Symphony of Breeze

15.

In those days, India was a colony of Great Britain. An awakening was simmering up among the Indians for independence. It was from the random talks of my uncle with my mother and with the friends who visited him during his occasional visits that I learned the names like Gandhiji, Bal Gangadhar Tilak and Jawaharlal Nehru, though only later did I realize the true implication of their conversations. I remember having once seen the photo of Gandhi printed on a piece of an English daily which my uncle brought home as a wrapper of a dress or something. However, he unfolded the wrapper and showed us the image saying, “This man is fighting for our freedom.” A six year old boy at that time, I did not understand much of his words. When I grew up I realized that he actively participated in the freedom struggle.

Still I remember his words, “fighting for our freedom…” Then my mind, which was filled with all sorts of war imageries imbibed from the tales I had heard, imagined the ‘fight’ of Gandhi to be resembling those of my war heroes. But, I remember having confused how could the slender figure on the English news daily fight like my favourite muscular warlords!

In my childhood days, I never understood how Gandhi ‘fought’. Seventy years have passed since the day I heard about his fighting; and still I have not understood the implication of that word, ‘fight.’ His was a war that was far removed from my concepts. And when I reconsider the word now, I shrink with remorse.
The wars I have fought! The unrelenting battles of my life! The uncompromising me…! My obstinacy! The tears that have fallen…The lives that are crushed…The minds and hearts that have….
(Continues…)

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