Actor-activist Rahul Bose joins the re-enactment rituals of the Dandi March and comes away with a sense that the Congress hijacked an event that should have belonged to all Indians

Here We Come: Sonia kicks off the yatra ap photo

The scene was, and there is no other word for it, Gandhian. Old men and women clad in spotless khadi bustled around with a sprightly sense of purpose

It is an indication of the times we live in when the importance of an event is judged by the number of ob vans at the venue. At 4am on the morning of March 12, ob vans dwarfed the narrow road leading from the Sabarmati Ashram like lego pieces on a child’s finger. There was a palpable buzz in the air and it wasn’t generated by the overwhelming police presence. At the Safiya School, a hundred metres away from the ashram gates, marchers for the 75th anniversary Dandi March had gathered. The scene was, and there is no other appropriate word for it, Gandhian. Old men and women clad in spotless white kurtas and pyjamas with khadi satchels, bustled around with a sprightly sense of purpose, organising themselves for the march. A few aged Gandhian foreigners, also clad in white, waited with shining eyes. A group of youngsters, both Indian and otherwise, stood patiently, waiting for their id cards. At 4.30am, Tushar Gandhi, the Mahatma’s great-grandson, walked in, organised the pass distribution and then we were off for the inaugural ceremony at the ashram.

It would not have needed Tushar, who is a friend and an uncommonly principled person, to invite me on this march as he had. It would have taken wild horses to drag me away from it. Why did I go? Pretty simple, actually. The belief that the only way forward in this world is the path of active non-violence, compassion, tolerance and the insistence on the truth, or satyagraha. The march was the best opportunity for me to witness and refresh for myself a collective rededication to these values. The scene inside the ashram was hushed high-security. Streams of people filed in quietly, stepping through metal detectors. Inside, the world press corps was cordoned into a scrum of vantage near the dais. Senior politicos filed in without any of the customary sycophantic behaviour. Cabinet ministers, for the first time in my living memory, sat contentedly at the back of the vip enclosure. At 6am, Sonia Gandhi walked in and the crowd stood for a recitation of Vande Mataram. I looked around and did not find anyone who had visibly grasped the significance of that innocuous opening melody. This was the same Vande Mataram right-wing Hindu fundamentalists have been trying to appropriate in the last few years. How fabulous then to sing one of the Mahatma’s favourite songs and reclaim it for what it should truly signify — a celebration of our motherland. It got better. As the sun lit the eastern wall of Gandhiji’s house, Ustad Amjad Ali Khan and his sons played Vaishnava Janato and Raghupati Raghav Raja Ram on the santoor. Spontaneous cries of “Mahatma Gandhi amar rahe!” and “Vande Mataram!” circled the gathering and then we were off.

Leading From The Front: Mahatma Gandhi at Dandi

A few hundred Congresspersons won’t deter me from celebrating Gandhiji’s legacy handed down to every citizen on this planet

By now it was clear to me that the event was very much a Congress- organised show. I don’t have a problem with that given the fact that Bapu was the soul and the conscience of the inc. Besides I have never worried about political presence at non-political gatherings. Even the bjp, for all its efforts at trying to appropriate Ram, Ram Rajya, etc., has not succeeded. The Ramayana remains part of my legacy as an Indian and I will claim and reclaim it constantly without any hesitation. A few hundred Congresspersons certainly will not deter me from celebrating Gandhiji’s legacy handed down to every Indian citizen, every person on this planet.

We began the march. The pace was, and there is no other appropriate word for it, Gandhian. I have started the Mumbai marathon slower. But such was the enthusiasm that youngsters were running down the streets of Ahmedabad with glee. And that’s when it hit me like a sledgehammer. Almost everyone on this march was a member of the Congress party. Where was the ordinary citizen? Where were the true Gandhians? Where were my like-minded friends who had said they would be here? Where were all the armchair pacifists who extolled the Mahatma’s teachings in weighty columns? Where were the social activists who have appropriated his legacy and are mini-Mahatmas in their own right today? Where were they? Why weren’t they here? I called a few of them. To the last, the answer was the same. We were going to come, but then we read and heard it was going to be a Congress-event, so we stayed away.

Truly Gandhian? Congressmen lead the march

Excuse me, so what? And if you think the event is being hijacked by a political party, don’t you owe it to his memory to be there and make sure it is not? Don’t you owe it to yourself to do what your heart desires instead of falling into the trap of fearing being overshadowed or being labelled a Congressperson? And, yes, they were dead right. Every 500 metres we were accosted good-naturedly or otherwise by a Congress corporator/ municipal councillor/ local leader/ district chief and garlanded. At our first halt in Daholi, the resting area looked like a Congress camp. Every now and then clearly opportunistic political speeches were made. But so what? It has nothing to do with my life, our lives. If I start to define my life and how I live it by the people around me, what does that make me? Yet, I did leave the march earlier than scheduled for two reasons — one, because I know the political hoo-ha will die down in a few days and things will be less intrusive then, and two, I sorely felt the need to share it with someone and I had come alone. I will be rejoining the march at some point. So if my friends are reading this, be warned.

Citizens of India, please don’t let this happen again. Know your rights, know your passions, flaunt them, cherish them. When you feel a cause is worth it, speak, stand up, run, dance, sing. And march. March for yourself, for us, and for an old man who will peer at you through his rimless glasses and chuckle.