A REDDY FAN REMINISCES
A. S. RAMAN
In
the post-independence years education in
I’ll
not be surprised if the present-day students ask: “Who was Dr. C. R. Reddy? Never heard of him.” Even Gandhiji had been put on the
shelf. So why should Dr. Reddy be an exception? When I was a student of the
Even
in his lifetime how many people knew Dr Reddy? And those who did,
never understood him. It was no doubt difficult to understand him. Not that he
was an enigma. But he was too abrasive and his rough exterior protected him
from crooks, fools and bores. Also he was too independent and imperious to make
himself understood by men of straw. Naturally he failed in politics and almost
failed in education. He was a benevolent despot with a lot of colour and flavour in whatever he said or did. He was unique by any
test. He was a politician among politicians. But, since he did not pretend to
be a saint, he failed. He was an administrator among administrators. But, since
he did not bureaucratise his style which was too
sophisticated, he failed in administration. He was an intellectual among
intellectuals. But, since he relied more on his own insights, perceptions and
intuitions than on books for his responses and assessments, he failed even as
an intellectual. He wrote so little because he thought so much and he thought
so much because of the quality and range of his reading which might have simply
paralysed inferior minds. The total impact of his
life and work on his contemporaries was that of a dazzling failure, a failure
which was much more telling and significant than many widely
acclaimed successes.
Dr.
Cattamanchi Ramalinga Reddy
was his full name. Once Rajaji described him as “an
extraordinary Vice-Chancellor.” Indeed Dr. Reddy was an outstanding
educationist, judged even by the stiff pre-independence yardstick. He was
“extraordinary” not only as a Vice-Chancellor but as a man too. As I have already
said, he was not an enigma. But he was an eccentric and what an eccentric! He
represented the style and spirit of the 19th and 20th centuries at their very
best. He was a Victorian who was eager to stay ahead of the Georgians,
bypassing the Edwardians. He was scholarly without being stuffy, original
without being perverse, emotional without being sentimental, cynical without
being malicious, patriotic without being jingoistic and autocratic without
being tyrannical. Intellectually he was too refined and exacting
to accept copybook democracy.
In
what sense was Dr. Reddy eccentric? In the sense that he often changed his
political affiliations, not in the style of the latter-day floor-crossers but according to his own whimsical thinking and reasoning.
Whatever political decisions he made, he made on the basis of his own
principles and convictions and not in the hope of advancing himself socially or
politically. He was too fearless, forthright and freedom-loving to do anything
just to please others, Gandhiji included. When Maulana Azad, as Education
Minister, wrote to him offering him the secretaryship
of the Ministry, Dr. Reddy replied testily: “There cannot be two Ministers.” Dr
Reddy was a dyed in the wool conservative. He believed in the graces and constraints
of the old world value system. In economics he was a Keynes, in politics a
Burke and in personal ethics a Bertrand Russell. In
Cattamanchi Ramalinga
Reddy, who was the first Indian Vice-President of the Cambridge Union, was an unrecognised genius and unloved teacher because of certain
rough edges to his character and personality. During his brilliant career as an
educationist he held many posts with distinction but each more briefly than the
other, till he really discovered himself as the Foundation Vice-Chancellor of
the
Dr.
Reddy was basically a Victorian in the sense that he championed the cause of
unfashionable integrity in every discipline. He thus pleaded fervently for
conformity in literature, conservatism in politics and creativity in education.
But he was not a prig or a prude. He had an open mind. Though an advocate of
democratic norms and basic freedoms, he had great admiration for the Russian
experiment in socialism which he tried to reconcile to the Gandhian
philosophy. He used to say: “Though as history has gone so far, the ideal of
the fun life has not been consistent with the moral ideal of egalitarian
co-operation, the great Russian experiment has shown that material prosperity
and human equality could go together and the asceticism is not the
indispensable basis of socialism, Its new social and economic order, its marvellous powers in education and the broad-basing
of the amenities of civilisation, and its five-year
plans demonstrate the possibility of the community’s achievement
of the perfect life, where light, love and joy will in the widest commonality
be spread. Meanwhile until this consummation is reached by the world Mahatma
Gandhi, as the great man of action, the reviver and inspirer of our jaded
national will and the organiser of mass action on a
scale almost miraculous, will rightly hold the primacy in our affections as
well as admiration. He is will; he is action; he is life.”
