‘Through the Broken Glass: An Autobiography’ by TN Seshan: Moves and moods of a ‘reluctant CEC’

K Govindan Kutty

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The blurb opens with an arresting observation: “2 August: A red-letter day for democracy in India.” That day in 1993, TN Seshan, who made a difference to Indian elections as Chief Election Commissioner, put on hold all elections. It was like the life-giver becoming the hangman, the man to conduct elections cancelling them.

That day, my editor asked me to meet and make sense of this unusual man and his moods, his moves. And that led to a quick book, ‘Seshan: An Intimate Story’, an early precursor to his own comprehensive account.

Seshan’s epic order left India’s political system vulnerable to one man’s whim. The deadlock was, he argued, “solely the making of the government”. Postponement of “all and every election” was a Seshanesque response to the government’s ploys to render the Election Commission into one of its departments. Seshan’s mission was to recover its autonomy.

He was mercurial. There was something about him that intimidated people. I took to him a journalist who was somewhat of a Seshan acolyte. Seshan was a picture of amiability. He was asked what book had influenced him most. Pat came the reply, “Bhagavad Gita.” The next question was deadly: “How did he face the Emergency?” The man who was a study in calm lapsed into paroxysms of anger. Such display of outrage was not unusual.

He was a reluctant CEC. So he would have us believe. As Cabinet Secretary, he was no darling of VP Singh. When he became PM, Seshan was eased out. His stars were again aglow when Chandra Shekhar replaced Singh. In this autobiography, he recaptures the power play of those times with thoroughness.

One dull evening, Cabinet Secretary Vinod Pande called to tell him he was being made CEC. Seshan said he was “not fit for the job”. It was a rare show of modesty. Three years later, Subramanian Swamy, who was a prime mover in making Seshan CEC, shouted from the housetops that he had “begged” for the position.

Seshan sought the views of three persons other than astrologers: President Venkataraman, former Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi and Paramacharya of Kanchi. Venkataraman asked if he could not find another job. Rajiv said they would “repent” for making him CEC. Paramacharya mumbled his approval. And Seshan took the job.

Though India is acclaimed as the land of the “largest electoral exercise in the world”, it had long-standing election rules which were flouted widely and unabashedly. Seshan’s camera contingents went around recording wall writings and expensive election conventions. That had a salutary effect for some time.

Rajya Sabha, envisaged as the council of states, had to have its members representing their respective states, where they were regular residents. It was traditionally a sham. For instance, a Kannadiga could be thrown up from Kolkata or a Punjabi from Palakkad. One could falsely affirm one’s regular residency of a place which one had not visited more than a few times. When Seshan rolled his eyeballs, they changed the statute.

For a civil servant of his stature, he had aired facetious observations. An abortive attempt on Rajiv Gandhi from the shrubs in Raj Ghat was, Seshan suspected, a conspiracy by his own buddies. “They merely wanted to scare him, not hurt!” There was again a theory of conspiracy, this time with sources abroad. A commission of inquiry went about interrogating everyone who was someone. There was still a question hanging fire, even after muddy water flowing down the Coovum river.

If any official exercise in Seshan’s career mattered much, though not as much as CEC, it was during his tenure as district collector, Madurai. It was the fulcrum of the anti-Hindi agitation in the Sixties. It was Seshan’s job to contain it, using force minimally. Violence erupted in one college where a professor of Seshan was the principal. Seshan had pangs of conscience when the agitating students were disciplined by force.

The sporadic agitation had, Seshan suspected, some foreign encouragement. He had a lot of sensitive information coming his way. So be it. Unauthorisedly, I watered down the fury of certain inferences when I was writing his story with a chapter on “A CIA Agent”. Tamil sensitivities were hurt. Tamil politicians of all hues jumped into the fray in an orgy of competitive extremism. Chief Minister Jayalalithaa led the agitation by waking up a judge at an odd hour to obtain a stay on the book release. Seshan’s autobiography makes no mention of CIA’s peccadilloes.

There was a certain masochist streak in Seshan. He has a full chapter on his public and private persona. Questions are raised and instantly answered about his megalomania, spiritualism, relations with colleagues and so on. A sample on his proclivity for dictatorship: “Like all praises, this criticism was part of what came on my plate. Even now I do not need a certificate of merit, most certainly not from those who had axes to grind or feathers to nest.”

CEC Seshan was becoming popular. Many looked up to him as a role model. The masses viewed him as a man of destiny. His diatribes against self-important politicos pleased them. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, clad in no more than a vest, he would enquire, he would solicitously ask what people thought of him.

Cloistered corridors of the power tower were agog with gossip about what Seshan might do. The government outdid him, inducting two more Election Commissioners. Trusting people’s moods, he joined the race for Raisina Hll. Soon he realised there was dichotomy in realpolitik between reality and delusion. He lost massively, garnering no promised support. “Everyone ditched me barring Shiv Sena.”

That was an embittering end of a stellar mission. Bitterness and equanimity, in an unlikely combination, marked his conclusion. “As I look back on my life and career, all that I can think and say is: ‘Life has been great, stormy but great.’”

He died four years ago, he had made waves three decades earlier. Why he chose to release his memoir now is a pointless thought. ‘An Autobiography’ has been presented by Nixon Fernando, his research assistant. Copyright rests with Nixon.