By Dr Abhinav Walia
In the tapestry of post-partition India, where destinies were rewoven from the threads of displacement, two young men from Pakistan found themselves at Government College, Hoshiarpur, Punjab University – both carried with them the weight of loss and the hope for a better future in a new land. One immersed in the mysteries of chemistry, the other in the intricacies of economics. One was my father, Mr. Ranjit Singh Ahluwalia and the other one would become India’s Prime Minister, Dr. Manmohan Singh. With passage of time, both excelled in their disciplines.
A curious hallmark of the linguistic tapestry woven by Partition was noticeable in their communication after they settled in India. Both Dr. Singh and my father were schooled in the elegant loops and curves of Urdu. Even when they had to provide a voice in Hindi, they often borrowed Urdu’s pen to give it form, as if the two were old companions unwilling to part.
Like rare books that share a shelf but never touch, their paths ran parallel yet distinct. While those who were displaced from Pakistan have long been celebrated for their entrepreneurial spirit, these two souls chose a different calling – public service.
Though I never had the opportunity to meet Prime Minister Manmohan Singh, his presence loomed large in our household; his name was invoked with almost liturgical regularity. From extended family members to fellow travellers, to colleagues over tea, to anyone who would listen, my father would paint portraits of Dr. Singh’s brilliance with words that glowed like embers in the gathering dusk.
“Here was a man,” he would say, eyes bright with admiration, “who carried simplicity like others carry pride.” The litany of virtues would follow – integrity that stood like a lighthouse in the stormy sea of politics, dedication that burned steady as a lamp in a temple, and humility that seemed to grow deeper with each achievement. My father and Dr. Singh had little contact after their Punjab University days, reconnecting briefly at UPSC when Dr. Singh contacted my father to resolve bureaucratic delays with his paperwork. Dr. Singh became the Finance Minister of the country in early 1990s and spearheaded economic reforms that transformed India’s economy. At that juncture, my father had taken an early retirement from UPSC; this was especially the period when I heard heaps of praise for Dr. Singh – about his competence to set in motion wheels of change for the nation through such reforms.
I got used to listening to the praise but what fascinated me most was my father’s peculiar devotion – a devotion that asked for nothing in return. Despite the passage of years and the ascent of Dr. Singh to the highest echelons of political power, my father’s admiration remained undiminished. When we urged him to meet his university contemporary who had risen to the nation’s highest executive office in 2004, he would smile and shake his head. It was enough for him to know that someone he had shared academic halls with was serving the nation with such distinction. Yet, life has its own sense of poetry. When my father was ill in 2018, I wrote to Dr. Manmohan Singh (when he was no longer PM) on behalf of my father and requested a meeting with his college mate. During my father’s illness, I wanted him to have this meeting, which could cheer him up. To our surprise, a message indeed was received from Dr. Singh’s side. At that juncture, a window was opened up for the meeting, but due to my father being suddenly bedridden, the meeting could not transpire. Be that as it may, it was an acknowledgement of a friendship that sustained itself on principles rather than proximity.
In Dr. Singh’s passing, my father’s stories resurface like treasures from a forgotten chest. Their shared journey from the wounds of partition to the halls of public service speaks of an India that was built not just by entrepreneurs and industrialists, but by men who chose duty and service over success in purely material terms.
Perhaps that’s why my father saw in Dr. Singh not just a Prime Minister, but a reflection of values that he held dear – a mirror that showed him that his own choices of integrity and service were not in vain. In our current age of overwhelming focus on materialism, their story reminds us of a different kind of leadership – one built on quiet competence and unwavering principles.
As I pen these words, I realize that my father’s endless praise was not just about the Prime Minister – it was about a hope that such leadership, marked by humility and dedication, would never fade from our national consciousness. In remembering Dr. Manmohan Singh, I remember not just a Prime Minister, but an ideal that two young refugees from Pakistan held sacred – that true service to the nation needs no fanfare, only an unwavering heart.
(The author is former Addl. Secy./Member (HRD), Postal Services Board Min. of Communications).