<p>I remember the day vividly. It was December 1957. Isabel and her two sisters had travelled from Bombay to Bangalore. Her uncle was getting married to my brother-in-law’s sister. In the massive dining hall of Isabel’s ancestral home, grandma Rose saw me and signalled me to come to her. </p>.<p>This part of town, called Grant Road (now Vittal Mallya Road), was then devoid of UB City’s lavish grandeur. In its place was a beer plant that churned ale. ‘What’s your name? Who’s your father? What do you do?’ She seemed curious to know more about me. I told her I had finished my BA (bachelor of arts) from Loyola College, Chennai and was now preparing for the civil services. </p>.<p>It was then that Isabel entered the hall and I saw her for the first time. “Come here, I found you a nice young man,” said grandma Rose, Isabel’s grandmother. “But he’s such a young boy,” Isabel quipped as we sat for lunch. </p>.<p>Over the next two days, I kept my eyes on her. She belonged to a renowned family. Her grandfather’s proximity to the <br>Maharaja of Mysore had given him a position of prominence. He was sent to England to complete further studies. When Isabel and her sisters needed a ride to the train station after the wedding celebrations, I happily volunteered. We spoke on our way and continued to write to each other after she left.</p>.<p><strong>IAS days</strong> </p>.<p>Days passed. My father was listening to the 9 pm news on All India Radio, when he learnt that the IAS/IFS results had been announced. One of my brilliant classmates, A Ramji, had not made it. I feared my name might not be even in the top 50. </p>.<p>However, my father, full of excitement and hope, proposed we go to the Deccan Herald office, on M G Road, where he had a friend among the editors. It was 10.45 pm when we reached there. We were invited into the ‘newsroom’ and had two chairs placed for us next to the telex machine on which the New Delhi newsfeed would come in. </p>.<p>At 12.50 am, the names of the successful candidates in the 1958 IAS/IFS exam began to come in. After the 15th name was printed, the telex machine began to print ‘P A S C A L A L A N NA Z A R E T H’. As each of these alphabets was being printed, I felt an ‘unseen hand’ writing my name and destiny, alphabet by alphabet. My father wept and exclaimed, “Thank you Lord Jesus”. I could not hold back and thanked the Almighty as well. The DH editors who had silently watched us congratulated us on my success and even put sugar candy into our mouths to ‘sweeten’ our joy. At that moment, my life felt complete. </p>.<p>My father, the son of a farmer from southern Kerala, had fought all the odds to finish his education and had retired as the district judge in Coimbatore. The young IAS officers posted next to our house had always fascinated my father. He dreamt of me joining the services. ‘I want to be an IAS officer,’ I would tell everyone growing up, heavily influenced by my father’s dreams. When I didn’t get in on my first attempt even after scoring well in the written, I discovered where I was lacking. The interview round was no test of knowledge but a test of mental capacity — how you form an opinion and act on it. From scoring 40 out of 400 in the first attempt, I scored 360 out of 400 in the second.</p>.<p><strong>First days</strong></p>.<p>It felt unreal when I was told the then-prime minister Jawaharlal Nehru was keen on meeting the new batch in the services and speaking to us about our preparation. On March 31, 1959, as the 10 of us stood before him in his office, he shared his and the country’s expectations with us. </p>.<p>It was then that the foreign secretary Subimal Dutt dropped in to inform him that the Dalai Lama had entered India that morning. “These young officers will have to deal with the consequences of today,” Nehru had said. This would go on to change the Indo-China relationship dynamic from ‘Hindi-Cheeni bhai bhai’ to a much colder one, leading to the war of 1962.</p>.<p>Little did I realise this would also mark the beginning of my adrenaline-fuelled career of 35 years as a diplomat.</p>.<p>I was assigned to be by the Dalai Lama’s side for three weeks. I was in-charge of arranging his meals and press meets. I was expecting the Tibetans to be vegetarians but I learnt they had a pure non-vegetarian diet — pork, chicken and so on. When I spoke to them, they said they couldn’t afford a vegetarian meal since the time of Buddha. It was impossible to cultivate vegetables at high altitudes. The Dalai Lama would have been 24-25 at the time when during a press meet someone asked him: ‘Do you speak Chinese?’ He replied, ‘I don’t know Chinese (language) but I know Chinese (people).’</p>.<p>I have been in touch with his Highness every now and then. When I went to Dharamshala to meet him a few years ago, he treated me very kindly.</p>.<p>During my first posting in Japan, I wanted Isabel to accompany me as my wife. My father, however, felt I was unfamiliar with the language, which could pose challenges for a young couple. So, I had my mother accompany me as I learned the language for two years. Then I went back to marry Isabel on September 1, 1962. This might have also pleased the Indian authorities. They preferred that diplomats marry Indians rather than foreign nationals in the place they were posted.