It’s a long weekend and one is fortunately compelled to stay in Delhi. I spend Saturday with the mother and the Sunday being pampered by one of my favourite girl friends. It’s a post birthday celebration and I wake up feeling slightly hung over ( after only two pints of beer) on Independence day.
After catching glimpses of Karma on the tele, I head off to Raj Ghat, the place where the Father of the Nation- Mahatma Gandhi, was cremated. It’s a large expanse of land and I am surprised to see the number of visitors. Foreign tourists with their guides, little children with their kites and the couples hiding from prying eyes…all seem to be enjoying the sunny afternoon.
I hand over my sandals to the men who are there to take care of them and tip toe my way to the black marble that marks the spot where Bappu was cremated in January 1948. The burning flame reminds me of his words, ‘ truth and non-violence are as old as the hills.’ The solemn moment is invaded by the perpetual insistence of the photographer, to get a picture taken. Right next to Gandhi’s memorial is the Epson picture mate, from which the print promptly appears.