BILLIONAIRE tycoon T. Ananda Krishnan (pic), who died on Thursday (Nov 28) at the age of 86, rarely gave exclusive media interviews, earning him the reputation as a recluse among Malaysia’s richest men.
He guarded his privacy closely, but from Google, the following is a famous quote from the enigmatic Ananda in explaining why he shunned publicity: “I have heard some people say I have a low profile. Why should somebody be high profile anyway? I am just doing my job. If you say I have a low profile, then by definition it means I should have a high profile. But why?”
However, I have some fond memories of AK, as he was popularly known, from several encounters over the years both at home and abroad in my long career as a journalist.
The first time I met him was some months before the construction of the iconic Petronas Twin Towers began in 1993.
It was Ananda who sold the idea of building the 88-storey Twin Towers to then prime minister Tun Dr Mahathir Mohamad, for which he was instructed to lead the construction of the project in Kuala Lumpur City Centre (KLCC) on the land which was previously a horse racing course run by the Selangor Turf Club.
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I remember Ananda giving a briefing to the media on the massive and unprecedented project, showing us a chart with the design of the Twin Towers, long before they became a world famous landmark.
He invited us to pose questions, and for reporters attending, it must have been their first such experience with him.
I posed the first question by telling him that I was not impressed with the project if what is being planned and later constructed was to turn Kuala Lumpur into another New York.
He seemed startled by my provocative question but asked: “So, what is your suggestion?”
I told him that to avoid it being a massive concrete jungle, there ought to be large chunks of land reserved for a greenery park around the area to give it some breathing space.
Ananda responded by saying: “Point taken, we will consider,” thanking for the idea – once again showing his humility.
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I thought that was the end of the matter but some two months later, I received a call from a senior Ananda aide, who broke good news to someone like me, whose bread and butter is news.
The aide told me that Ananda had agreed to the idea I mentioned at the press conference and something would be planned accordingly.
It is not my intention in writing this tribute to Ananda to claim any credit but later a huge park, which looks like a jungle within the KLCC enclave, was built near the Mandarin Oriental Hotel.
My next encounter with Ananda was in 1996, at the launch of Measat’s two satellite stations by Mahathir in Kourou in French Guiana, around seven hours flight from Paris.
Measat one and two were the precursor to pay TV Astro, which reached two-thirds of Malaysian households this year, according to its website.
After the launch, he met with a small group of Malaysian reporters covering the event. Before the reporters could ask questions, something unexpected happened.
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He was attracted by the Nehru-collar white shirt that I was wearing as such a fashion style was his trademark attire.
“Very nice shirt you are wearing,” he said, and I thanked him for the compliment. And I thought it was the end of the story, but it was not.
He further asked: “Where did you make
that shirt and how much it cost?” Even by my standards of being “notorious” for asking provocative questions at press conferences, Ananda’s question on such a petty matter as a shirt was completely unexpected of a billionaire.
“You have just had your satellite station costing close to a billion ringgit launched and you ask me how much my shirt cost?” I responded, to the laughter of other reporters present.
“I am quite embarrassed to answer your question but since you asked, a tailor shop near Federal Hotel in Kuala Lumpur made this shirt. It cost about RM200,” I said.
The next blast from AK was something most unforgettable: “Very expensive. Mine only cost RM40, and I bought in Manila.”
It was his way of displaying his most humble side. He genuinely walked the talk on humility.
The last time his office got in touch with me was about two weeks before polling day in the 2004 general election.
“AK wants to meet you at his office at 2pm today. Can you make it?” said an aide.
“He wants you to share your opinion on the coming general election.” But it was not my lucky day.
I was in Ipoh and the time he suggested would not be enough for me to get to his office, and I told his aide so.
There was no further contact from his office. I thought AK must have left Malaysia soon after as he mostly lived overseas.
I made some attempts to meet up with him over the past years but he was hardly in town.
Ananda was indeed one of a kind in more ways than one, and it is safe to say that there is unlikely to be another Malaysian quite like him.
Azman Ujang was Bernama chairman, general manager and editor-in-chief.
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