Celebrating Bapu

October 2 is not the same without Gandhi ‘tata’ (grandfather in Telugu) to scold us” said Sambasiva Rao, the senior auto-rickshaw driver when I last visited Visakhapatnam. This was a reference to our late father who over the years had become a father-figure for the whole colony as it celebrated Gandhi Jayanti. Till his demise in September 1996, father rallied the local residents, young and old, and helped unfurl a make-shift tricolour. He would then recall the freedom struggle and his younger days in Pune in the 1940s, when like millions of other Indians he was fired by the Gandhian ethos and conviction. Invariably, the gathering would turn restless and while the older among them exchanged cynical notes about how Gandhian values had become pass‚ in today’s day and age, the youngsters were keen to collect their sweetmeats and scoot to play cricket or fly kites.

This was when father would take charge of the group — calling upon his years in the Home Guard — and deliver a mini-sermon about what Gandhiji would have expected from this group of residents in distant Maddelapalem in coastal Andhra. While believing in the Gandhian spirit of ahimsa and non-violence, Dad had no hesitation in brandishing his walking-stick and jabbing the recalcitrant young boy who cheekily asserted that actually this was all hogwash and that Gandhi had no idea where Maddelapalem was. Using a mix of rustic Telugu and English, ‘‘tatagaru’’ as father was known in the colony would begin: “Vorey, vinandi-arra, cleanliness is next to godliness… this is one of the tenets of Gandhiji….” and then he would exhort the motley crowd of residents, auto drivers, children and hangers-on to form smaller groups and clean the colony, water the trees and foster a sense of community as everyone lustily sang ‘‘raghupati-raghava-raja-ram’’. Very soon it was all over and given father’s frail health, one of the auto drivers would carefully bring him home while the old man held forth on the virtues of ‘‘shram daan’’ (the gifting or volunteering of one’s labour) and what a difference it would make if every Indian could donate one hour every year towards community cleanliness and bonding. This would be received with skepticism by our mother who was more concerned about father getting home and then reverting to her regular TV soaps.

Here in Delhi I tried to emulate father and encouraged the neighbours to get together on October 2 and participate in a kind of ‘‘shram daan’’. Let us do the staircases, or the garbage chute, or better still, we can spruce up the road outside, but in vain. Most people heard me politely but few were persuaded to come forward and offer their labour. Sure, we can donate some money if you wish, but deep within, in an inchoate way, I knew that this was not the way to recall Bapu. Anybody for ‘‘shram daan’’ today?