The first time I met Manmohan Singh, I didn’t know he was Manmohan Singh. It was either late 1993 or early 1994. I was a rookie reporter for The Sunday Observer, sneaking a tea outside Delhi University.

Those days, there used to be a tea stall just outside North Campus, run by a Malayalee named Raman Kutty, famous for his parippuvada—golden, spiced fritters made from ground lentils, crisp on the outside and soft within. They were the kind of snack that made Delhi winters bearable. That day, I had just snagged the last two when a soft voice behind me said:

“Parippuvada unda?”

I turned to see a bespectacled, turbaned man speaking enthusiastic but broken Malayalam. He seemed to be asking Raman Kutty if there were any parippuvada left.

“This saab had the last two,” Raman Kutty said, pointing an accusing ladle at me.

Normally, I don’t share food. But there was something about the man that made me generous. I offered him one from my plate.

He accepted it with a faint smile. Holding the parippuvada as if it were a butterfly, he said, “Ah, the balance is remarkable—crisp outside, soft centre.
But distribution matters. Everyone should get one, no?”

I blinked.

Mistaking me for a DU student, he asked, “Studying economics?”

“No,” I said.

He looked disappointed. Then, munching the last of the parippuvada, he walked towards a white Ambassador car. I noticed the security detail then.

“Who is that?” I asked Raman Kutty.

“Singh saab,” he said.

“Who?”

“The finance minister. Used to teach here.”

I drank up quickly and left.

The next time I saw Manmohan Singh was in 1995, on a government aircraft bound for Kuala Lumpur. I was part of the press party, relegated to the back of the plane. Halfway through the flight, Singh made an appearance in our section, nodding politely and shaking hands with the veteran editors.

Just as he turned to leave, his eyes landed on me. He paused. “Parippuvada unda?” he asked, a twinkle in his eye.

Before I could respond, he left, leaving my fellow journalists baffled and me with this little story to tell.

None of this happened, of course. Watching the flood of posts on LinkedIn about Manmohan Singh—each vying for attention and social mileage—I wanted to pay my own, entirely fictional, tribute. So this post is dedicated to all those selfless souls who penned such excellent personal remembrances of the man, and those who ‘liked’ them without reading. A parippuvada for your efforts.

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