He was warm and friendly, and his school-boyish charm so endearing. I could never imagine at that point of time that we were talking to a true-blue US envoy, David Solomon goes Down the Memory Lane:
PRAVASISAMWAD.COM
A news report in the Hindu newspaper (July 11, 2021) says that US President Joe Biden has nominated Los Angeles Mayor Eric Garcetti for the post of Ambassador of India. If confirmed by the Senate, he will replace Kenneth Juster, a Trump appointee, until January. As of now, Charge d’Affaires Atul Keshap is officiating as Ambassador at New Delhi. It was quite a heady experience from start to finish, and it still remains as fresh as ever as though it happened only yesterday, although the incident occurred almost four decades ago, sometime in the early 80s.
A friend and I were sitting in the Coffee House at the far corner of Hazratganj. This used to be a favourite and perennial haunt of the city’s intellectual hoi-polloi – writers, politicians, theatre-persons, journalists, poets, artists and photographers. Yes, it was quite a Bohemian mix, and the air was always thick and heavy with the smell of tobacco and swirling smoke that hung about in aimless swirls, together with the incessant buzz of conversation. And the ambience was a kind of a crazy, lovable chaos. But the coffee was good. Only pure, freshly roasted and ground South Indian coffee beans were used. The waiters moved about tirelessly in their white uniform with green cummerbunds and white turbans, quietly removing empty cups and glasses and setting down fresh pots of piping hot coffee. It must have been sometime in the early afternoon. As a journalist, both my friend Anand and I, often dropped in here for coffee. As fledging reporters, we both loved to come in here to soak in this awesome ambience and feel part of it.
We’d just finished a round of coffee. But we weren’t in any mood to leave just yet, perhaps after another two-three cups of coffee. Anand settled back in his chair and lit a cigarette, closed his eyes and blew some smoke circles. And just then, it all began to happen.
A tall, good-looking gentleman with a remarkable pair of blue eyes, casually dressed in cords and a beige cotton shirt, walked up to our table. With an affable smile and a nod as a greeting, he politely asked: “Would you mind if I sat at your table, seeing that there isn’t any place anywhere else,” as he waved his hand in the direction of the jampacked crowds.
“Most certainly, Sir”, I replied. “It would be a pleasure to have you as a guest at our table”. He quickly sat down and kept smiling at us as he pushed back the hair from his forehead that kept straying into his eyes and face. In the course of usual pleasantries, we told him our names and what we do for a living. He seemed to be a warm and friendly conversationalist and told us his name is Harry.
“I’m a tourist from the US. I’m just stopping by in Lucknow for a couple of days before I move on to Kathmandu, Nepal. That where I intend to join up with a group of American friends and from there on continue on a trekking expedition in the Himalayas. Sometimes he’d turn and look around nervously.
I asked him: “What’s the matter, Harry? Are you expecting someone else to join you? A tall, good-looking gentleman with a remarkable pair of blue eyes, casually dressed in cords and a beige cotton shirt, walked up to our table. With an affable smile and a nod as a greeting, he politely asked: “Would you mind if I sat at your table? “No, no”, he asserted. “I’m here all by myself. I’m putting up at the Clarkes Avadh hotel”.
After two-three cups of coffee he hurried glanced at his wristwatch and exclaimed: “I think I’d better get back to my hotel” and left after a warm round of “Thank Yous” and “Goodbyes” Shortly afterwards, Anand and I also decided to leave. We had to report to our respective newspaper offices, and then in the evening, we had to attend a US Embassy-sponsored function at the Clarkes Avadh Hotel at 6.30 pm.
So there we were in the hotel lounge of Clarkes and straightway headed for the banquet hall where the presscon was scheduled to begin in about 20 minutes. We were barely in the banquet hall when we heard this announcement: “Would Mr David Solomon and his friend please come near the dais. There’s a gentleman out here waiting to see you both”.
We both moved to the front of the room towards the dais. Up in front, we could make out the tall, dapper figure of a gentleman in a black suit and tie. He was grinning away from the ear to ear, but the dim lights inside the hall still made it hard to make out who this mysterious gentleman was. When we reached right in front of him, we looked at him in speechless recognition.
He kept smiling broadly, shook our hands warmly and said with a tiny hint of mischief in his voice: “I’m Harry G. Barnes, US Ambassador. I do believe we have met before”. At that moment, it seemed that our lower jaws would probably drop right to the floor.
Later he explained with a twinkle in his blue eyes: “Hey guys I guess I owe you chaps an apology. I just wanted to enjoy incognito moments just being myself. So I gave my security chap at the hotel a dodge and slipped out to have a little fun. I’m so glad I to meet you guy and enjoy our little chat over those cups and cups of wonderful coffee. Well, soon after the function, he left. He had to get back to Delhi and not Kathmandu for some trekking expedition. But before leaving, he was gracious enough to come to our table to bid us au revoir.
Today Harry G. Barnes is no more in our midst. He passed away on August 9, 2012, at age 86. He was the first career diplomat to be appointed as an ambassador of India (1981-84) during the Reagan era. Earlier, he had served as a junior officer in the US Consulate at Mumbai. He graduated suma cum laude from Columbia University.
No matter where you are, Harry, the memory of that chance incognito encounter in the Coffee House will live on forever.