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Growing up in a middle-class family in Chennai, one is taught to be wary and cautious of politicians. Fear veiled as reverence is often a norm, but as a journalist, you are expected to shed both. And so, when I met Jayalalithaa for the first time, as a journalist in her Poes Gardens residence, in 2007, I had to hide my feeling of intimidation.
Just the grandeur and paraphernalia surrounding her is enough to create nervousness. I was meeting Amma, not just another human being. As a young TV reporter, my focus was to get that rare interview. And to press my request, I sought a courtesy call. She was not in power then, had lost an election a year earlier in 2006, but that did not matter to those around her. She remained Amma.
Jayalalithaa's residence at Poes Garden is a fortress of sorts. For her solitude and the preservation her image of aloofness. | R. Ragu
Poes Gardens was the fortress it’s known to be. Past the massive iron gates, her aides guided me to a large waiting hall, with a large photo of Amma. On offer was the finest filter coffee I have ever had. With me in that waiting hall was H. Raja of the Bharatiya Janata Party, waiting to hand over an invitation for a family function, and though he was from another party, he seemed excited to meet her.
He was called in first and left after a brief meeting — a couple of minutes long at best — with her. It was my turn then, and I was guided to an adjacent room. As I took those few paces, expecting just a minute or so with her, my mind was focussed. I had decided I would ask her when she would give me an interview.
I walked in and there she was, seated on a large wooden chair upholstered with green cushioning. She politely offered me a seat. It felt as though I was meeting a queen on her throne.
Soon after we exchanged pleasantries, I shot out the question about an interview and the reply left me confused. “Is this what you have come to discuss?” she asked, and went on with a smile, “Tell me more about yourself.” Stumped, I wasn’t sure where to begin. But I began to blurt out my résumé. She politely asked me many questions, including if I spoke Hindi and what I thought of journalism and journalists. The conversation veered somehow to me mentioning that my wife was Muslim. And she smiled and said, “Sunil Dutt and Nargis”!
I must have been embarrassed, but I was too nervous to remember. Finally, after half an hour, I was ready to leave and I reminded her of my interview request again, and that was all that comes to mind. I thought I had impressed her enough to get one. But then I learnt my first Jayalalithaa lesson — with her, you never know what you get till you do. Most of her party leaders may be inclined to agree, at least in private.
For two years there was no response. Several letters reminding her of my request were sent. We stood on the roadside and waved to her many a time as she would drive out of Poes Garden. I was invited for a couple of courtesy calls, but was given no clarity on when she would grant me that interview.
She even attended a family wedding, much to my middle-class family’s amusement, but still no interview. The heat began for the 2009 Lok Sabha polls and I was losing hope as she began touring the State for her campaign.
She would speak her mind, and — like it or not — you would have to live with it. She would have time when she had time. No pretense, no ostensible effort to hide her displeasure, no apologies for what she was.
That’s when I received a call from her aide, asking me to be in Madurai the very next day. We rushed by road from Chennai and reached her hotel by afternoon. We were asked to set up equipment in a room and wait. When she came in, she politely said, “I am so busy, but we will do this”, and went into her suite.
She emerged after a few minutes and said she wasn’t comfortable with the room in which were in. We were informed by her aides that the air-conditioning wasn’t good and the seating arrangement was not good as per Vaastu.
Rushing into the adjacent room to set things up again, we realised it was her suite, where except her closest aides, no one else was allowed. As she sat down and waited for us to set up, she pointed to a large, religious box and said, “I carry all my gods with me wherever I go.”
Usually, once the camera switches on, the interviewee and the interviewer tighten up and there in a definite change in the air, but in this case, only the interviewer tightened up.
Nervously, I began asking her questions on whether there would be a possible post-poll alliance with the Congress (at the time, the war in Sri Lanka was at its peak and the DMK was in an alliance with the UPA) or the BJP or the Third Front. Her answers were characteristically categorical. There was not an iota of difference in the way she spoke to me off camera and on it.
There was no doubt in her voice as she said: “I do not enjoy politics, and I was pushed into two high-profile professions”, or “Sonia Gandhi is not the prime-ministerial candidate and hence her foreign origins is not an issue; if she was, then it would matter”, or “Yes, I have learnt from my mistakes and have matured”.
And as I tried to prolong the interview, she simply said, “We have taken too long now, and I'm in the middle of a campaign.” She would speak her mind, and — like it or not — you would have to live with it. She would have time when she had time.
No pretense, no ostensible effort to hide her displeasure, no apologies for what she was. It’s a trait that’s tough to deal with, and I know a senior journalist who was very close to her endorse this impression.
In many ways, this was the way she conducted her politics. She could ally when she wanted, break it when she didn't. And the only inference I drew, and one that perhaps may help all those who wonder why she was reaching out at one time and suddenly stopped, is that she knew what she wanted when. At least much better than most of us do.
The candour with which she answered personal questions in flawless English, that she believed that she would have been a “good lawyer or a very good academician”, that it didn't really seem to matter to her that she was perceived as dictatorial and authoritarian, perhaps shows that she knew what she was. She may or may not have liked being a politician, or what she had become, but she knew what brought success in politics and how to be powerful.
It’s perhaps true that throughout she was a convent-educated, gutsy revolutionary, breaking the stereotype of a woman trapped in a public image crafted for success in cinema and politics. An image so powerful that, though she felt like she was pushed into it, it became her and she became it. She lost herself to the image, but that’s also perhaps why she was successful.
For a journalist, one interview with her was no guarantee to future access. She won the 2011 elections and I tried, she won 2016 and I hoped, but now I know.