Dr
Reddy often achieved unrecognised excellence in
whatever he said or did. He never advocated innovation for its own sake. But he
was ready for its challenges when the situation demanded it. He at once recognised merit when he saw it. He neither upheld
classicism nor denounced modernism dogmatically. He was aware that both could
be genuine or spurious. What mattered most to him were, not fads or fashions,
but virtues and values. He admired both classicism and modernism, though,
naturally, for different reasons. He maintained that without self-sustaining
and self-renewing power neither had any relevance or durability. No wonder that
he was very critical of almost all ancient and medieval Telugu poets, except Thikkana and Pingali Soorana who he thought deserved international attention.
Also he condemned the so-called New Wave in Telugu
poetry, known as Bhavakavitvam, though
he had many friends among the exponents of this imported genre which
came to the Andhras via Keats, Shelley,
Tagore, the Sufi mystics and Brahmosamaj. Rightly he
considered the New Wave alien to the Andhra genius and
sensibility. He had nothing but naked contempt for cliches,
formulas and shortcuts which he thought politics under the flabby Congress
leadership raised to the level of fine art! He
constituted an elitist one-man establishment. But there was no malice behind
his aloofness or arrogance. In fact he had an infectious sense of humour in any crisis. He ridiculed the so-called stalwarts
with feet of clay. There was no doubt a streak of authoritarianism in him. But
he was a despot who would cheerfully submit himself to the refined and selfless
tyranny of the superior minds committed to democratic culture, He didn’t have
many enemies. The only enemies he had were: stupidity, lethargy, dishonesty,
clumsiness and indiscipline.
I
had known of Dr Reddy and respected him from a distance long before I actually
met him. In fact I inherited my enthusiasm for him from my father, another
incorrigible eccentric who was among his closest friends and most ardent
admire. Dr. Reddy used to say: “We are both lunatics because we believe
in perfectibility. But your father has the additional merit of proneness
to violence which I envy. He should have been born a Reddy and I a Brahmin.”
Dr. Reddy’s amazing tour de force, that last word in literary criticism,
Kavitvatattvavicharamu, whose first
draft he prepared when he was a student at the Madras Christian College, had
been my staple literary diet for many years. What I admired most
in this formidable work was, not what he said, but how he said it. He was a
great stylist. The values he stated so crisply and so elegantly and the
perspective he defined so sharply and so authoritatively gave me a new insight
into the essential elan of classicism.
The fervour, finesse and forthrightness with which he
said what he wanted to say reminded me of the Victorian writing at its elegant
and perceptive best. It came as a revelation to me that his Grandhikabhasha
was more spontaneous, virile and crisp than the Vyaavaharikabhasha
of the moderns.
I
came into personal contact with him only in 1938. I saw him with a note of
introduction from my father who was keen that I do Economics Honours at the Andhra University. Dr Reddy was then the
Vice-Chancellor for the second term which began in 1936 and extended up to 1949
when he left for Mysore to take on a new assignment.
He died two years later. My father sent me to Waltair
because his friend, who was at the helm, was reputed to be a stern
disciplinarian–Dr Reddy’s colleagues used to refer to him as “a lovable
Hitler.” My father, like all good fathers, thought that his son was too wayward
to be left alone. By the way, Reddy then was just Reddy and not Dr. Reddy. In
fact Reddy at the time meant only C. R. Reddy though there were a number of
other Reddys who had distinguished themselves in
different areas of specialisation including
education. Everyone knew only one Reddy and that was C. R. Reddy.
He
received me coldly but correctly and directed me to see Professor M. Venkatarangaiya who was the Head of the Department of
History, Economics and Politics. I don’t know what happened in the mean time.
But I soon found myself being treated like a spoilt child. During my meeting
with Professor Venkatarangaiya he had made many
promises to me and he later kept all of them. Of course I knew that the unseen
hand which gave away so much to me unasked belonged to the
Vice-Chancellor. Why? Dr. Reddy himself gave the answer much later. He said:
“You got what you got because you deserved it on the basis of your
marks-sheet.”
My
three years at Waltair were stormy. Of these more
later. But for the Vice-Chancellor’s paternal interest in me, my career would
have taken a different turn. I learnt so much from him from a distance because
of my total rapport with him. His tragedy was that many students misunderstood
and maligned him because of his style of functioning. Seemingly aloof and
distant, he actually nearer and dearer to them than any other Vice-Chancellor.
But the students at Waltair thought that their
Vice-Chancellor being a willing stooge of the British imperialism was an enemy
of all nationalists and democrats. The fact was that he was their own man
deeply committed to their future careers. He was ready to lavish on them
unbounded love and affection–on all of them in equal
(measure-provided they co-operated with him in his endeavours
to enrich the quality of higher education and the sanctity of the campus. He
had no favourites. He was partial only to brilliance,
enterprise and integrity. As for his defence of the
British imperialism, he had his good reasons. But, on the whole, he was more
patriotic and democratic than the loud-mouthed windbags of the national
movement whose basic weaknesses and vices were to surface years later–with the
dawn of Independence.
