Rajiv Gandhi’s Memorial Day is also marked as anti-terrorism day whose purpose is to spread the message of global peace and non-violence and stop youngsters from following cult practices and being misguided, I chose to revisit the past and decipher what hate has done to us collectively as a society and why it is important for us to remember our loved ones for what they truly stood for in life and let all the other unwanted noises drain out. I intended to do that by also commemorating a person I truly loved, my grandfather.
The Dark Day
I was only past three years of age when the late Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi was assassinated. Yet somehow, muzzy reflections from that day still wearily trace the corridors of my mind.
It was the day after the assassination, the morning of May 22, 1991. It was a bright sunny day. Thinly lit rays splattered across the floor of the drawing room, where I played. My mother and I were at my paternal grandfather’s place with the rest of the family while my father stayed put in a different city on the pretext of work. There was this calmness all around my tiny self hadn’t felt before, something in the air that was making even me, a toddler, aware of the unusuality of the day. It was eerily quiet. No one talked. No one said anything. Everyone seemed upset and grief stuck around while the little me gawked in nescience.
What followed was the most distinct and the only tiny fragment of memory I had of the day: my mom walking up to pick up the green colored land line phone perched on the shelf hooked to the wall, which was my favorite thing to play with in the house. Later one day, my dad had to give in and bring me an exact replica of the phone to play with so that I let the people in the house actually use it for its intended purpose.
As I sat there staring at the eventuality, she picked up the phone to talk to my dad on the other end. Her voice, choking and sad, told my dad “Rajiv Gandhi is no more.”
That day was her birthday. The sorrow was palpable and the sadness hefty among all the members of my family.
This perhaps was the mark of a human being who in his lifetime could spur emotions of kindness and love in people. So different in juxtaposition to today’s vitriolic atmosphere laden heavily with whacking amounts of hate, disgruntlement and lack of compassion we find ourselves engulfed in. People are not fondly commemorated, even posthumously.
The most significant of things that we as a nation stand lacking today is perhaps this sense of compassion, sensitivity, tenderness, solicitude and humanity that seem to be lost on an entire generation of millennials. As time progresses, I sense this perplexing lack of empathy towards people’s suffering and sorrow, creeping through the societies, and even governments and establishments across the world.
The Story Of My Grandpa
My family back in the day has never had any hardcore political leanings. And these thoughts, therefore, have led me to draw parallels with the journey of someone very close to my own life, my paternal grandfather. Born in 1912, he was fostered by an English couple of the British colonies in India who provided him with care and education in his early years while the rest of his family migrated to Myanmar, fleeing the distressing circumstances of the war, never to return.
When his foster parents left for England, he declined to go with them and spent the rest of his life here in India working hard to earn an education, all on his own. He later became a public servant and spent years of his life in the civil services, earning the approbation of being an honest, upright and distinguished officer, especially during his tenure as the municipal commissioner.
A Letter To Me
He was my favorite person and I can safely say I was his too. Before he passed away, he left with my parents a letter he had written for me, asking them to hand it down to me when I finished school. In his letter, he paraphrased the importance of critical thinking and wrote me down a list of ‘must read autobiographies in life.’
While I feel super guilty about the fact that I’m yet to finish his assignment, as the gravity of his words only struck me much later in life, the wisdom and thoughts that he chose to leave me with will forever be my greatest treasures.
A Letter To Prime Minister Indira Gandhi
My grandfather was an ardent thinker, philosopher, voracious reader, writer and someone with a prolific understanding of world history and politics (the last bit has also been inherited by my father). I often shy away from having discussions with him on these topics because I feel inadequate. Old heavy books I could never understand and dusty Reader’s Digests locked away in the almirahs were the most common sight at my grandpa’s house.
My grandfather was a contemporary of Ms Indira Gandhi which perhaps allowed him to see, observe and peruse her life and politics in thorough profundity. I grew up listening to the grand fable of a letter of commendation my grandfather received in reply, from Ms Gandhi when he wrote to her sharing his views and engraving policy suggestions of the time as a common citizen. A document touted, treasured and misplaced even before I was born. Yet, politics were seldom discussed in a house of six siblings, that was caught in its own quagmire of day to day survival.
The Dark Day
He passed away on March 11, 1998, at the age of 86. I was all of ten, heartbroken and wished I had more time with him. Before we bid goodbye, I saw many strangers weeping and visiting to pay their last respects. I wondered who these people were. My mother told me that she didn’t know them either and it was tough to know because he was loved by many. She told me he lived his life helping people in need and educating them in any way that he could. My mother entered the house as a young twenty-year-old bride in love with my father. She still tells me how every little thing she learned in her life is through him. She never gets tired of reminiscing the evenings they had together in the verandah where he imparted his life lessons to her.
