Abhijit joined Jawaharlal Nehru University for an MA in economics in 1981, the same year I joined for international studies. We met through his roommate and classmate, Sreekumar, who hailed from Kerala and was one of the first friends I made in JNU.
Abhijit’s reputation had preceded him. He was a topper from the University of Calcutta. He soon broke all records for academic performance in the economics faculty, and his professors—themselves of international fame—started proclaiming that a star was born.
Abhijit was a delightful friend, knowledgeable about and interested in virtually everything. He read widely, loved good food, enjoyed Hindustani classical music and movies. We spent many evenings roaming around Mandi House attending concerts and watching performances.
Abhijit was passionate about India and how to transform it for the better in not just economic terms, but also social and political. Though not a member of any political group on campus, he took active interest in the discussions that dominated the student discourse. I fondly recall his probing questions to candidates and political leaders during student elections.
The grand climax of our JNU days was a 10-day stint in Tihar Jail following a student agitation in 1983. A small incident involving a student and his teacher escalated and led to a breakdown in the otherwise cordial relations between students, faculty and the university administration. After the Indira Gandhi government decided to teach JNU students a lesson, police entered the campus for the first time in the university’s history. Abhijit, Sreekumar and I were among the hundreds of students who courted arrest protesting the entry of the police into the campus. We ended up as fellow jailbirds, experiencing humiliation by jail officials and the meagre rations. The cells were brightened by poetry, songs, debates over what is right and what is wrong. Even as civil services aspirants worried about their future, a wonderful camaraderie was brought about by the collective imprisonment of a large group of idealistic young men.
After the Tihar episode, Abhijit went to the US and I returned to Kerala to work for The Indian Express. Our paths crossed again when Sreekumar and I visited him in Kolkata. I was plotting a visit to Kalimpong to meet my prospective in-laws for the first time. Darjeeling was then experiencing torrential rains and Abhijit’s parents just could not understand why I was so insistent on heading out to the hills when every newspaper report said the roads were blocked. To make matters worse, I received news that someone had filed a defamation case against The Indian Express for a story written by me.
Abhijit’s father was terrified that I was perhaps contemplating running away from the clutches of law and that he was unwittingly harbouring a fugitive. Little could I tell him that my nervousness was actually on account of the fear that my body could float in the Teesta with a hundred khukris in it.
Abhijit, by then, knew my then JNU-mate and now wife, Saroj Thapa, well. He convinced his parents that my intentions were entirely honourable. He also gave me the courage to launch forth on my expedition. The trip to meet Saroj’s parents, with Abhijit’s house as a base, was the turning point which eventually led to our marriage.
My friendship with Abhijit since then has been one of occasional contact. Over the years, we have spent time together in Boston, Washington, DC, Delhi and Mumbai. I recall once bumping into Amartya Sen while Abhijit was showing me around MIT and Harvard University. I was overjoyed that he lived and worked at a place where it is common to bump into Nobel laureates on street corners.
Abhijit’s pioneering work over the years, especially on ‘Poor Economics’, has made him one of the most prominent economists in the world. Friends and fans of Abhijit knew that the Nobel would surely come his way soon. I rejoice that that day has arrived, and I am sure he will contribute much more in the years to come.
The author is ambassador of India to the Netherlands.