To
return to my Waltair years. They were stormy because
of my involvement in the aggressive postures and violent
polemics of the student leadership. I was one of the active participants is the
student movement at the district level. I was always in trouble with the
police, but somehow I managed to get out of it without any effort on my part. I
sensed the protective hand of Dr. Reddy behind it all. Once, as President of
the Vizag District Students’ Federation, I addressed
a mammoth audience at Vizianagaram, using intemperate
language against the Governmemt. When I returned to Waltair, I found myself being interrogated by a policeman
outside the main gate–the police had no authority to enter the campus because
in Reddy’s time the university had rightly become a state within a state. The
constable looked and sounded more coarse and brutal than he had been trained to
be. There was tension all around. The area had already been cordoned off by the
police. Only the marked men could enter it, just to be pushed into the van
parked nearby. Inside the van I was comforted to see many familiar faces. We
were all herded together and dumped at the police station. An hour later all
except me were put behind the bars under the Defence
of India Regulations. “Why not me?” I asked the officer on duty who explained:
“We have been instructed to drive you back to the hostel with proper escort.” I
was embarrassed, even discomfited. But being young, timid and career-conscious,
I preferred not to court arrest. By accepting the offer of the police I became
a contemptible traitor in the eyes my friends.
Later,
on December 10, 1940, the entire student community boycotted the C. R. Reddy Shashtipoorthi celebrations in which I was the only
student-participant. A moment which should have been the happiest in his life
was, as he confessed to me later with tears in his eyes, the saddest and most
poignant because of the students’ violent anti-Reddy demonstrations. The
function had drawn a glittering galaxy of eminence, glamour and brilliance
represented by such august personages as Sir C. V. Raman who presided and Sir
Arthur Hope, the Governor of the Madras Presidency, who inaugurated. All the
speakers made touching references to Dr Reddy’s deep, unself-conscious,
irreversible involvement in activities strictly academic, educational and
cultural. But his Shashtipoorthi, on the whole, gave
Dr Reddy more sorrow than joy because of the ill-tempered boycott by the
students whom he loved so much.
To
revert to my own arrest and release. Hardly had I returned to my room before I
received a message from the Vice-Chancellor who wanted to see me at once. When
I met him, he spoke to me in the anguished tone of a betrayed parent. He laid
“No more of this nonsense. Understand? I have an image of you. Don’t destroy
it. I want to be proud of you. You may go.” My dilemma: Go where? To be back
among my friends as a repentant sinner? Or to be on the side of
the Vice-Chancellor as a confirmed renegade? I made my decision: I was with the
Vice-Chancellor.
From
that moment onwards I found myself being moulded by
him in so many ways, though only from a distance. Physically the distance
between him and me, a mere student, was enormous, because of our respective
situations. But slowly I began to feel that there was no one else–not even my
father–to whom I owed as much as I owed to him for whatever I learnt–and
unlearnt–and on which, as I was to realise many years later, my entire career
rested. I had been a good Ekalavya to his Dronacharya. But he was a Dronacharya
with a difference. He never demanded gurudakshina
from me because he had no Arjuna to appease. In
fact he had only Ekalavyas, even among his
detractors, and no Arjunas. For he had equal love,
warmth and concern for all students and they realised
it too late in the privacy of their emotions and sentiments.
I
can recall many incidents from which Dr Reddy, a confirmed bachelor, emerges as
a Vice-Chancellor whose only children were his students, his magnificent
obsession. It was a mistake to identify him, as the students then did, with the
Government, though, just to embarrass the Congress leadership, which he didn’t
accept intellectually, he vigorously supported the War effort. He sincerely
felt convinced that Britain, a great democracy, supported by the USSR, a
genuine peoples’ democracy, deserved to be strengthened against the menacing
forces of Fascism. He was fiercely idealistic and uncompromisingly humanistic
where the basic interests of the students were concerned. He was easily
accessible to them whenever they cared to meet him. The choice was theirs. But
he knew from a distance what was good for them and spared no effort to achieve
it for them. I just mention two incidents which emphasise
his total dedication to the cause of the student community.
