Remembering Indira Gandhi

Indira Gandhi is no more. Assassinated on October 30, 1984, she passes into legend as one of the most charismatic leaders of our time. For 16 years she dedicated herself to preserving the unity of a country of unimaginable cultural, social and ethnic diversity.

"If I die, my blood will invigorate the nation!" she prophetically declared hours before her assassination. As the people of the world mourn her death today, they know that her spirit will live on in the hearts and minds of the people of India--the peasents in the fields, the blue collar workers in the factories and offices and the businessmen and lawyers in the air-conditioned high rises of Bombay and New Delhi. In her life and now, in her death, Indira had something to say to them all.

As a young woman of nineteen, married and draped in a sari, committed to her home and family, my mother first encountered a very young Indira at a local college, where she gave a speech about the role of college-educated women in the future of the country. To my mother, Indira Gandhi was and always will be a beacon of hope for the future of the Indian woman. For thousands of Indian women like my mother, she symbolized all that the Indian woman could achieve, given the limited opportunities of a social and cultural tradition that to this day requires a woman to take second place to her husband and family. Indira Gandhi represented the controlled majesty of Indian womanhood. Her dignified presence and inspired orations on the future of our country instilled courage into the millions of women who were tentatively breaking away from traditional lifestyles; it gladdened the hearts of many of the women who had given up the ideas of college education and career, even while hoping that their daughters would someday realize their dreams. My mother did not speak to the daughter of Jawaharlal Nehru, but the brief moment of contact had left a lasting impression in her mind such that she was able to recollect the entire episode to me twenty odd years later, in a voice filled with admiration and pride.

I watched Indira Gandhi one afternoon, as she slowly drove down to one of the military units in my hometown in South India. People lined the streets and waved as always. Traffic came to a standstill as the official convoy went by. In the hot Indian sunshine, she seemed tireless and determined, her strong features and white-streaked hair lent her an air of invincibility. To me, she embodied the strength of India, its achievements, its aspirations and its very spirit. For many Indians, there is today a personal sense of loss. Indira was not always one of the world's greatest leaders. We saw her as a shy and much loved daughter of her father, a mother to her two sons, a savior of the oppressed people of Bangladesh, military leader of the Indian army, writer, intellectual, stateswoman, politician, party-leader, tyrant, dictator and leader of the largest democracy in the world. We saw her as a Gandhian, dressed in "khadi," or handspun cloth, tirelessly travelling through the villages of India. We saw her at the White House, resplendent in her brocades, charming President Kennedy. We saw her as an international leader of the non-aligned movement and the Commonwealth of Nations. We saw her haggard face as she knelt upon the ground examining the remains of the plain crash which had claimed the life of her son. We saw her at home, in jail, at conferences, at rural project inaugurations. We saw her everyday, in the newspaper, on the movie screens and more recently, as India made another step forward in telecommunications, on our television sets. One could even meet her on the lawns of I Safdarjung Road, her residence in New Delhi. Indira was a person we all knew well; her death is like that of a friend, or perhaps a relative that one has known for a long time.

The Indian nation watched proudly as she took her father's place in 1966, stared in astonishment as she rose rapidly to power, abandoned her in despair when she destroyed Indian democracy in 1975, and heaved a sigh of relief when she returned power in 1980. India continues to receive favorable reports from economists all over the world; the country seemed to be set for a period of growth when a series of political disasters beginning in 1982 disrupted life in several parts of the country and ultimately claimed the life of its leader.

Something is gone that can never be replaced. In Indira's passing, the country's very will to exist is being threatened. While her son pleads in his mother's name, houses are being burned and people are turning upon each other in the cities of India. Indira did not merely inherit the legacy of her father and grandfather, she was the legacy that they gave to the country in their passing. My mother and I will never forget our brief glimpses of the woman who has embodied the colorful and contradictory nature of Indian culture and society; the country will never forget the sixteen years of her indomitable presence in New Delhi. "Indira is India!" cried the slogans of the 1980 election campaign and indeed millions of Indians, friends and enemies, supporters and opponents, the in tellectuals and the common-man wait anxiously, hoping that someone will fill the vacuum she has undoubtedly left behind.

Thirty seven years ago, Jawaharlal Nehru declared that India had made a "tryst with destiny," a pledge to "awaken to life and freedom." It is time for us to redeem that pledge once again. The belief in freedom and independence that was so much live on in the hearts and minds of the people of India. The lamp that was lit by Mahatma Gandhi and Jawarharlal Nehru must not go out.