Azadi Memoirs

Having lived almost sixty of the seventy-five years of Independence, I look back at some defining moments of our country’s history and how each one of them impacted me as a human being. Since in the sixties, I was way too small to understand the events, I have picked an event from each of the remaining five decades.

70s and Nepal- Pakistan-Bangladesh-India

No, this is not a lesson in geography. East Pakistan was in turmoil and the Indian Army had rolled into the eastern part to support Mukti-Bahini in the liberation of the Bengali speaking part of Pakistan. My father got a letter which said that his nephew, Nepal, would be reaching Calcutta from Dhaka by train. Dad quickly got in touch with one of his relatives in Calcutta who arranged for his shelter for a few days. He was then put on board a train for Delhi where I was busy with my friends digging mud trenches to hide just in case the Pakistani planes were to drop bombs over us. Others at home were sticking black paper on glass panes so that we could put the lights on at night even after the blackout siren had been hooted. In short, it was good fun being young and at war.

Nepal da came to our house and we soon became good friends even though he was about twenty years older than me. Eventually, India won the war on both the eastern and the western fronts and pictures of the historic surrender on the front pages meant the creation of a new nation called Bangladesh. Patriotic fervour was at its peak and Ma would always take Nepal da with her to markets where she would ask the shopkeepers, including vegetable vendors, to give discount for the refugee and simple people never disappointed her even though we all felt amused and embarrassed at the same time. Things settled down and the new nation beckoned the people who had fled the war. Nepal da wanted to stay back in India but Baba insisted that he return as all his educational degrees were from there and getting a job would be easier there rather than starting a new process here in India. Ma went one last time to the market with a box to collect funds for Nepal da that he may need for his re-settlement in his new world. I do not remember how much she collected but surely it saw to Nepal da’s return home. Nepal da kept in touch for some time with Baba and then it went all quiet. Last we heard, he was married and working in the External Affairs Ministry at Dhaka. It is now over half a century since we last met but I now long to find him and his family one more time.

80s and Blue Star- Assassination- Shaking Earth Riots

In the early June of ‘84, the Indian Army launched Operation Blue Star to remove Sikh militants led by Jarnail Singh Bhindrewale from the Golden Temple. Pictures of the aftermath with bullet holes in the sacred precincts are still vivid in the minds of many countrymen who had been living in a state of militant terrorism and secession.  But then there was a small section of Indians who felt their revered Harmindar Sahib had been desecrated and their hearts were filled with hatred that culminated in the assassination of the then Prime Minister, Mrs. Indira Gandhi, on 31^st October ’84.  What followed next was mayhem of the worst kind, possibly, last seen during the partition of ’47.

Our house was on third floor and next morning some of us went to the terrace to see Delhi’s skyline covered with black smoke as far as the eyes could see. Despite Baba’s vehement opposition, I carried my bicycle down the staircase to move around the government colony and nearby places along with friends watching mobsters burning vehicles, shops and moving around freely without any fear of the law-makers. After all a big tree had fallen, the earth was bound to shake- this was the justification given by some for the horrors on the streets of Delhi and other parts of the country targeting a section of people. By evening, people in the colony got together to form vigilante groups to keep an eye for any untoward activity and preventing the mobsters from entering our area and targeting Sikh families living there. I put on an army shirt Ma had got me from the office with nice big pockets on both sides and shoulder flaps, and with a torch in one hand and a wooden baton in another, out I went to join the others. There was a sense of pride in believing you were the sole guardian of humanity.

Our next-door neighbours were the Gills who we had been living with for over twelve years peacefully. They were possibly the gentlest Sikhs we had ever met.With the news of Sikhs being tortured and killed in various parts of the country pouring in through newspapers and television bulletins, Ma asked the Gill couple to come and live in our house. Reluctantly, they came with nothing in hand except a photo album. At night when I went to their room, the old couple were flipping through the pages of the family album with pictures of their children and grandchildren who now lived elsewhere. The lady looked at me and wiped a tear from her eyes as she reluctantly took the food plate in her shaking hand. In the face of brutality happening around, it was not the earth that shook but my faith in humanity.

90s and Demolition- Walkathon- Schism-Love

It was a nice happy weekend with D and little M going off to my in-laws’ place,leaving me to have a ball of a time with friends in Salt Lake, Calcutta. It meant having good food, gossip and night long video movies that we hired from a nearby library. On Sunday, the 6^th of December ‘92, the news came that the Babri Masjid at Ayodhya had been demolished and riots had broken out in many parts of the country. The governments in most states had declared curfew and holiday the next day. People were asked to stay indoors and maintain calm. Calcutta, with a sizeable population of both communities, had seen the worst of human tragedies when the country had been partitioned and it took Gandhiji to go on a complete hunger strike to bring the two warring factions to declare peace.