Once, as President of the History, Economics and Politics Association, I requested him to preside over the mock World Court being set up to try the accused. Science in the person of Dr. S. Bhagavantam. He wanted to know how long the trial would go on. I said: “Roughly about three hours, Sir.” He agreed. He arrived punctually at 9-30 a. m. It was an august gathering. Dr. Bhagavantam was the defendant and Professor M. Venkatarangaiya was the complainant. There were many witnesses on either side and the arguments and counter-arguments were put forward with professiona1 expertise. The prosecution was conducted by Mr. Ratnam, the Senior Public Prosecutor of Vizag. The recording of evidence and other legal formalities were gone through in strict conformity with the established legal norms and practices. It was indeed a marathon trial, but the Chief Justice, Dr. Reddy, showed no evidence of wear and tear. At last, pronouncing his judgement at 9 p. m. he acquitted Science honourably, remarking good-humouredly that he had been on trial and not Science.
On
another occasion the Students’ Union organised a Mock
Parliament. Mr. Y. P. Rao, who recently retired as Director-General of
Observatories, was the Prime Minister and I was the Minister for Education.
Mrs. Durgabai was the Leader of the Opposition. We
wanted to make it an exclusively students’ affair. So we didn’t invite any
member of the staff. But Dr. Reddy was not the one who could be ignored though
we didn’t invite him. I introduced a Bill which was rejected by the House. The
Rao ministry fell. When the President invited the Leader of the Opposition to
form an alternative Government, Mrs. Durgabai said:
“No, we’ll continue to be in Opposition.” Reacting sharply, a voice from the
last bench was heard to comment: “Those born to fight don’t form governments”
Of course, it was the voice of the Vice-Chancellor. We were surprised that he
somehow managed to sneak in, just to watch the proceedings unnoticed.
Dr. Reddy failed in many fields, including, according to his illiterate critics, even education. He failed in politics because he pursued it as the art of, not the undesirable possible, but of the idealistic impossible. If at all he failed in education, he failed because he was determined to keep it untainted by politics. If he failed in literature because, as I have already stated elsewhere, he was more a thinker than a writer. He failed socially because of his Shavian cynicism. Whenever he was asked about his single-blessedness, he used to say that he was not a bachelor but an unmarried man. He was fond of quoting Samuel Butler who said that it was cheaper to buy milk than to maintain a cow. One wonders why Reddy’s life was a succession of deliberately contrived failures.
Dr.
Reddy was equally formidable both as a writer and speaker. In his diction and
delivery there was something at once stately and sensual. He was almost Churchillian in his poise, passion and phrasing. And his
sarcasm was lethal. He was indeed a master of the written and spoken word both
in English and Telugu. His prose was rich, robust and radiant and had its own
succulent rhythms and cadences. Full of wit and wisdom, his sentence
had the sharpness of shafts. His speeches sounded unscripted and unrehearsed.
But there was intense preparation behind them. His
sallies and repartees had an electrifying effect on the audience. Here are a
few Reddy samplers:
On Political
Defections: “Appointments result in attachments and
disappointments lead to detachments.”
On the Christian
Virtue of Humility: “They say, the meek shall inherit the
earth, but it is usually some feet below the surface of the earth...”
On Socialism: “Socialism
attempts a way out of religious antagonisms by instilling class warfare as a
diversion.”
On the Reddys: “I’m proud of my
community. The Reddys are very brave and enterprising.
They are all over the world. But they feel most at home in the Andamans!”
On India’s Basic
Problems: “Our basic problems are two: (1) The social
senilities of an ancient country and (2) the political immaturities of a young
democracy.”
On the Mixed Feelings with
which all Indians, with the exception of Mr. Jinnah
and the Muslim League responded to Independence: “This is not a case of the
cloud having a silver lining but a silver lining having a cloud.”
On the Need for
Character-building: “England gets on without a constitution
because of its character. Character can prevail with or without constitution or
even in spite of it. No constitution can prevail without character.”
On Indian Assessments:
“In India the test is: Are you better this year than what
you were last year, and by what percentage? International standards are
irrelevant.”
On the British
Government’s Idea of Efficiency: “The government promotcs efficiency only in subordination.”
Dr.
Reddy was superb in his epigrams which were crisp and crushing in their impact
on those to whom they were addressed. Here are a few examples.
Once
he was addressing a meeting at Egmore in Madras. It
was against the Justice party. Suddenly stones rained on the audience. Dr.
Reddy’s comment: “This is the Justice party ushering in the Stone Age in
politics.”
To a politician friend engaged in
fighting a bye-election: “Are you contesting a bye-election? “Yes.” “I wish you
a good bye-election.”
He
described the freedom struggle, in the lofty style of Carlyle, as a series of
biographies–of Tilak, Gandbi, Nehru, Patel, Subbash Chandra Bose and so on.
Dr.
