminding us that there once was an India, where government officials cared for their jobs, their country and their people. After he was diagnosed with cancer in 2009 and told me he had 5 years or so in this biggest fight against ‘terrorism’, I always dreaded writing this obituary. His presence was comforting and although we lived continents apart, I always know his blessings have stood me in good stead. His phone ring tone was A. R Rehman’s Jai Ho (from Slumdog Millionaire), and in many ways captures what Raman Sir lived by and believed in. I have been extraordinarily fortunate in having had the best mentors in my life and B. Raman was the most special of them. I dedicated my PhD thesis to him and it will be my eternal sorrow that I will not be able to hand over a copy of my book personally to him, when it is out. Rest in Peace, Sir. There will never ever be another like you and may Hanumanji take care of you in the heavens above.
