Anchor for Asia

INDIA Anchor for Asia

When India's Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru needs to relax, he stands on his head. This is not the exotic mysticism of the fabulous East but a practical way to drive off fatigue and make up for lack of sleep. Last week, as Nehru left New Delhi for Washington on one of the century's most important visits of state, his secretary discussed head-standing with U.S. newsmen: "Perhaps the Prime Minister will demonstrate this for your President Truman."

America had a lot of other things to learn about Asia's key man. Nehru has been a somewhat nebulous figure, graceful and great, "a jewel among men" as his master Mahatma Gandhi said, but vaguely seen and known. Now, after two years as Prime Minister of free India, he is emerging in sharp and colorful detail. The cultured patriot with the Cambridge accent, luminous eyes and magnetic smile who spent 13 of his 60 years in British jails has become the Orient's unoriental, supercharged public executive.

Nehru has a lot to learn about America, too. "Most of my impression of America," he says, "has come from reading." A culling of his voluminous written words indicates that he has simply never given the subject much thought. As a British university man, he has perhaps looked down snobbishly at American deficiency in culture. As a sentimental socialist, he has ticked off the U.S. as unrivaled in technology but predatory in its capitalism.

Now, events in Asia and the world over are making him reconsider. India's leader could use some U.S. help to lift up his nation. "I am not going to that great and powerful country with a message to teach," he told Bombay officials last week. "I wish to learn what I think will be beneficial to India."

Said a Delhi wag: "Two powerful personalities who know very little about each other are now colliding. The impact, on America and on Nehru, should be terrific."

A Farewell. Nehru's leave-taking from Bombay was such a scene as only an Eastern country in transition could stage. A harsh afternoon sun beat down on the airfield as the Prime Minister arrived, perspiring in his brown achkan (neck-high jacket) and white salwars (jodhpur-like pants). A small array of dignitaries, students and plain curious citizens waited near the runway.

Nehru had ten minutes before the London-bound airliner took off. Flanked by an admiral and a general, he approvingly reviewed an honor guard of the Indian navy. Only the day before, dedicating a new national defense academy at Poona, the Prime Minister, as a former believer in passive resistance, had pronounced it "odd" that "we who for generations have talked about . . . and practiced nonviolence should now be glorifying our Army, Navy and Air Force. Though it is odd, yet it simply reflects the oddness of life. Though life is logical, we have to face all contingencies, and unless we are prepared to face them, we will go under."

As he strode toward the plane's ramp after the review, the Prime Minister was halted by a shaggy sadhu (holy man), black-bearded and maned, who thrust a bouquet of chrysanthemums into his hand. Graciously, Nehru took the gift. On the ramp's top, he turned and clasped hands in a farewell namasthe. "Goodbye and good luck," he called.