( Continued from Part 4)
(1000 words)
Back in America and then in England, at two of the greatest universities, I
embarked upon the adventure in ideas. My eclectic reading paid off. I became
the unchallenged student of my subject at a University which draws the best
from all over the world. Around me gathered a constellation of the brightest
stars of the University. They represented all subjects. We were all young men
and women with push and go.
But the thinking man in me was aware of the man within who wanted to be a
man of action. Not for me is the blear-eyed wisdom of a sedentary university
professor, though my first job was as an Assistant Professor at one of the top
universities in Washington DC. Also, I needed to earn plenty to support my
expensive and unabashedly fabulous lifestyle. I afforded the finest things in the
life the hard way: I earned every bit of it by brains.
Washington DC, the capital of the known universe! I was already intimately
involved in the Republican Party. But I abhorred publicity for myself. My
writings earned me profuse plaudits. I campaigned for my friends, most of
whom were my seniors, who became US Congressman and Senators. It was always my choice to be behind the camera rather than being in front of it. I
became the unmoved mover. In the terrain of Washington, where every inch is
either a mine-field or a quicksand, I picked my steps gingerly. I had friends in
Democratic Party too.
I wrote speeches for them, formulated election strategies and very often minted
lines that either raggedly minced or neatly quartered opponents. In a world
dominated by the trendy, gimmicky and ephemeral, I introduced an element of
intellectuality and learning which did not cause indigestion even in a confirmed
plebeian.
At this time, I came under the peeled gaze of one of the most prominent ladies
of America; Claire Booth Luce was the uncrowned arbiter of taste and talent in
Washington. She was to become for me what I always dreamt of but never had
– a mother I could love, respect, approve and emulate. Claire was the wife of
one of the press barons of America. She was a former American ambassador to
Italy. At 5 ft 10 inches and with a stylishly coiffed hair, she exuded a regal aura.
She loved my polymathic intellectual pursuits and gave me a special place in
her pantheon. “You are not the son of my flesh and blood, but the son of my
heart,” she said to me in one evening in her penthouse condominium at the
Watergate complex.
On another occasion, a Friday evening, seeing me still at work, she asked,
“What on earth are you doing here all this time? Where is your girlfriend?”
“Oh, they’re all over the country,” I said, without batting an eyelid.
“What! They? I am asking about her, one only,” she countered. “How many do
you have?”
“I can give you the exact number only after the next census which is to take place in six months,” I said with a puckish smile.
In spite of such flock of birds in my collection, Claire always introduced me to
dazzling girls. But those girls were not airheads. An empty-headed blond had a
better chance of walking on the moon without oxygen than lasting ten minutes
in Clair’s company. To these girls, Clair spoke about me in such glowing terms
that that I found myself saddled with responsibility of proving me equal to the
prior publicity. Even when she was out of town she would call me to ask if I had
my dinner or if I was looking after myself.
Girls with a combination of brain and beauty, great pride and great humility,
courage and sensitivity have always held for me an irresistible fascination. I
have never ceased to wonder about the mystery and magic of these rarities.
Equally, there has been for me nothing more repulsive than the snarling and
vicious harridan whose suffocating tentacles I escaped.
There was no President from Nixon onward who could be immune to Claire.
She held court at the Sans Souel French restaurant near the White House. She is
the one who steered me in the direction of a permanent position within the
Republican Party. She was my mentor who re-emphasised to me what I already
knew: I have it within me to rise up to any challenge that stared me in the face. I
thought quickly on my feet. The man of contemplation blossomed onto a man of
action. To this metamorphosis, Claire’s contribution was enormous. Today she
appears to me in my dreams and from across the chasm of death beams down on
me her loving and restorative benediction.
In my university days I took to cooking as a hobby. In Washington this hobby
became a habit. I ranged over the entire spectrum of cuisines from all over the
world. My interest in different cuisines of the world was an organic growth of
my polymathic pursuits. Once a month, I gave a sumptuous party. I cooked all
the main courses while a host of girls assisted me in accompaniments. The
guests of my parties are chosen with care. I saw to it that they represented all
aspects of a civilized society. Claire often would drop by for an hour or so. A few times I danced with her to the clapping of all.
From the University I moved to take over my new position as the Deputy Chief
of Staff to the Chairman of the Senate Armed Services Committee. My job
called for travelling extensively all across America and often Europe and Latin
America. I traversed the spectrum from sublime to the slime and back. I stayed
with friends or their families. I became a member of those families. From the
wild mountainous areas of West Virginia and Eastern Kentucky to the
expansive serenity of the western states, I was on terms of close friendship with
many families. Yet, these very people keep all strangers at bay. Parts of this
rural America still subscribe to the ethos and values of the original settlers: the
women and girls still wear beautifully embroidered and colourful dresses, their
hairdo often in the fashion of an eighteenth or nineteenth century female. They
are a hardy lot, with fine bones and lean physique and joyous hearts.
( To be continued)
About the author
Pradip Moitro (1939 – 2012) was born in undivided India, in today’s Bangladesh. Post partition, the family migrated to West Bengal, where he completed his schooling at Barrackpore, a Calcutta suburb. Then he studied at St. Stephens, Delhi and tnen moved to Oxford.Later he became an in -house polymath of White House and rose to a speech writer of an US President in the last quarter of 20th century. He breathed his last at Oxford.