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Journalism of Courage
I met most of the yatris just the day before at Bareja, shortly after the march was flagged off by Sonia Gandhi. At the camp, I was allotted a tent shared by four women including Alka Lamba, the general secretary of the All India Women8217;s Congress.
Before long, it was time to wake up. At 4 am, the camp was buzzing. Reluctantly, I entered one of the common mobile bathrooms. Within an hour, I was in my freshly-acquired starched white khadi kurta and looking just like any other rookie Gandhian.
By 6.15 am, everyone gathered for the prayers. Can8217;t remember the last time I took my marching orders, sang the national anthem standing in a neat line, recited Gandhiji8217;s favourite bhajans and saluted the flag8212;all in one morning.
Time for the actual walk. Singing bhajans and other patriotic songs, chanting slogans like 8216;Mahatma Gandhi, amar raho8217;, 8216;Hindu Muslim Sikh Isai, sab8230;8217;, and singing Vande Mataram, we sallied forth to Dabhan, a small village 19 km away.
The assorted group from 10 to 82 years; from computer pros to NGO hands marched at quite a pace and, surprisingly, maintained it through the day. As the kilometres passed slowly, the slogans and songs gave way to light jokes and discussions. The most common joke was 8216;Did Gandhiji do this?8217;, 8216;Did Gandhiji say that?8217;, 8216;Only if bapu did it.8217;
As we marched on, villagers gathered along the route, watching us keenly. Many had arranged water or nimbu pani for the event. At several places, we were welcomed with flowers, and students stood to attention, clutching the national flag. The best part was how most of the villagers, including little kids, responded to Vande Mataram; even several senior citizens joined in and marched along.
Ironically, while the yatris littered the route with plastic glasses and bottles, the foreigners in the march picked them up and placed them on the side of the road.
At several places, I walked alone and wondered how it must have been 75 years ago. While mobiles were not permitted during the walk, the camp was beeping, polyphonic torture.
Many of my co-marchers seemed to be here for the adventure, and re-enacting a historical march did seem exciting. But they were disappointed about the fading appeal of Gandhian ideology.
As some of the yatris pointed out, 8216;8216;People today are far too materialistic. We cannot be Gandhi and accept everything he said. But we can try to accept at least one aspect of it.8217;8217;
But soon, the distance, with the sun beating down on us, seemed daunting. As hushed whispers like 8216;Ab kitna door hai?8217; did the rounds, even I fretted over the seemingly endless march.
After walking non-stop for more than four hours, we finally reached Dabhan, only to learn that our camp was another one-and-a-half km away. We endured that, too, and made our way to this lovely Swaminarayan temple, but nobody had time for God.
All the yatris made a beeline for the rooms and slept. I was tired too, but, once again, sleep was elusive. And when it finally arrived, I dreamt of my cosy bed back home.
The marchers are scheduled to reach Dandi on April 6