</p>.<p>During my first foreign post at the Embassy of India in Tokyo, I was deputed to attend and report on a political rally of the Japan Socialist Party (JSP). I witnessed JSP leader Inejiro Asanuma being assassinated by a 17-year-old member of one of Japan’s ultra-rightist groups. All through my decades of service, life would throw plenty of such shocking incidents at me. </p>.<p>On June 2, 1979, the second night after my arrival in Accra, Ghana, there was a military coup. I was the high commissioner of India to Ghana and was to present my credentials to president Akufo-Addo. But a few days after the coup, he was ‘court martialled’ along with two of his predecessors. All three of them were found guilty and executed by the firing squad. I would spend the next four months protecting India’s interests and that of its nationals in Ghana without being formally accredited to it.</p>.<p>The coup was led by junior-level officers. They had long been mistreated by senior officials who were also accused of taking bribes and defrauding the country. Indians in the country were being attacked too. Their homes were raided randomly as they were accused of bribing the officials for business purposes. </p>.<p>A young Indian woman who was pregnant was picked up for questioning. Isabel sat in the military vehicle and accompanied the woman, as her husband was taken first. <br>Seeing a diplomat’s wife in the military vehicle, the officials were embarrassed and let the woman go after a few questions. They also apologised to my wife and sent her home in a car. After this incident, the Indians there breathed a sigh of relief and Isabel became an instant hero.</p>.<p><strong>Tracking criminals</strong></p>.<p>One episode that remains etched in my memory is that of shipping magnate Jayanti Dharma Teja. He had founded Jayanti Shipping Company (JSC) in 1958. With a $40 million loan from the government’s Shipping Development Fund, he ordered eight bulk carriers from Mitsubishi Shipbuilding Company. Four of them were launched by Indian VIPs during my tenure at the Indian Embassy, Tokyo from August 1960 to July 1963. Teja was then a renowned figure with high-level contacts in India, Japan, the UK and USA.</p>.<p>When it was discovered that he had defrauded JSC, fled India and sought refuge in the US, my prime task was to find and have him repatriated to India. With the New York commissioner of immigration’s assistance, he was located and arrested and legal proceedings began soon after. However, he disappeared again by securing a $10,000 bail. </p>.<p>A few weeks later, a friend in the Costa Rican consulate informed me that he had arrived in his country with the assistance of former president Jose Figueres. Despite India not having diplomatic relations with Costa Rica, the Ministry of External Affairs (MEA) instructed me to go there and request its government to repatriate Teja. </p>.<p>The nine trips I had to make to Costa Rica in the next two years became increasingly challenging and risky after Figueres won the April 1970 presidential election. He not only had our extradition petition against Teja nullified but also had a diplomatic passport issued to him. </p>.<p>Unfortunately for Teja, he decided to travel to France and other parts of Europe in 1970 when we received intel of his itinerary. The MEA, CBI, Interpol, and France’s and UK’s police chiefs were alerted. When Teja landed at the Heathrow airport in London on July 24, 1970, he was arrested. Despite the Costa Rican Embassy’s and his legal team’s strenuous efforts to have him released and not extradited to India, he was brought to India nine months later and taken to Tihar Jail to await his subsequent trial.</p>.<p><strong>Personal challenges</strong></p>.<p>All this while, Isabel had been with me and we had been blessed with three children — Premila, Anand and Seema.</p>.<p>I was experiencing career highs. But life came to a standstill when my 18-year-old son was diagnosed with a malignant bone tumour in his left knee in 1985. With the government’s support (which helped me pause my posting), we immediately left for the US for his treatment. He was operated upon. But soon after, he developed a high fever due to an infection. The doctors said they might have to amputate his leg. We were shattered but fate had other plans. </p>.<p>Mother Teresa happened to be in Peru to open one of her homes there and was scheduled to leave for India the next day. However, through a common contact, we requested her presence. She said she would come as I was one of the few Indian diplomats working there. By then, she had already been awarded the Nobel Prize (in 1979). When she walked into the hospital, it was unexpected and caused a frenzy. But she came, met my son, prayed for him and blessed him. In an astounding turn of events, his fever began to subside the next day and till date (he is 55 now), he remains cancer free. She has now become the patron saint of our family.</p>.