I must confess: I am not a great fan of Mohandas Gandhi.
But having made the confession, let me tell you that my feelings towards him are somewhat ambivalent. I may not be an admirer; but I am in no way a virulent critic of the man as I find many are. And, the number of Gandhi’s detractors is not particularly insignificant. My present attitude to Gandhi is shaped by my knowledge and understanding of the man, which, I must admit, is not adequate.
Then, why take up the book in the first place?
Three reasons.
First, I am an admirer of the writing of M J Akbar. After Gandhi’s Hinduism: The Struggle Against Jinnah’s Islam, Shri Akbar’s next book is on Gandhi, too. Having pre-ordered it, I wanted to have a broad idea of Gandhi’s life and times before the book arrives. And, Pramod Kapoor has not disappointed.
Number two. There is one word in the title that drew me in: Illustrated. Pictorial or illustrated biographies, if text and photographs gel seamlessly, make for fascinating reading. And, Pramod Kapoor has done an excellent job.
And number three. I have not thought of it before; I discovered it as I kept turning the pages. In Acknowledgments, Shri Kapoor has thanked S Prasannarajan (presently the editor of the Open magazine) for suggesting a title of the book: My Experiment with Gandhi. Though Shri Kapoor has used it, not as the title of the book, but that of the introductory chapter, the expression has stayed with me: My Experiment with Gandhi. Given my state of ambivalence, I need to do my own experiment about the man who continues to evoke such contradictory emotions even seventy-five years after he has gone.
Between – and beyond – the “mahatma” and the hard-nosed politician who – and what – is the real Gandhi? There is no easy answer.
Gandhi was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize five times – being shortlisted thrice. In 1937, one of those shortlist years, Professor Jacob Worm-Mueller, a member of the Nobel Committee, remarked: “He is a freedom fighter and a dictator … he is frequently a Christ but then, suddenly, an ordinary politician.” Many people will probably agree with the assessment. This paradox propels me to experiment with Gandhi.
Adorned with over two hundred photographs – many of which I have not seen before – three things stand out for me in the book.
The text and photographs about Gandhi and Tagore. Excellent.
The women in Gandhi’s life – Madeleine Slade (Mirabehn), Tagore’s niece, Sarala Devi Choudhurani, who, in Gandhi’s own words, “nearly wrecked my marriage”, Sarojini Naidu, Manu Gandhi, Abha Gandhi, Dr Sushila Nayyar. Small life sketches make for interesting reading.
And Gandhi’s eldest son, Harilal’s letter to his father, written on 31 March 1915. Shri Kapoor has included this longish letter as an insert in the book. The estranged son died unloved five months after his famous father’s assassination. Here, the 27-year-old Harilal writes in utter anguish and dejection. He accuses his father for the state he was in. You may be forgiven for wondering if a man can be so indifferent in raising his own children, how good a “father” he can be of the nation.
A question that will not offer an easy answer. And the Gandhi enigma lingers.
An excellently produced book, its value has increased manifold by the superb bibliography Shri Kapoor provides at the end.
And I’ll continue to read about Gandhi. If the limited time left for me in the Planet Earth permits, I’ll read a Rajmohan Gandhi, a Robert Payne, a Louis Fischer (not, probably, a Ramachandra Guha), a Judith M Brown, a Ved Mehta or an Eknath Easwaran and, of course, Gandhi’s Autobiography and his Hind Sawraj.
Not to discover Gandhi, but to discover myself.
The journey of my experiment with Gandhi may – may – just have begun.
Bon voyage, did I hear you say!