Tony Jesudasan, a key lieutenant of Anil Ambani's Reliance group and one of the finest corporate communications and corporate affairs professionals died early at the age of 71. He's survived by his wife Parul Sharma and daughter Preetika.
He was a cool guy. And knew too much. He’d sometimes reveal his secrets to most innocuous people. Perhaps, he knew they wouldn’t misuse the information. And the recipient of that information would be glad that Tony considered him trustworthy enough not to spill the beans. It remained with them, a closely guarded secret. I was one of those innocuous people, I reckon there were many others too.
Tony was instrumental in his own quintessential ways to make me understand how Delhi functions. Delhi is an incredible city in ways it’s difficult to fathom. People do what they need to do to prosper in this demanding city. And they, most of them, have a hidden side, and their hidden dealings in a way shapes their public persona, wealth and so on. That’s something not peculiar to Delhi, nevertheless it’s interesting. They are bright and successful people and find reasons to get comfortable with their dual life, though the family, sometimes, suffers the brunt. But I’m not here to sit on moral judgement, it's meant to be a statement of fact.
Tony had infiltrated the government without forced entry. Doors opened unto him. He knew more than the insiders, yet never claimed to be one. And the media leadership, also some top functionaries of the government knew him ‘very’ well. They were friends in crisis. For this reason, his words carried weight. He never demonstrated his contact–and made me feel like the most important person around when I was in a room with him.
His influence was demonstrated when I was in his house at his demise. He was lying in a casket, white lilies around him, a sombre air hung low in the room, and the whole media leadership was present to pay their tribute reminiscing how Tony played a vital role in shaping their careers. Another thing became obvious to me that afternoon: the ageing leadership of Indian media and that a generational shift is on the cards.
I was surprised, many of my past editors were there. Why did he cajole me for a story when the owners were his buddy? The reason perhaps was, he didn’t want even his friends to know that he facilitated a certain story. He was instrumental in so many stories I did and many of my editors, who were in sync with the hidden Delhi, remained perplexed how I could lay my hands on such a story.
Tony helped me do some incredible stories, and I can’t give him credit for it by name. Confidentiality is a bond of trust that will outlive him between us.
We discussed my bosses, and other top journalists he had known for decades. It included their personal life that was not even known to their families. I think duality serves a purpose. When you need something badly that cannot be had openly, it makes perfect sense to do it clandestinely. It helps; clandestine life infuses fresh energy into public life.
Tony never sat on judgement about the actions of others, for he was glued to the larger picture. While he specialised in crisis management, he was cool as a cucumber. Far from being panicked, he made radical things happen within the system in a way that it seemed routine. He had a fair idea as to why things happen in the way it does, and there are these usual suspects who need to be patronised to get things moving. There’s a method in the madness. He was a great facilitator. A catalyst.
Every time we met he’d ask me, “How old do I look?” And I’d retort, “I know your age.” He’d reassert, my question is “How old do I look?” “Well! As young as me,”. “You are a bad liar,” he’d say bursting into laughter. He was interested in things I did, particularly my hobby that became a social experiment: the artistic tryst to document humanity without the qualification of clothing.
He considered me a master salesperson who could convince people to shed their clothes voluntarily. And he’d get curious and want names of people who posed for me. Information is power. And he was a powerful man. “The names are not important,” I’d say, “they trusted me to be themselves. I can’t breach that trust.” He’d smile. I felt he was telling me I know all the people you have sketched. As if they reported to him what transpired between us.
Tony had been to my house a few times, and wanted to get Parul along. She’s interested in art and Tony celebrated this fact. He wanted me to exhibit my work. But he did nothing to facilitate it. Perhaps, he agreed with me that when it’s time it will find a way to happen.
Thanks to him, I know a lot about my bosses. Politicians. And it helped me to deal with them better, primarily by empathising with their situation in life while they put on a brave face. One of my illustrious bosses had political ambitions, it did fructify in some measure. Tony didn’t call him a journalist or a politician. It will be a giveaway if I write what Tony called him.
At Tony’s behest, I suggested to this particular editor that Tony was the mastermind of a raging controversy currently played out by the media. The editor looked at me for a second or two, checked his reaction, and said in a levelled tone, “prove it!” Before I could ask, “Is it a yes to attempt the story?” he intervened to say, “he’s a good person to explore with a glass of whiskey in the drawing room. Not in the newsroom.” Tony assured me, he will give me all the proof against him but the editor in question will still not carry the story. And I might lose my job. We buried the hatchet.
Tony is a friend. As you would have realised, we did talk a lot. And I met him regularly for a decade and a half. I explained to him ample times the greatest takeaway from the conversations in the nude I host is the trust reposed by my subjects–they risked being themselves before my probing eyes.
People trusted him in the same way, and his ability to get things done, even the rivals. It was an open secret that Tony was a trusted custodian of secrets. An intellectual, a believer, a doer, he was omnipresent in the background, and his absence is felt so strongly.
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