Reddy, a nominated member of the Madras Legislative Council, used to annoy the
Prime Minister, C. Rajagopalachari, with his most
inconvenient questions and supplementaries.
Exasperated, C. R. asked angrily: “May I know, Sir, which constituency the Hon’ble Member represents? Dr. Reddy’s prompt reply: “The
whole of Andhradesa including Rayalaseema.”
Once
the Raja of Panagal and Dr. Reddy, who had been great
friends, fell out. Dr Reddy, supporting a no-confidence motion against the Raja
who was then the Prime Minister, mounted a savage attack on his former friend
and confidant. Interrupting his speech in sheer despair, the Raja said: “I have
in my pocket a letter written by Mr Reddy only last
week, and when I read it out, you will know why he is attacking me and my
Government. I propose to read it out.” Unruffled, Cattamanchi
said disarmingly: “When lovers quarrel, their letters are returned.” Like a gentleman,
the Raja went over to Cattamanchi and returned the
letter to him.
Dr Reddy literally drifted into tducation
under the hypnotic spell of Gokhale. From Baroda he
moved down to Mysore where under the leadership of M.
Visweswarayya he worked as Inspector-General of
Education. Again in 1949 he found himself back in Mysore
restructuring the local educational system in a manner consistent with the
temper of the times. In 1926, when the Andhra University was formed largely
through his own efforts, he became its first and greatest Vice-Chancellor. But
in less than five fears he resigned in protest against the Simon Commission.
Eight years later–in 1939, paradoxically enough–he emerged as one of the
greatest supporters of the British War effort. Politics didn’t take him very
far. So he returned to education in 1936. As a politician he was bound to fail
because of his own inbuilt strengths and weaknesses such as his pursuit of
excellence, his contempt for personality cult, his abhorrance
of inanities, his intellectual sophistication, his unshakable faith in the
liberal and enlightened British style of democracy with the emphasis on the
right to dissent and, above all, the sheer thrust of his own character and
personality. He was not an adapter. On the contrary, he was a great dissenter.
He was more than a match even for Rajaji on the intellectual plane. But he was
too lazy to produce anything solid and significant. If at all he had any
respect for a Congress leader, it was for Rajaji. Not for Nehru, the dreamer,
not for Subbash Bose, a rebel without responsibility,
not even for Gandhiji, a leader without a genuine following. He used to say
that the only true and dedicated Gandhian was Gandhi
himself. Dr Reddy was indeed a giant among giants. But he was a giant whom no
one either feared or loved because of his defensive cynicism which was actually
inverted defeatism. His forte was his style in whatever he said or did, a style
that made people admire him from a distance. He was too acerbic and aggressive
to draw his admirers close to him: They were not afraid of him. Only they
discreetly avoided him. His prose was precise, pointed and picturesque. He
never used two words where one would do and splendidly at that. He was
original, incisive and perceptive even in his casual utterances. He was never stale or banal. Why didn’t he
then produce something monumental and memorable? He didn’t because he just couldn’t,
being a perfectionist. A perfectionist who was unfortunately lazy. However, as
Gray will be remembered forever by the future generations for his Elegy,
Dr. Reddy has been immortalised by his Kavitvatattvavicharamu.
After writing my Final Honours exam. I called on him just to take leave of him. He was in a refreshingly relaxed and communicative mood. He said: “Raman, sit down. So the ordeal is over. What next?” I said: “I want to sit for the ICS.” He said: “You will fail. They have a dossier on you. What else do you propose to do? I said in despair: “I don’t know, Sir. Please guide me.” He replied: “You will never succeed in business or service.” “Why do you think so, Sir?” “Because you are impractical.” “What about teaching, Sir?” “You will fail, because you will teach blasphemies.” “What shall I do then, Sir? Perhaps I shall succeed as a journalist.” “That’s it”, he endorsed promptly. “You will do well as a journalist. Raman, my ambition was to be the Voltaire of this country. I think I have failed. But the attempt was worth-making, wasn’t it?” I replied: “Sir, my ambition is to become another C. R. Reddy and I’m sure I’ll fail too, But the attempt is worth-making, isn’t it, Sir?” He laughed, and patting me on the back said: “Good luck, my boy! May God protect you from bores, fools, cranks and pseudo-heroes!” Giving me a testimonial under the noncommittal heading “To Whomsoever It May Concern” he said: “Take it with you. It may help you some day.” This happened in April, 1941.
I
never saw him again. He died in February, 1951. I was then in Delhi. But from
1941 to 1951 he used to send me his crisp, breezy, elegantly written
one-sentence letters on post-cards.