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I knew Sachin Pilot’s dad: an effusive guy who never stopped talking about his past. Quite understandable. Also politically correct because what use is it to be a milkman if the world did not know about it. Therefore Sachin’s dad, Rajesh Pilot, a Congressman till he was alive, spoke more about delivering milk rather than being an air force officer. So most of us, who covered him as political correspondents, knew the story by heart: he was a dhoodhwala who cycled to Delhi’s Akbar Road as early as 5 am to deliver milk. He would roll his eyes, raise his hands and look up towards the sky: “Aur dekho aaj wahin rahta hoon…MP ban gaya…minister ban gaya…” (And look today I live here…as an elected MP and also a minister) he would often say, his thick lips breaking into a smile.

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Not many however knew that during his stint in the Indian Air Force, Rajesh Pilot was nicknamed “dhoodhiya”. Or that Rajesh was the truncated form of Rajeshwar Prasad. Not good enough for politics given that it would undermine the rustic tone. It was easier to affix Pilot because he flew planes in the Air Force. So it was: Pilot replaced Prasad and Rajeshwar became Rajesh.

His son Sachin, currently an MP, was born as a Prasad but turned Pilot when he was barely three. In later years, he actually trained as one and bettered his dad’s flying record. He was hell bent on getting the license because he had a point to prove: he had got fed up of his friends telling him: “Motorcycle to chala nahin sakta aur apne aap ko pilotkehta hai….”(You cannot ride a mobike and you call yourself a pilot).

Unlike his dad, Sachin is careful with his words. You can’t chat with him. He is somewhat ill at ease. I think he is in awe of me because of the number of years which separate us. Sachin was not even born when I started working. Therefore, he tries to sound as serious as possible. And ofcourse monosyllabic. If anyone has made me feel somewhat a failure in my 30 years of journalistic career, it is Sachin. I just failed to draw him out. Probably the shadow of his dad lingers: he sizing me up as someone “senior” and I treating him as a “little kid”.

But finding the “kid” in Sachin is near impossible. I think he even dreams serious. How he fell in love and dared to marry Sara, despite opposition from her family is anyone’s guess. Sara is politician Farooq Abdullah’s daughter and J&K’s current Chief Minister Omar Abdullah’s sister. The marriage was a low key affair and the Abdullah clan had stayed away. In fact they had snapped links with Sachin and Sara for quite some time. I don’t know if this had something to do with Sachin being a Hindu and Sara a Muslim. The families are now in touch given that I saw Farooq Abdullah dining with his daughter and son in law in New Delhi’s Hyatt hotel. And the much written about the family rift? “They are happy to see us happy” claims Sachin.

But he is reluctant to talk about Omar Abdullah. Persist and he will steer the conversation to politics and say what a positive development it is for Omar to take over as Jammu and Kashmir Chief Minister. . Ask him if Omar and he were ever buddies and he says: “Don’t know what buddies means”.

Move over to Sara and he can write a book praising her. She is a good cook, she bakes well, she is very understanding, she is the perfect mother and wife and…and…and she is eleven months 29 days younger to him. Their bundle of joy: their one and a half year old Aaran. The only time one can meet Sara is when she is playing the perfect hostess over the makki roti and sarson saag lunch: a tradition started by Sachin’s dad and kept alive by the family: earlier his mother Rama and now son Sachin.

Once a year, Rajesh would invite friends over the winter lunch and force glasses of buttermilk on them. And ofcourse carrots and radish which to quote him was “dehati salaad” as he would say: “Bahi gaon ka to yahi khana hai….” he would tell us every year. Like he would about his being a doodhwala: “Bhai main bara emotional aadmi hoon..” he would often say.

In a book of sorts which Sachin and his sister Sarika brought out on their late father, he wrote: “…In his passing I felt a part of me has died too. In him I have also lost my best friend…..He spoke from his heart…he was able to strike a chord with his listeners…” I think his father’s death made Sachin an adult overnight.

For someone who graduated from Stanford Business school and later was the youngest member of the Indian Parliament, Sachin keeps a very low profile. It is not his style to remain center-stage. The one time he was pushed on stage, he fumbled and faltered and to quote him was “horrified”. Rewind to 1990. His mother, Rama, was contesting the election. The sarpanch spotted Sachin, pulled him out of the car and thrust the mike into his hands.

Aghast, Sachin did not know what hit him. It was like been thrown into the deep sea without knowing how to swim. He looked at the mike (the monster he said to himself), tapped it,clared his throat and broke into uending hellos. He was clearly in a fix,more so because he did not know how he should address his mother: Ramaji? Mom? Mother? He does not remember nor wishes to on how he wriggled out of the situation.

Sachin blushes easily. Right upto his ears. Mention pranks and he blushes, poke fun at him and he is red in the face.

Unlike young men his age, Sachin is not into computers. Even his website is designed by a group of young professionals from Bangalore. But it is, unfortunately, dull and boring: a-no fun-one. In fact more like the official website of the Government. No actually more like the Congress party’s manifesto: rural India, poverty and agriculture and ofcourse “Soniajee” and Manmohan Singh in there.

I think Sachin is a bit mixed up on how he should project himself: as a young MP who is on his own or as Congress leader Rajesh Pilot’s son. Either ways, it is tough. By his own admission in the eight and a half years after his father’s death, there has not been a day when he has not thought of him. Yet he was reluctant to step into his shoes or don the political mantle. It took him two years to take the plunge, as it were. He abandoned a corporate career to brave the heat and dust of India’s villages. After joining the Congress party and being showcased as the Gen Next brand of politicians, things came to a standstill. The party failed to use the young MPs as it had claimed it would. This left some of them a bit disillusioned though none was candid enough to admit this publicly. Far from being firebrand and vocal, the Congress brand of young MPs including Sachin have remained in the wings.

But ofcourse none of this can be discussed with Sachin. On record everything is hunky dory and there is no such thing as off record with Sachin. But I must conceede that this time around Sachin spoke more than he ever has: for over an hour. He let me tread personal ground and even if he found it tough to respond to some of the issues, he honestly tried.

On my way out, he said: “I have spoken to you at length because I felt you would be fair” I don’t know if this had something to do with my reputation of tearing people apart or not, but I wanted to tell him to just chill. Literally.

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