I longed to see my little one. Despite the protests from my friends asking me not to venture out, with little money in my back pocket and slippers on feet, I set out on a long walk to Barasat, my very own Dandi March. It was a journey of eighteen plus kilometres. With no trucks or buses plying and a handful of people on the street, I kept walking on and on, always keeping an eye for any sign of danger. At a couple of points, the armed policemen asked me to return home and I somehow convinced them that I was going back home on a personal emergency and had to definitely go ahead. They cautioned me but were nice to let me continue. Calcutta weather in early December is not Delhi where the air is chilly. Here, the sun beats down at over 35 degrees during the day and walking with zero hydration and rest could be challenging for others but not for one who longed to see the love of his life. It took me over three hours to reach my destination where my little one was playing with Ike, the Doberman, in the garden. The moment she saw me standing at the gate, the toddler started running and so did Ike. I opened the gate and took her in my arms and Ike kept jumping in joy, maybe he too wanted me to lift him in my arms. I forgot the pain of blisters on my feet and the thirst in my throat to see this unbound love around.

Those who demolished in 1992 kept on their path of re-writing history and finding new archaeological and textual evidences, while I found love and a new spirit of taking long walks that culminated in me, challenging my body and age to successfully complete two marathons in Mumbai twenty-three years later.

00s- Deluge- Lost- Alone

The phone rang…it was all dark and I saw the time…it was 3.00am…who’s calling at this hour?

Mejo Mama read the phone screen.

Hello…hope all of you are safe?

Why, what happened? I am in London now.

We saw in the news that Mumbai has had torrential rains and so we were checking if all of you are safe. We were worried about you all.

Mama, I know nothing about it. Let me speak to D and call you back. Thanks.

Before making the call, I switched on the television in the hotel room which was showing Mumbai under water and tragedy everywhere. A thousand millimetres of rain in a cloud burst in a single day!

I dialled D’s number a couple of times, but there was no response…no signal. Then I dialled the home landline number and the response was the same.I kept trying but the blank response on the other side told me the same story over and over again…all had come to a halt…the city…the people…the world.

Back home that dreadful day of 26^th July 2005, D was returning from work when the train stalled mid-way close to Mahim. She then started walking on the flooded railway line along with other passengers. Walking in almost waist deep water without any clue of road or drain below for hours together, she slowly inched her way till about a kilometre from home. The phone battery had died, the signal had been lost for many hours anyway. The BMC people asked her and many others not to venture any further as an electric wire had snapped and also the current in the water would sweep people away. D, along with other stranded people, was taken to a school in Andheri where they were offered some biscuits and water and asked to rest for the night. At home, M was alone as her mom could no longer be contacted. My mother who was sick was quite oblivious of the tragedy that was happening and kept asking M why D was not home.  Next morning,before daylight broke, D stepped out of the night shelter and walked home through flooded streets. Joy returned home and then after charging the phone she made a call to me…she was home safe, finally.

Next afternoon, I flew back home and brought with me a gift for D…she always wanted a nice strong English umbrella…I handed the smart gift knowing fully well that in case of another cloud burst, she would have to open my gift upside down to make itlook like a boat and sit atop it to sail home. Since that fateful day,the only thing Mumbaikars fear is paus…a red flag by Met Department is the green signal for them to rush home to safety.

Noah's New Ark

Next Decade- Dance of Death- Survivors

The euphoria of family and friends coming together to celebrate the joyous occasion of M’s wedding had just about settled down with all the guests from the country and abroad reaching home safely when the dance of death began…first it was slow and gentle steps and then the beats got faster and frenzier till hospitals had no beds left to give and makeshift ICUs came up at people’s homes. COVID had struck the world and on 24^th of March 2020, a total countrywide shut down was ordered. Roads became deserted, shops and establishments shut, with transportation almost off the roads and hordes of jobless men and women with their families started their long walk home. We had never seen or experienced death at such close proximity. Earlier, we had heard of ailments where people died in different shores but now you got regular news of the demise of friends, colleagues and family in your vicinity. Death was not discriminating against the rich and the poor, old and young, sick and healthy…it stung with its venom sweeping everything in its path. Where it came from, how it spread, what could halt its spread, baffled the world.

The pandemic did many things bad and left us all sad but it taught us a few good lessons… to be grateful for what you have- you do not need too much to survive- a roof over the head, some clothes to cover yourself and some simple food for life…thoda hai, thode ki zaroorathai! Staying close to family and friends is the other lesson learnt- hold them tight, hug them while they are around for you never know whether you will get another chance to do it.  Finally you re-learnt to pray…atheist, communist, rightist and all, we prayed every day, every moment for survival. To fight the Enemy Unknown, we turned to Seen Saviour in white apron and the Unseen Saviour for good health and safety. And then by the year end came the magic prick and we survived and rolled into another decade to celebrate the Mahotsav of Life.

Jai Hind!

SS