The politician across the table from me was definitely channelling gangster chic. All black, a heavy dusting of gold and stones across his knuckles, a calm, impassive face. We were in a cafe in Delhi’s Khan Market, one of those places described as “frou frou” or “chi chi”, discussing Nagaland politics.
A few months earlier, in January 2018, I had made a trip to Nagaland to cover the assembly polls. Politics that election season was powered by high-profile defections. Voter loyalties seemed to travel with the leader rather than sticking with the party and electoral decisions were often made collectively at the village level. Over the years, some local leaders had built up lasting fiefdoms, usually centred on their ancestral village. Clan and tribe ties often grew warmer with liberal handouts of cash, a lavish feast or two. If the leader got elected, it usually meant more for his village – maybe a road, maybe better water supply or electricity, maybe a job.
The politician I was meeting now had been one of these dispensers of noblesse oblige, winning assembly elections twice in a row while switching parties. I had visited his village to find out whether they cared about the change in political allegiance. They did not.
Since he kept moving around on the campaign trail, I had not managed to meet him during my trip to Nagaland. But late in March I got a call. He was in Delhi, now safely ensconced in the new state government, and keen to meet. Who was it that had gone all the way to his ancestral village, miles away from the nearest town and accessed by a slipped-disc inducing road? He was curious to see me, he wanted to give me a little something for taking the trouble. I laughed uneasily and did not end up meeting him.
A couple of weeks later, he was back in town. This time, I decided to meet him. He could have important stories to tell, after all. Initially, we were to meet at Nagaland House, the large, sarkari bhavan which housed visiting politicians from the state and came equipped with an excellent canteen. Just as I was about to start out, however, I got another call. Nagaland House would not be possible, it was too noisy and crowded, and could I please pick somewhere else.
Where does one meet a visiting dignitary? I named the first place I could think of, which was how we had ended up at the said chi chi cafe.
He was chatty over coffee, mentioning that he had to return to his home district to host a victory feast. But there was no more mention of monetary compensation, much to my relief. As we got up to go, he asked me where I was headed. When I said I was going to my office, near Connaught Place, he replied he was driving that way himself. There was a place that made the paan he liked. Five hundred rupee paan.
There was no getting out of it so I was ushered into his car by a slightly surprised bodyguard. Just as in the cafe, a steady stream of chatter continued. Then, halfway through the ride, without the slightest change of expression, he reached for his back pocket, pulled out a wad of 2,000-rupee notes and started counting them.
I remembered our previous conversation, clutched my bag close to my chest and studiously avoided looking at the cash as I continued talking. After some time, he separated a few notes and reached over towards my bag, trying to stuff them in. As I protested, drawing the bag closer, he tried my hip pocket instead. By now I was actually batting his hand away, roaring, “Absolutely not”.
“Why?” he asked, genuinely surprised.
In the months since then, I have often thought about his ancestral village, with its freshly painted houses and patches of poinsettia, its manicured park and smooth main road. I have thought of the wilderness that fell outside this circle of munificence. I have thought of the feast he was going to hold once he went back. What if I had been reporting from Nagaland, without the option of flying back to Delhi after a few days, without the bully pulpit of a national publication? Would I have been brave enough to say no?
In this series, Scroll.in reporters look back at their experiences while reporting a significant story in 2018.
Read more in this series here.