Chalapathi Rau: Some Impressions

Though I was closer to him than many who claimed to be closest to him, I could never persuade myself to call him M. C. I always addressed him as Chalapathi Rau Garu. The reason was obvious. I held him in very high esteem not only because of his professional seniority but because of his personal superiority. Yes, he had a life style which was the envy and despair of his fellow-journalists who had a price tag. They instinctively felt that they belonged to an inferior class–the class of mere profes­sionals. In fact he was a saint who strayed into journalism, concerned primarily, not with his professional expertise, but with his personal ethics. He was a refined idealist and reluctant journalist.

I first met Chalapathi Rau in August 1943. Following the closure of his paper, Lucknow-based National Herald, under very unhappy political circumstances, he had just joined the Hindusthan Times as Assistant Editor. I was already there working as a Research and Reference Assistant. A colleague introduced me to him as a fellow-Andhra. After a brief exchange of pleasantries in Telugu with him, I returned to my desk. Earlier, of course, I had known and admired him from a distance as an irresistible writer with a stunning mastery over stately and sensuous prose.

At the Hindusthan Times he was the most loved, feared and admired man–loved because of his humility and affability, feared because of his courage and integrity and admired because of his professional skill, suavity and sophistication. Though he had many seniors on the editorial staff by virtue of the length of their service, everyone turned to him for advice and guidance. In the office he had the reputation of being a very reticent, withdrawn, duty-conscious employee. But outside he relaxed with his friends in a big way–sharing with them the latest juicy gossip. His sharp, scintillating comments on the political and social goings on in the capital were an intellectual treat to those around them. Fortunately a large public also could enjoy them later because he would include them in the articles he wrote for the paper. His Mere Gossip which he wrote every week under the pseudonym “Magnus” was the most widely read column in the country. It was chaste, crisp, well-crafted journalism at its literary best. Whatever he wrote came alive more because of his involvement in social concerns than because of his commitment to professional excellence. He was a practising socialist to whom socialism was not just ideology but a value system, a way of life. Once Devadas Gandhi, his boss at the Hindusthan Times, decided to give him some attractive perks. Politely declining the offer, Chalapathi Rau said: “Devadasji! No. Thanks. Please don’t spoil me.” In 1944 with the reappearance of National Herald, deciding to go to it, he resigned from the Hindusthan Times. But Devadas Gandhi was very keen on retaining him. He offered him a monthly salary of Rs. 2,000, just to stop him from rejoining National Herald for much less: Rs. 700. Chalapathi Rau said: “Devadasji, what would I do with so much money? My monthly expenses are only Rs. 700.” Perhaps not many people know that he refused Padma Bhushan!         He was indeed a Mahatma among journalists. Sheer brilliance, accompanied by unselfconscious modesty, integrity, courage and crusading zeal, was what distinguished him from other pressmen. He was an idealist who was a militant activist. He always wrote with the fervour, forthrightness and fortitude of one who had never hesitated to fight for the freedom and dignity of the Indian press, however formidable the forces arrayed against him. He used satire to make his point: but with malice towards none. He was a gentleman who wouldn’t hurt even his worst enemy. He had always been a crusader for principles, and not an apologist for vested interests. Naturally he encountered stiff opposition veiled or open. But a man like him who knew what was right and fought fearlessly for it could never be cowed down by temporary reverses. He was not the one who could be bullied into acquiescence. He never compromised with evil, never condoned vulgarity, never accepted banality.

Even after his return to Lucknow, I was in constant touch with him. I often wrote for his paper, though only for token fees. What mattered to me was the fact that he published me. Years later we met again in Bombay where I had already become the editor of the Illustrated Weekly of India. He was in town as a member of the first Press Commission of which Dr. C. P. Ramaswamy Iyer was the Chairman. We met at a restaurant. He said: “I’m glad you’re at the Weekly. I hope it will soon interest readers like me.” I said: “You must write for me. Please don’t say No.” He replied: “I write only for small papers as you know.” Yes, he was a friend of the small fry. No wonder that he readily agreed to write a weekly column for Swarajya when I edited it in 1978-1980. He had also written several articles for the Illustrated Weekly of India as a special case under my pressure. But on his retirement from National Herald he concentrated on writing only for the smaller papers except when he wrote for syndicates.

His loyalty to the Nehru family was almost blind. He believ­ed that the Nehrus could do no wrong and the interests of the country were safe in their hands. Though the cause of his un­happiness in his last days was Mrs. Gandhi’s capriciousness and the free hand she gave to her evil courtiers who found Chalapati Rau a tough, self-respecting editor, he never let her down. Once I asked him to write a critical article on her for Swarajya. His reply was typical of his culture and character: “No, Raman. Your First Person Singular contains enough of damaging anti-Indira material. Why do you want me to add to it? Moreover I won’t be able to do the job as effectively as you have been doing.”