It was November 19, 1980, when my mom, an eighth grader then, got a rare opportunity to meet Prime Minister Indira Gandhi. It was an evening she remembers vividly to this day.
Around 5 p.m. the gates of 1 Safdarjung Road opened to the appointed visitors. It was Indira Gandhi’s birthday but it was a solemn occasion as she had lost her son Sanjay Gandhi a few months earlier.
Along with her family members she walked into the sprawling compound. The pathway was lined with white dahlias. There was much greenery around. A shamiana had been erected on the lawns with chairs for the visitors. My mom sat on one of them: with oval- shaped backs woven with nylon strings. She was in awe of everything — the dahlias, the shamiana, even the chairs.
Folded hands, a smile
The visitors engaged in small talk, waiting for Indira Gandhi. The wait was long, but not tiring. Finally, she walked up to them. The visitors silently got up and aligned themselves in a flawless queue. She silently walked along, acknowledging the greetings with folded hands and a faint smile.
She was wearing a white sari with a white choli and shiny black slippers. Her skin seemed translucent. She looked calm, composed, almost divine. Although broken from inside, the radiance of her face was intact. Although demure in form, she had a confidence that was so uncommon. Her face was an epitome of bravery amid adversity, an indomitable spirit. My mom said she realised why Indira Gandhi was called ‘the Iron Lady.’
When she reached the end of the line, she immediately went back inside. It was time for the visitors to leave. Once back on the dahlia-lined pathway, my mom turned to look back at the house one last time. She spotted Indira Gandhi through an open door of a visitor’s room. That was the last glimpse my mom had of Indira Gandhi; a glimpse that is etched in her memory and she cherishes it till date.
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