With very little exposure that she had to the outside world prior to beginning her marital life, it warms my heart when my mother tells me, he was her guide to getting to know the world and the society. She said he taught her the importance of benevolence and the ability to let go. He taught her not to waste time in triviality. He was the father-in-law who loved her and taught her like she was his own. She misses him more than anyone else.
Hate Versus Love
As I sit back and ponder on this day, I’m afraid we are letting go of that love which is the most innate quality a human being could possibly ever possess. The ability to be kind, gentle, nurturing, to have patience and humility while dealing with adverse people and circumstances seems a virtue that has grossly disappeared into oblivion. While hate has sprung up in a thousand different manifestations, love seems to have chosen to diffuse itself. The linguistics of hate is taking over as the language of love dissipates.
I firmly believe that celebrating lives and people’s memories instead of fostering prejudices is what we need today. And to be able to do this, in an enhanced atmosphere of hate, we should be able to learn, unlearn and relearn, to be able to dismantle the barriers of contempt and a certain idea or a predisposition towards someone. We as a society need to celebrate people for what they stood for, their lives and their experiences. Their triumphs, troubles, strengths and percipience.
The Order Of The Day And The Fallen Political Discourse
What instead has become of this society is not just shocking but sad. The world today is increasingly becoming an apoplectic place. And unfortunately, the Prime Minister of the world’s largest democracy is leading by example. The person who occupies the highest chair in this country at this hour feels no contempt in calling his much-revered predecessor, who lost his life-fighting division and violence, “Bhrashtachari Number 1.”
What was more problematic was how it was not just an insinuation of the Bofors scandal for which Rajiv Gandhi was given a clean chit by the court, it was rather the way in which such harsh words were contrived to ascribe the nightmarish and premature ending of a young life with an accusation that was just a part of it. And he had no qualms, whatsoever, in throwing such a low diatribe at the dead man’s child who witnessed losses none in this world would be willing to trade for those supposed privileges they accuse him of enjoying.
My own grandfather towards the fag end of his career, with just an annum to retire, was punitively dismissed from his service under false charges of corruption when he took on a political bigwig for running liquor bars around school premises, revoking their licenses and shutting their businesses down. The court later found the allegations to be frivolous and exonerated my grandfather of all the charges thereby, restoring the sanctity of a man who stood by staunch principles of discipline, justice and anti-social malice all his life.
He was against the practice of dowry and managed to stick to his principle through the weddings of all his children, both sons and daughters, back in the day. He never let a penny seep into his pockets through bribery and thereby had very little to make ends meet post-retirement as opposed to his contemporaries. And I thank God, for some hate-filled man never walked up to me to tell me, “your grandfather ended his life as Bhrashtachari Number 1.”
The manifestations of hate are aplenty. But they lead us nowhere. While the world is increasingly becoming a hate-filled place from the internet to the real world, the fallen political discourse is only the latest example. It also does not help that the Prime Minister of a mighty nation that has concocted the ideals of love and non-violence through the annals of her illustrious past, is increasingly acting as a symbol of hate, violence and aggression.
It’s perhaps easy to hate and much more difficult to love. But hate is consuming and tiresome. It’s arsenic and it’s only a matter of time before it subsumes its host. Love heals, love helps and above all, love harms no one.
Let Us Remember Rajiv Gandhi For Who He Truly Was
So today, on the 28th death anniversary of India’s much-adored Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi, let us remember this gentleman whose tranquil demeanor is dearly missed today more than ever before. His legacy is built on the vision he had for the 21st century India, the bedrock of whose development he believed lay in the basic pillars of education, social justice, equity for the weaker sections and women empowerment.
Ascended to the highest responsibility way before his time at age 40, he was India’s youngest Prime Minister who left a deep imprint on world politics. He is the father of India’s Telecom Revolution, he expanded the National Policy Of Education, established the Indira Gandhi National Open University, brought in the Anti-Defection Law and heralded a new era of international relations (beginning with improving friendly ties with the United States), resolving coups in the Maldives, intervening with the LTTE in the Sri Lankan civil war, which ultimately cost him his life.
No leader has ever managed to walk through the alleys of history untainted, neither has Rajiv Gandhi. But on this day, let us just remember him for his goodness, as a charming leader with a kind persona, a devoted son, a loving husband, a doting father, a Bharat Ratna and India’s beloved prime minister.
Here are two quotes by him, that I love:
“Women are the social conscience of a country. They hold our societies together.“
“Development is not about factories, dams and roads. Development is about people. The goal is material, cultural and spiritual fulfillment for the people. The human factor is of supreme value in development.“