From A Million Hearts To A Billion Wallets

Mahatma Gandhi- The Father of the Nation. 

The nation that we call India, lets stick to this only because calling it Bharat does not really help our cause. Some random thoughts began brewing in my mind as I took a hundred rupee note out of my pocket and handed it to the worker who knows me well and has been working in this ice-cream shop for some time. No, I don't even know his name, but a "Bhaiya" is more than sufficient to get my order placed quickly.

For some reasons, Gandhiji's photo has decreased in both its affluence and influence and has been limited to currency notes only. In primary classes there are essays that students have to mugg and replicate in their exam copies. A nice holiday on 2nd October is always welcomed. A couple on minutes of silence on 30th January, well that gives a nice break from all the commotion around, doesn't it. A framed picture on the walls in government offices, with an inch-thick layer of dust. Yes he is still the father of our nation but the peon does not bother to wipe the dust now. The people do not remember him on days other than these two of course. Yet their was a time when this now forgotten man walked on the face of the earth, right where the British were on the peak of their atrocities and lead an entire country to freedom without even raising a stick. But then, Bharat turned into India, we came civilized and modern, Gandhism turned into Gandhigiri and all the noble deeds of this man ended up in our pockets, with his bespectacled face in our wallets.

However one would contradict with me in some regards, what with Anna Hazare and his revolution. His method, his fasting and the lathicharge on protesters in Delhi. For a moment, even for a bleak one, it felt as though the times had reversed- a nation going head-on against the incumbent government without any act of violence. But it did not last for the Jan Lokpal Bill is still under "consideration". The very root of the problem that it intended to cut off- corruption, has grown in its domain day by day. The movement which began as protest has turned into a political party, deprived of support and muscle. But what was it that really made the difference back then, during the struggle for independence, because the principals are more or less the same- but why are they ineffective in the present context?

I think we can narrow it down to a couple of simple facts. Firstly it was the man himself- Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, for his charisma and intensity is yet unmatched. Perhaps it was far more convenient to forget the man, rather than following his principles he stood for. The social values and beliefs he stood for were and always will be easier to admire than to follow. While he was alive, he was impossible to ignore- the British tried to at their demise. And once when he was gone, he was impossible to imitate- which is quite apparent in the present scenario. Apart from this, the other thing which drove his engine forward was his pursuit of Truth. Truth with a capital T. For he believed in the the fact that if you are correct, and the Truth is on your side nothing can hold you back. Truth cannot be attained by unjust or violent means. For he said, "Even if you are a minority of one, the truth is the truth." Such was his deep-lying belief in this philosophy. Its hard to break resistance of able bodied men, but for a man whose spirit is as indomitable as his, it was next to impossible.  

Secondly, and maybe this one holds the edge, it was the people who made Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi into Mahatma Gandhi- and not just in name. He was their leader, their saint walking in front of their eyes.They followed him and he lead them towards truth, towards light, towards freedom. Had they absconded his pursuit in the middle of this epic struggle, things could have shaped up very differently indeed. Those people did not sit back in their homes, waiting for things to happen. They did not flock to the cyberspace to extend their support via innumerable "shares" and "comments" on virtual "walls". They stepped out and wrote "Inqualab Zindabaad" with their blood on the walls of jails inside which they were beaten down to pulp. They did not walk away when the police drew lathis on a a couple of girls in Punjab. They did not walk away with indifference when a group of young men protested on the main square of the city. They stood there, abiding his command not raising their hands even once. They joined shoulders forgetting their petty differences- yes those very differences which have become the basis of communal politics.
They stood their by his side

I wonder how Gandhiji would have reacted when he would have seen what has happened to his beloved country. Maybe he would have asked for a bullet, and said "Hey Ram" (though this time in a very different sense) and put it inside his head. Probably saving another Nathuram Godse from the trouble, for he is our father, and he took this blame too upon himself.

Summer is here, I feel like an ice-cream now. The old man in my wallet needs some air too.
Bye.

The Mango Tree

As I made my way back to home after another monotonous day, I saw her sitting under the shade of the mango tree. Officially I am giving another one of those "midterms", which have diminished in their importance with each passing semester. No they still carry the the same weight as they did before but the sincerity is long lost and seriousness has dissolved in the abundant distractions and apathy of time. Yet they are a part of the cycle which I have to oblige for another year or so.