<p>A few years later (in 1999), we would lose our daughter, journalist Seema Nazareth to asthma. Her posting in Mumbai had worsened her condition. I have put together the poems that she wrote in her diary and published them in a book titled ‘Introspections’, published by Konark Publishers. </p>.<p><strong>On the high seas</strong> </p>.<p>After 35 years of rigorous service in Tokyo, Lima, Rangoon, London, Chicago, Ghana, Egypt and Mexico, when I decided to call it a day, life took me on another joyride. At my nephew’s behest I began delivering lectures on Gandhian ideals and Indian history as an onboard lecturer/enrichment lecturer on cruise ships. My nephew worked with a travel company that organised luxury cruises to historical places.</p>.<p>I have now completed 35 lectures on cruise ships and at various universities. When I decided to finally hang up my boots after my 82nd birthday, my daughter, who has worked with the UN and the Planning Commission of India, took over.</p>.<p>I remember grandma Rose had once told me, ‘In a successful marriage, the honeymoon never ends’. I took it rather seriously. Isabel has been my constant Valentine. Before we got hitched, I was advised against marrying a girl close to my age. My parents had a 14-year age gap but I knew Isabel too well. We were only a year apart. This year, we celebrate 63 years of togetherness. </p>.<p>This reminds me of the best man on my wedding day — a dear friend, who has now developed dementia and cannot recognise us. Some of my friends are not around anymore. I feel grateful that both Isabel (88) and I (89) are fit — my diabetes has come down to prediabetes levels and I use a walker now while Isabel has developed a neck problem. Other than that, we are both healthy.</p>.<p>Every Sunday, we make sure to go to dinner at some of our favourite restaurants in the city. My days are spent gardening and taking care of orchids, bougainvillea, bonsais, lilies and other plants on the terrace garden of my fourth-floor apartment in Bengaluru’s Frazer Town. Isabel is busy with her sister, who is keeping unwell, most of the time. I have lived in this part of town for most of my time in India. After my father retired in 1956, we moved to Frazer Town — then considered a poor part of Bengaluru while the affluent ones lived on the other side of <br>M G Road. Now, the area has flourished with greenery and open spaces, and transformed into an upscale neighbourhood.</p>.<p>I am living each day as it comes and for now, looking forward to enjoying a home-cooked meal with my daughter as she visits us soon.</p>.<p><em>— As told to Reya Mehrotra.</em></p>.<p><em>Pascal Alan Nazareth released his autobiography ‘A Ringside Seat to History’, in 2020.</em></p>
<p>I remember the day vividly. It was December 1957. Isabel and her two sisters had travelled from Bombay to Bangalore. Her uncle was getting married to my brother-in-law’s sister. In the massive dining hall of Isabel’s ancestral home, grandma Rose saw me and signalled me to come to her. </p>.<p>This part of town, called Grant Road (now Vittal Mallya Road), was then devoid of UB City’s lavish grandeur. In its place was a beer plant that churned ale. ‘What’s your name? Who’s your father? What do you do?’ She seemed curious to know more about me. I told her I had finished my BA (bachelor of arts) from Loyola College, Chennai and was now preparing for the civil services. </p>.<p>It was then that Isabel entered the hall and I saw her for the first time. “Come here, I found you a nice young man,” said grandma Rose, Isabel’s grandmother. “But he’s such a young boy,” Isabel quipped as we sat for lunch. </p>.<p>Over the next two days, I kept my eyes on her. She belonged to a renowned family. Her grandfather’s proximity to the <br>Maharaja of Mysore had given him a position of prominence. He was sent to England to complete further studies. When Isabel and her sisters needed a ride to the train station after the wedding celebrations, I happily volunteered. We spoke on our way and continued to write to each other after she left.</p>.<p><strong>IAS days</strong> </p>.<p>Days passed. My father was listening to the 9 pm news on All India Radio, when he learnt that the IAS/IFS results had been announced. One of my brilliant classmates, A Ramji, had not made it. I feared my name might not be even in the top 50. </p>.<p>However, my father, full of excitement and hope, proposed we go to the Deccan Herald office, on M G Road, where he had a friend among the editors. It was 10.45 pm when we reached there. We were invited into the ‘newsroom’ and had two chairs placed for us next to the telex machine on which the New Delhi newsfeed would come in. </p>.<p>At 12.50 am, the names of the successful candidates in the 1958 IAS/IFS exam began to come in. After the 15th name was printed, the telex machine began to print ‘P A S C A L A L A N NA Z A R E T H’. As each of these alphabets was being printed, I felt an ‘unseen hand’ writing my name and destiny, alphabet by alphabet. My father wept and exclaimed, “Thank you Lord Jesus”. I could not hold back and thanked the Almighty as well. The DH editors who had silently watched us congratulated us on my success and even put sugar candy into our mouths to ‘sweeten’ our joy. At that moment, my life felt complete. </p>.