|
TRANSITION
It is possible to record death, impossible to quantify achievement. In a sense, no
tribute will be adequate for the premier newsmakers whom India lost in 1997. Death is
remorseless; human memory needn't be. Recaptured on these pages is a magic gone forever, a
common glory -- or merely fame -- frozen in time.
 Mother Teresa
(born 1910)
On the night of a thousand stars, they took her to heaven's door. Agnes Gonxha Bojaxhiu
came to Calcutta in 1929, not yet 20 and an earnest nun of the Loreto order. She found her
true calling a decade and a half later, as Mother Teresa, amid the atrophy of human
dignity during the Bengal famine (1943) and Partition. "The greatest tragedy is not
death in pain," she once said, "but neglect." You could question her views
-- "I want every woman considering abortion to give me her child" -- but never
her convictions. Within the unflinching Catholicism lay a revolutionary spirit. She tried
to stimulate a debate on greater recognition for the Virgin Mary, as a personality in her
own right and not merely as Christ's mother. Immensely practical, Mother Teresa even
accepted donations from dictators. No wonder some saw her as a shrewd businesswoman,
running her Missionaries of Charity in the manner of an MNC -- an MNC with a near monopoly
on that most scarce of human commodities: compassion.
 Lakhubhai Pathak
(born 1925)
He left Junagadh, his birthplace, for Kenya when still a boy. The first time Lakshmi
Shankar Gopalji (Lakhubhai) Pathak returned, it was to become a film producer; the attempt
proved abortive. The last time he returned, he didn't just make a spectacle; he became
part of it. In accusing P.V. Narasimha Rao and Chandraswami of cheating him of $100,000 --
apparently a bribe to help him win a contract -- Pathak ensured himself headlines. When
not bribing ministers or visiting law courts, he ran a pickle business with some success:
sales in 100 countries, diversified into papads and chutneys. Determined to get even with
Rao, Pathak came to India in 1996. Here, he gave interviews, quoting copiously from the
Gita, calling himself a "sweeper" clearing the "filth of Indian
politics" and cursing Rao, Chandraswami, everybody, almost till his last breath.
Meanwhile, speculation abounds that the villain in Rao's upcoming novel is a pickle
salesman.
 Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan
(born 1948)
He was an unlikely pop star, fat and bald. That didn't stop Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan from
making an impact. His music -- Sufi qawaalis, films songs, film scores -- traversed the
world. He was the only musician to work for both Martin Scorcese and Mahesh Bhatt, also
composing scores for Oliver Stone, Tim Robbins and Nikos Kazantsakis. A joint album with
Pavarotti and Madonna had almost been finalised. His music was soaring, evocative,
haunting -- and dance-floor worthy. Not surprisingly, he was the plagiarist's delight. Ask
Anu Malik, Viju Shah and Nadeem-Shravan. Those who knew him, describe him as a gentle
giant. After recording Ab kya soche kya hona hai, jo hoga acha hoga for Afreen, he wept.
The lyrics were too moving. Food, they say, was his only vice: biryani, paya, kebabs; and
Chinese. That's what he was then, half superstar, half schoolboy. "He blushed when he
met Aishwarya Rai," remembers a friend, "and Madhuri Dixit was his absolute
favourite." Now he sings to the birds of paradise. |