I tried avoiding catching her eye, once again. The mango tree- which has belonged to my family for about four decades and at which she holds an even stronger claim, was swaying gently in the cool spring breeze. I knew for sure that her eyes were fixed on me, I could feel that piercing gaze as I scrambled to park my bike and get inside. What transpired was not new, yet it leaves me with a strange, empty guilt each time.

Not long back she was the buzz of the locality, the "Narad Muni" in a more generalized sense. She had the agility and cunning of a fox. It was impossible to escape her eyes before leaving or entering the lane, let alone my own house. The agony aunt of all the domestic helps that fretted to and fro all day. The secret keeper of all the dodgy business in the 1 km radius. The live, walking and talking source of all new and old. She was Taijee. As I have grown up in a typical Indian setup where the neighbors have always had a more important say in the decision making process rather than the family members themselves, I called her Taijee ever since I learnt to speak. Taijee, which in Hindi means aunt. She had some command on me till I grew out of her reach, and practically everyone else's too. I always received this specially bought box of Gulabjamuns on my birthdays, which was occasionally peppered with a chocolate candy-bar. And picking up a ripe mango in front of her was a challenge in itself. The truth was that my Grandpa had planted the tree way back, and it was half in our's and half in her domain. Nevertheless, its origin and location made no difference to her, for all the mangoes that were on her side of the tree belonged to her. On countless occasions my Grandma, who herself is a tough cookie to crack, would go all guns blazing for all the mangoes belonged to "us". It never made any difference to her, and I guess it never will.

She has always been present. I rarely have any memory of her not being there.  I remember her calm and composed self when my mother went into labor with my younger brother and her compassionate smile, reassuring me that everything is fine. I remember her presence my Grandpa passed away, and the void that was created due to his untimely demise. I remember her happy face when I came home running to declare my impressive Board result. I remember her in all the small and big events that have happened in and around me. 

Then a few months back, Godly forces took toll of her health. As she came home after picking some fresh flowers for her morning rituals, a failed attempt to please the Gods as one would later conclude. What followed some nausea and vomiting was a severe brain hemorrhage. She ended up in the critical care unit, and subsequently paralysis. As a 21 years old male, I am supposed to take these things without any significant display of emotion, and so I did. Obviously, with such close family ties and her only son being out of station, my parents and our family was the only significant support they had. Her husband was mentally and physically exhausted, not to mention the immense financial strain this unforeseen situation had put him under. Even the doctors had given up and it was left for the Almighty to deal with.

Then as if it was a miracle, and her health began to improve, slowly yet steadily. After three weeks she was discharged and she made it back to home. Her health though receives continuous jolts and is subject to a lot of uncertainty. She cannot walk anymore, at least not without someone supporting her. Her faces is now nothing more than a lopsided accumulation of mass. Her voice has a very difficult accent now, mostly because of the paralysis. She needs support for even making it to the loo and every thing. She has ceased to be just a shadow of her former self.

But there is something that has changed somehow. Her gaze, her piercing gaze which makes me jump out of my skin now. Earlier it were these eyes which meant a lot more reassurance and brought a calmness to the state of affairs. But now they resemble something completely different- the plight of a woman who for her entire life has defied the odds, and stood against the tide of time for her own good. I cannot help but feel sorry about her, and her family. To be honest she has been family for us ever since, and it is going to stay so.

I tried avoiding catching her eye, once again. She must be thinking of me as an ungrateful brat, who does not even turn up to ask her well being- let alone any help. But I hope, that she understands my pain, which I feel each time I see her in this dilapidated condition. I hope she forgives me for my conduct, which is definitely not appropriate. I hope she gets well soon- well enough to give me a wry smile. Yes, even a wry one would suffice. It would be more than enough.

This year there are going to be no mangoes in the tree. It remains barren, though still in tact. The spring is here, the leaves have turned green once again. It is as if the tree has been put itself on hold, waiting for you Taijee. For you to come up to that boundary wall and stake your claim on your half. Frankly I won't even mind if you wish to extend your territory. It waits for you.