In the late fifties, my husband, a railway officer, was posted at Lucknow in a senior position. Since I worked in Delhi, it meant my having to commute between Delhi and Lucknow frequently. One weekend in August 1957, while I was due to return to Delhi from Lucknow, my husband was informed that no berth was available. I had to reach Delhi, and my husband was advised that a coupe (a two-berth compartment) was reserved for an MP. If the MP could be persuaded to let another passenger travel in the coupe, I could be accommodated. It turned out that the MP was none other than the redoubtable Feroze Gandhi, son-in-law of then prime minister, Jawaharlal Nehru, and husband of Indira Gandhi.

For the railways, the very name ‘Feroze Gandhi’ was a nightmare. His questions during the rail budget debates had often placed the then railway minister (Jagjivan Ram) on the mat. Earlier, he had been the nemesis of Ram Krishna Dalmia and the Bharat Insurance Company. But Feroze Gandhi’s tour de force was his exposure, the previous year, of the infamous Mundra affair as a result of which then finance minister, T.T. Krishnamachari, was forced to resign.

Coming back to my dilemma, my husband called up a colleague known for his ‘high’ contacts. The colleague made inquiries and came back with the information that the MP had no objection. Promptly, I had a reservation in the train, but with a caveat: it was an upper berth. Minutes after I had got into the coupe, Feroze Gandhi, arrived escorted by a group of hangers-on. The train started and my co-passenger broke the ice by announcing his name. In turn I introduced myself. Minutes later, he opened a small tiffin box which contained a couple of sandwiches and an apple. He offered me a sandwich, and although I remonstrated, he insisted that I share his meal. He then took out a knife, a multi-blade Swiss one, and cut the apple into two, offering me one half.

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