‘A Life Less Extraordinary: My Journey through Politics, Passion, and Purpose’
By Lav Bhargava
Hay House Publishers India, 264 pages

Here is a candid memoir of personal growth, embracing flaws, and finding peace in being oneself. Lav Bhargava, who has held political roles in both the Congress and Samajwadi Party, reflects on key moments and people that shaped his life, exploring themes like self-acceptance, karmic destiny, and wisdom. He also shares heartfelt anecdotes that blend humour with insightful introspection.

Rather than a recounting of triumphs or regrets, the narrative focuses on the people and moments that shaped a life well-lived. Bhargava, who is not only a social activist but has also been involved in film and television as an actor and producer, muses on life’s deeper truths, touching on the subtle workings of karmic destiny and the limitations of human control. With warmth and honesty, the memoir traces the gradual arc towards contentment, highlighting the lessons learnt along the way.

Far from a conventional tale of success, this is a story of personal evolution— embracing flaws, unexpected teachings, and the wisdom that emerges over time. It is a testament to the enduring commitment to authenticity and the peace found in simply being oneself.

Here is an excerpt from the book:

After getting a taste of it during Sanjay Gandhi’s time, I tried moving up the political ladder independently of my family’s political affiliations. I was the first in my family to carve out a political space for myself, though it could never reach its full potential due to forces inimical to my rise, both externally and within. However, the experience gave me immense insights into the workings of political parties and their management—or mismanagement.

My proactive participation in politics began with my first mayoral election in 1989, when I was not personally that familiar with Rajiv Gandhi, which greatly impacted my campaign. A year later, I began to get to know him.

In my assessment, Rajiv’s temperament was in stark contrast to his brother Sanjay’s. He would confer and confabulate with his aides before making decisions. He made his own mistakes but wasn’t lucky enough to rectify his missteps. Destiny willed it otherwise.

The Shah Bano case and the misjudged Indian Peace Keeping Force intervention in Sri Lanka could be ascribed to ill-conceived advice from his closest aides, leading some of them to find themselves on the wrong side of history. His own tragic end was also a consequence of the Sri Lanka misadventure.

For the uninitiated, I make here a brief reference to an observation by K. Natwar Singh, former Minister of External Affairs, in his autobiography One Life Is Not Enough, on Rajiv’s Sri Lanka visit and the Guard of Honour parade in 1987 in Colombo: ‘Vijitha Rohana Wijemuni, a sailor, struck Rajiv Gandhi with the butt of his rifle. While the PM’s reflexes saved him from serious injury, he still received a nasty blow. The simmering discontent had found expression and was a dark indicator of things to come.’

I had many conversations with Rajiv, some light-hearted and others on specific issues. I was fortunate enough to have his ear.

After Sanjay Gandhi’s ashes were immersed, Rajiv and Arun Singh were in a conference with two others in a room on the ground floor of Swaraj Bhawan in Allahabad in 1980. As I came out of the room to go to Circuit House, Rajiv’s security detail stopped a gentleman at the threshold of the door. When I saw him, I whispered to the personnel, ‘Who do you think you are stopping? He is the home minister of India.’ That visitor went on to become the president of India—his name was Giani Zail Singh.

Rajiv ji once asked me at his Parliament office, when I was there to see him with my friend Saleem Shervani, who I thought would make a good PCC president. I recommended Jiti Bhai (Jitendra Prasada), though that position came to him much later; in fact, a few weeks after I was expelled from the party, Rajiv appointed him as his political secretary. When I later met Jiti Bhai in his office, he thanked me for pursuing his appointment with Shervani. The irony, though, is that a couple of years later, when it was payback time, he unfortunately failed to deliver.

At a party hosted by Saleem at The Oberoi in Delhi in early 1991, I approached Rajiv to discuss a slightly volatile matter. The late Madhavrao Scindia, who was also at the party, discouraged me from broaching the subject. Despite his apparently rational advice, I mustered the courage to discuss it, as I had committed to doing so.

Flashback: the previous day, Arif Mohammad Khan, the current governor of Kerala [as of now, of Bihar], had invited me for lunch at his Sunehri Bagh residence when he learned about the dinner party. Following his unfortunate resignation from the Congress after the fiasco of the Shah Bano case, it seemed there hadn’t been an opportunity for him to get a trusted intermediary with Rajiv ji for rapprochement talks. A non-functionary in the party, in his estimation, was a more reliable choice to take up the matter. That’s how I became involved.

After a scrumptious Awadhi lunch and with very little deliberation, as the subject of the meeting became clear, I promised Arif Bhai that I would make a sincere effort to discuss with Rajiv ji his return to the fold. After all, as I understood it, Arif could still potentially be an asset to the party. Now that much water had flown under the bridge since 1986 when he quit the party, Arif felt Rajiv ji would surely consider his return.

As odd as it may seem today, this was the truth in 1991. Arif is a voracious reader and a learned man. He has ingested the essence of most of the relevant Hindu texts. Apart from being an Islamic scholar, he is a true-blue patriot. He readily quotes from Islamic religious books and the Ayats of the Quran, as easily as he does from the Gita or Upanishads, depending on the situation. At most times, his brand of theism doesn’t sit well with the Muslim clergy. I have always admired his intellectual prowess, pleasing personality, and integrity of purpose. We have had long politico-religious discussions whenever we met.

The following day, I spoke to Rajiv ji, who didn’t baulk, look surprised, or dismiss me. He stared at me for a couple of seconds, his grimace turning into his usual sweet smile, and said, ‘Get him to see me after the elections.’

What Scindia ji and I soon discovered was that our initial reluctance was completely unfounded. The way Rajiv ji reacted to my unusual suggestion showed his customary lack of pretence or pomposity. That, for me, was the sum and essence of Rajiv Gandhi’s personality. Had he been alive, perhaps, I would not have found the time to write this book.

I called Arif the following day and relayed Rajiv ji’s response. He was ecstatic, thrilled with Rajiv ji’s reaction, and thanked me profusely for the risky effort. Unfortunately, the day for their meeting never came.

[The excerpt reproduced with the permission of the publishers.]