Diplomatic dice!

RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE

Do diplomats play dice? I’m sure they do when they’ve to decide in a trice…

Leads to success or causes a debacle? Only their career growth charts will tell!

An autobiography titled A ringside seat to history by retired Indian Ambassador, Pascal Alan Nazareth, swept me across oceans, deep into experiences and situations I’d heard about vaguely, whether it was nabbing a crook who’d done the bunk from India with his loot, or dealing with a military coup in an African country, where he found that his wife had been wrongfully hauled off to jail!

This Ambassador is my brother-in-law, who, at 85, has retained his gracious charm and his ability to hold attention with his flow of anecdotes. He recounts how he first met my sister Isobel at our uncle’s wedding, being connected with the bride’s family, and set his heart firmly on capturing her someday. At that time he was preparing for the UPSC exams and couldn’t embrace her on his horizon, under the watchful eyes of his father whose aspirations for him to join the IFS matched his own.

Fortunately, the young lady felt an equal attraction. When our eldest sister got married in Bombay in 1958, Alan found an excuse to visit his aunt there and through her, wheedled an invitation to the wedding. Isobel was the bridesmaid. Thus the dice brought them together again.

Shortly thereafter our father retired and decided to settle in Bangalore. Alan seized the opportunity to be of immense service to his ‘hoped for father-in-law’, by nudging his own dad to recommend a suitable house for sale in Fraser Town where his family resided. In those days, lawyers handled the gamut of real estate transactions, so senior Nazareth, a retired judge was an ideal candidate to persuade, into finding a deal.

The dad, ignorant of his son’s objective, located a bungalow near their own. We moved in, and a ‘tryst with the dice of destiny’ between Alan and Isobel carried on blissfully. Often, Nazareth senior would find his son upon their terrace, ostensibly preparing for his exams, but unbeknown to him, actually keeping an eye out for his ‘fair lady’ to emerge from school on her walk home, draped in a crisp cotton sari, clutching her umbrella, with a few books tucked beneath her arm. Perhaps he escorted her to the end of our road. Who knows? I was about ten and she was twelve years old.

In 1962, the now dashing young IFS officer, posted in Japan, came home to marry his lady love. The dice was cast well and their wait paid off. It has been 59 years since then. Alan’s autobiography offers historic insight into their diplomatic and personal life journey thereafter.