I first met Jayalalithaa in 1991, as an NDTV correspondent. When I entered the well-furnished living room of her Poes Garden residence, little did I know that it would be the first of many pleasurable and sometimes rocky meetings.
On one wall, I noticed a large photograph of a very pretty child with almond-shaped eyes and the straightest fringe that framed an impish face. As the soon-to-be chief minister of Tamil Nadu entered the room (to grant me the first TV interview she had ever done), I impulsively referred to her fringe. Jayalalithaa threw her head back and laughed. “My mother always combed my hair that way,” she said. The warmth between us that lasted 25 years was born at that very moment.
Over the years, I discovered that one of her strengths was her belief that “nothing was too small” for her personal attention. A case in point was the SAARC games held in Chennai in 1993. Jayalalithaa oversaw every tiny aspect of that event, from the colour of costumes to the quality of entertainment. She even insisted on her choice of commentators in the stadium. She attended every rehearsal to make sure that the event went off as planned. Her appreciation for each of us commentators came in the form of a small, but invaluable gift which I still treasure.
This personal involvement was one of her strongest points. It stayed with her throughout the ups and downs of her political career. At one crowded political event, reporters were manhandled by party workers. JJ (as we journalists called her) was infuriated when she learnt of it and immediately took action.
I remember the day when Jayalalithaa was brought to the Office of the Commissioner of Police of Madras. In the midst of a large number of TV crews and reporters, I was accidentally pushed to the floor and a large camera fell on me. At that very moment, Jayalalithaa was being led out of the office. She stopped, raised her hand and commanded, “Pick Jennifer Arul up now.” I was grateful for her concern.
On another occasion, Jayalalithaa rang me up. “This is Jayalalithaa speaking,” she said. Unconvinced, I kept telling the caller to “stop joking”. But a calm voice replied, “It is Jayalalithaa…. I will call again.” Then she hung up. She never made any direct reference to that call, but the next time I met her, she gave me a knowing smile acknowledging it.
Sometimes, she made her displeasure plain. She once told me in a stern voice: “You are always pro the other parties.” I told her that my reports were always factual and neutral. She paused for thought, obviously accepting my sharp response. She was honest enough never to question my professional integrity again.
One of my most cherished memories is her presence at the wedding of my son. Although she was busy being the leader of the opposition, she patiently attended the hourlong ceremony in the church—from the moment it began, till the bride and bridegroom had left the Loyola College Chapel. I was delighted.
From time to time, even after my NDTV stint, there would be calls from the CM’s office, asking if I were free to visit. I would go with some trepidation, wondering what was in store. Invariably, it was nothing: girl-talk at best. She often asked me about my family and touched on personal issues—never interfering, but genuinely interested. I will miss those encounters very much.
As I stood to pay my last respects, my courage failed me. I averted my gaze, not accepting that the Jayalalithaa I knew was no more. Jayalalithaa, you are now one of the brightest stars in the southern sky and, although you are no longer twinkling, you will shine there forever.
Jennifer Arul is a veteran journalist and Board Member of The Media Project, New York.