<p>My father, the son of a farmer from southern Kerala, had fought all the odds to finish his education and had retired as the district judge in Coimbatore. The young IAS officers posted next to our house had always fascinated my father. He dreamt of me joining the services. ‘I want to be an IAS officer,’ I would tell everyone growing up, heavily influenced by my father’s dreams. When I didn’t get in on my first attempt even after scoring well in the written, I discovered where I was lacking. The interview round was no test of knowledge but a test of mental capacity — how you form an opinion and act on it. From scoring 40 out of 400 in the first attempt, I scored 360 out of 400 in the second.</p>.<p><strong>First days</strong></p>.<p>It felt unreal when I was told the then-prime minister Jawaharlal Nehru was keen on meeting the new batch in the services and speaking to us about our preparation. On March 31, 1959, as the 10 of us stood before him in his office, he shared his and the country’s expectations with us. </p>.<p>It was then that the foreign secretary Subimal Dutt dropped in to inform him that the Dalai Lama had entered India that morning. “These young officers will have to deal with the consequences of today,” Nehru had said. This would go on to change the Indo-China relationship dynamic from ‘Hindi-Cheeni bhai bhai’ to a much colder one, leading to the war of 1962.</p>.<p>Little did I realise this would also mark the beginning of my adrenaline-fuelled career of 35 years as a diplomat.</p>.<p>I was assigned to be by the Dalai Lama’s side for three weeks. I was in-charge of arranging his meals and press meets. I was expecting the Tibetans to be vegetarians but I learnt they had a pure non-vegetarian diet — pork, chicken and so on. When I spoke to them, they said they couldn’t afford a vegetarian meal since the time of Buddha. It was impossible to cultivate vegetables at high altitudes. The Dalai Lama would have been 24-25 at the time when during a press meet someone asked him: ‘Do you speak Chinese?’ He replied, ‘I don’t know Chinese (language) but I know Chinese (people).’</p>.<p>I have been in touch with his Highness every now and then. When I went to Dharamshala to meet him a few years ago, he treated me very kindly.</p>.<p>During my first posting in Japan, I wanted Isabel to accompany me as my wife. My father, however, felt I was unfamiliar with the language, which could pose challenges for a young couple. So, I had my mother accompany me as I learned the language for two years. Then I went back to marry Isabel on September 1, 1962. This might have also pleased the Indian authorities. They preferred that diplomats marry Indians rather than foreign nationals in the place they were posted.</p>.<p>During my first foreign post at the Embassy of India in Tokyo, I was deputed to attend and report on a political rally of the Japan Socialist Party (JSP). I witnessed JSP leader Inejiro Asanuma being assassinated by a 17-year-old member of one of Japan’s ultra-rightist groups. All through my decades of service, life would throw plenty of such shocking incidents at me. </p>.<p>On June 2, 1979, the second night after my arrival in Accra, Ghana, there was a military coup. I was the high commissioner of India to Ghana and was to present my credentials to president Akufo-Addo. But a few days after the coup, he was ‘court martialled’ along with two of his predecessors. All three of them were found guilty and executed by the firing squad. I would spend the next four months protecting India’s interests and that of its nationals in Ghana without being formally accredited to it.</p>.<p>The coup was led by junior-level officers. They had long been mistreated by senior officials who were also accused of taking bribes and defrauding the country. Indians in the country were being attacked too. Their homes were raided randomly as they were accused of bribing the officials for business purposes. </p>.<p>A young Indian woman who was pregnant was picked up for questioning. Isabel sat in the military vehicle and accompanied the woman, as her husband was taken first. <br>Seeing a diplomat’s wife in the military vehicle, the officials were embarrassed and let the woman go after a few questions. They also apologised to my wife and sent her home in a car. After this incident, the Indians there breathed a sigh of relief and Isabel became an instant hero.</p>.<p><strong>Tracking criminals</strong></p>.<p>One episode that remains etched in my memory is that of shipping magnate Jayanti Dharma Teja. He had founded Jayanti Shipping Company (JSC) in 1958. With a $40 million loan from the government’s Shipping Development Fund, he ordered eight bulk carriers from Mitsubishi Shipbuilding Company. Four of them were launched by Indian VIPs during my tenure at the Indian Embassy, Tokyo from August 1960 to July 1963. Teja was then a renowned figure with high-level contacts in India, Japan, the UK and USA.</p>.<p>When it was discovered that he had defrauded JSC, fled India and sought refuge in the US, my prime task was to find and have him repatriated to India. With the New York commissioner of immigration’s assistance, he was located and arrested and legal proceedings began soon after. However, he disappeared again by securing a $10,000 bail. </p>.