Me, Baba and Mahatma Gandhi

People leave us and we do not have control over when they have to go. We will all have to leave one day to. As the cliché goes, death is the only constant in life. I was having a discussion with my son yesterday about how in the future intelligence and maybe even consciousness could be built into robots and if that happens how life could become perpetual. He made an interesting observation; he said, “ Dad if there is no death wouldn’t life get boring? As there won’t be any excitement for doing anything? Right now we try to do as many things as possible in our lifetime, but if we are supposed to live forever then there wont be any urge to do things”. Indeed, death is not just a reality of our life but in a sense it also provides a meaning and maybe even purpose to our life. We must celebrate death and lifetimes of people have who departed. People don’t just depart; they stay back through memories and through their influence on us. And far as influence goes, my Baba is the most influential person in my life. So today on the anniversary of the day he departed I want to write about a small anecdote, which has left a big imprint on my being.

  I grew up in a community, which hated Gandhiji. Nathuram Ghodse who assassinated Gandhi also belonged to the same community. I feel that this hatred for Gandhi probably is a means to justify the heinous actions of someone who was their own or there are other deep reasons why it exits, which I am not aware of. But the fact is that when I was growing up everyone around me hated Gandhi. Young minds can be easily influenced and from a very early age I accepted this hatred as my own emotion, slowly as I grew up into adolescence my emotions converted into opinions. I started becoming proud of these opinions. I still remember vividly how during a trip to Raj ghat , while all my friends were paying homage to Gandhiji by his Samadhi, I was standing far away fuming at how badly the man had destroyed our nation. My opinions were slowly turning into beliefs I used to often discuss my clear hatred for the man in front of my father. Baba never reprimanded me for my strong opinions neither did he try to change them with reason, the only thing he would do, each time I criticized Gandhiji, was to ask a simple question: “Its fine if you hate Gandhi but do you know the man? Before having opinions about anyone should you not at least know the man? “ Most times I brushed aside his suggestion with a long list of reasons why opinions were correct.

By the summer of 1998, I had moved to the US already well in my 20’s, I was awed by the reverence the West had for the man. My father’s constant enquire of “knowing the man” started strongly lingering in my mind so I decided to read a book which was in my small library at that time. The book was called Life of Mahatma Gadhi written by Louis Fischer. I cannot recall how the book ended up with me but I will never forget the sense of shock I felt as the book grew on me. The book sent tremors in my strong beliefs. After that, I could not get enough of Gandhiji so I got my hand on My Experiments with Truth and that book fundamentally changed me as a person. Gandhijis life story today is a key part of my moral fabric. Over a period of time as I have explored Gandhijis life story more closely, some perceived flaws in him might have manifested in my opinions of him but regardless of that my reverence for him keeps growing every day. My views today are a complete contradiction of what they were prior to the summer of 1998. Regardless of whether they have made me a better or a worse human being one thing is for sure that my views about Gandhiji today are absolutely my own views and not borrowed misbeliefs from anybody.

The best gift that my father has given me is the freedom to choose. He never imposed his views on me, so much so that, I was completely free to choose opinions which may not have been grounded in reality. It was completely okay to flirt with god or accept atheism. There never was never any force to choose any particular career, only a suggestions that the consequences of my choices are also my own. My father nurtured my free will at the same time through constant enquires he kept my opinions honest. Without any preaching, he taught me to always challenge my opinions and make sure that my beliefs are my own and not imposed or borrowed from others. There is no doubt that my father has hugely influenced who I have become today, good or bad is for others to judge. Honestly it does not even matter much because, thanks to Baba, I will always remain open to change!