<p>A few weeks later, a friend in the Costa Rican consulate informed me that he had arrived in his country with the assistance of former president Jose Figueres. Despite India not having diplomatic relations with Costa Rica, the Ministry of External Affairs (MEA) instructed me to go there and request its government to repatriate Teja. </p>.<p>The nine trips I had to make to Costa Rica in the next two years became increasingly challenging and risky after Figueres won the April 1970 presidential election. He not only had our extradition petition against Teja nullified but also had a diplomatic passport issued to him. </p>.<p>Unfortunately for Teja, he decided to travel to France and other parts of Europe in 1970 when we received intel of his itinerary. The MEA, CBI, Interpol, and France’s and UK’s police chiefs were alerted. When Teja landed at the Heathrow airport in London on July 24, 1970, he was arrested. Despite the Costa Rican Embassy’s and his legal team’s strenuous efforts to have him released and not extradited to India, he was brought to India nine months later and taken to Tihar Jail to await his subsequent trial.</p>.<p><strong>Personal challenges</strong></p>.<p>All this while, Isabel had been with me and we had been blessed with three children — Premila, Anand and Seema.</p>.<p>I was experiencing career highs. But life came to a standstill when my 18-year-old son was diagnosed with a malignant bone tumour in his left knee in 1985. With the government’s support (which helped me pause my posting), we immediately left for the US for his treatment. He was operated upon. But soon after, he developed a high fever due to an infection. The doctors said they might have to amputate his leg. We were shattered but fate had other plans. </p>.<p>Mother Teresa happened to be in Peru to open one of her homes there and was scheduled to leave for India the next day. However, through a common contact, we requested her presence. She said she would come as I was one of the few Indian diplomats working there. By then, she had already been awarded the Nobel Prize (in 1979). When she walked into the hospital, it was unexpected and caused a frenzy. But she came, met my son, prayed for him and blessed him. In an astounding turn of events, his fever began to subside the next day and till date (he is 55 now), he remains cancer free. She has now become the patron saint of our family.</p>.<p>A few years later (in 1999), we would lose our daughter, journalist Seema Nazareth to asthma. Her posting in Mumbai had worsened her condition. I have put together the poems that she wrote in her diary and published them in a book titled ‘Introspections’, published by Konark Publishers. </p>.<p><strong>On the high seas</strong> </p>.<p>After 35 years of rigorous service in Tokyo, Lima, Rangoon, London, Chicago, Ghana, Egypt and Mexico, when I decided to call it a day, life took me on another joyride. At my nephew’s behest I began delivering lectures on Gandhian ideals and Indian history as an onboard lecturer/enrichment lecturer on cruise ships. My nephew worked with a travel company that organised luxury cruises to historical places.</p>.<p>I have now completed 35 lectures on cruise ships and at various universities. When I decided to finally hang up my boots after my 82nd birthday, my daughter, who has worked with the UN and the Planning Commission of India, took over.</p>.<p>I remember grandma Rose had once told me, ‘In a successful marriage, the honeymoon never ends’. I took it rather seriously. Isabel has been my constant Valentine. Before we got hitched, I was advised against marrying a girl close to my age. My parents had a 14-year age gap but I knew Isabel too well. We were only a year apart. This year, we celebrate 63 years of togetherness. </p>.<p>This reminds me of the best man on my wedding day — a dear friend, who has now developed dementia and cannot recognise us. Some of my friends are not around anymore. I feel grateful that both Isabel (88) and I (89) are fit — my diabetes has come down to prediabetes levels and I use a walker now while Isabel has developed a neck problem. Other than that, we are both healthy.</p>.<p>Every Sunday, we make sure to go to dinner at some of our favourite restaurants in the city. My days are spent gardening and taking care of orchids, bougainvillea, bonsais, lilies and other plants on the terrace garden of my fourth-floor apartment in Bengaluru’s Frazer Town. Isabel is busy with her sister, who is keeping unwell, most of the time. I have lived in this part of town for most of my time in India. After my father retired in 1956, we moved to Frazer Town — then considered a poor part of Bengaluru while the affluent ones lived on the other side of <br>M G Road. Now, the area has flourished with greenery and open spaces, and transformed into an upscale neighbourhood.</p>.<p>I am living each day as it comes and for now, looking forward to enjoying a home-cooked meal with my daughter as she visits us soon.</p>.<p><em>— As told to Reya Mehrotra.</em></p>.<p><em>Pascal Alan Nazareth released his autobiography ‘A Ringside Seat to History’, in 2020.</em></p>
