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"Gandhi was father to the ashram, leader of the nation, Mahatma to the common Indian. But, to us children, he was above all simply a friend." So says Narayan Desai in this memoir of childhood with Mahatma Gandhi. Son of Gandhi's chief secretary -- and today a major figure in the worldwide nonviolence movement -- Desai spent his first twenty years in Gandhi's ashrams. Drawing on this rich background, he offers a rare, intimate, and revealing portrait of Gandhi and the people around him.
- Sales Rank: #3574448 in Books
- Brand: Brand: Ocean Tree Books
- Published on: 1992-02-01
- Original language: English
- Number of items: 1
- Dimensions: 8.50" h x 6.00" w x .25" l, .21 pounds
- Binding: Paperback
- 63 pages
- Used Book in Good Condition
From the Author
"This short memoir convincingly evokes the charisma of Gandhi, the charm and humor of the man as well as the inspired wisdom of the sage whom millions called Mahatma, 'saint.' A series of deceptively simple anecdotes, the book juxtaposes the day-to-day adventures of childhood with the dramatic events of the struggle for Indian independence. 'Gandhi Through a Child's Eyes' will delight students of Gandhi and his ideas. Younger readers will find it an inviting introduction to one of the 20th century's most influential leaders." -- Steve Hogan, Small Press, June 15, 1992 ///////////////////////////////////////////////// SAMPLE The ashram had its rules -- strict always, often stern, sometimes harsh as well. Bapu made these rules. His word was final in how they were applied. In these ways, Bapu could be seen as the patriarch of a large, extended family. But my personal view of Bapu -- and I believe the view of the other ashram children -- was completely different. For us children, he was never the stern disciplinarian, never the dictator. To us, he was above all simply a friend. Let's take the example of the dining hall. The rule was that all the ashramites eat their meals in this hall. The ringing of the ashram bell would call us to the meal. At the second ringing of the bell, the dining hall doors closed. The third ringing began the prayers. One time, I was late getting to the dining hall. Just as I was climbing the stairs, the bell rang for the second time. The dining hall doors slammed shut. Now, what child anywhere on earth has adhered to the rules and regulations regarding meals? Just the same, a closed door now stood between me and my food. I began imagining the scene on the other side of the door. People would be sitting on the floor in four rows. Their plates would have been filled with rice, vegetables, milk, and slices of yeast bread. My mother, working in the kitchen, would be worrying over my absence. Bapu, sitting near the door, would be looking around at everyone with a smile. I don't remember whether it was someone else's idea or my own, but standing at the closed door, I began to sing. Open the gates, O Lord, open the gates of your temple. All was quiet in the dining hall, so my young voice carried inside. Bapu burst into laughter, and the doors swung open for Babla!
About the Author
See above.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
The Satyagraha Ashram of Mahatma Gandhi stood on the bank of the broad Sabarmati River, across from the city of Ahmedabad.
"This is a good spot for my ashram," Bapu used to say. (All of us in the ashram called him Bapu, "Father.") "On one side is the cremation ground. On the other is the prison. The people in my ashram should have no fear of death, nor should they be strangers to imprisonment."
My earliest memories of Bapu are intertwined with those of Sabarmati Prison.
Bapu would go for a walk each morning and evening. He would put his hands on the shoulders of those to either side. These companions would be Bapu's "walking sticks." We children were always given top choice for this job.
Whether his human walking sticks were really any help to him, perhaps only Bapu could say. But as for us, being chosen always made us swell with pride. In fact, in our eagerness to be chosen, Bapu's "sticks" would sometimes clash.
Each morning and evening, we would start out from Bapu's place, walk to the main gate of Sabarmati Prison, then turn back. At any time, Bapu's pace was too brisk for us. But as we neared the prison gate -- if he wasn't engaged in serious discussion -- he would almost run the last fifty yards or so.
Sometimes we would remove Bapu's hands from our shoulders and dash to the gate. Sometimes Bapu would put his entire weight on our shoulders, lift his feet off the ground, and shout, "Come on, Boss, let's see how you run!"
Bapu used to nickname those he cared about, often bestowing more than one name. Among the many showered on me was "Boss." Of course, he meant it in fun, and at that age it certainly never aroused in me the quality implied.
Bapu kept close contact with every person in the ashram. He maintained a deep interest in their diet and living conditions. When they were ill, he would visit them twice a day. In every aspect of their individual or collective discipline, Bapu guided them directly or indirectly.
The ashram had its rules -- strict always, often stern, sometimes harsh as well. Bapu made these rules. His word was final in how they were applied.
In these ways, Bapu could be seen as the patriarch of a large, extended family. But my personal view of Bapu -- and I believe the view of the other ashram children -- was completely different. For us children, he was never the stern disciplinarian, never the dictator. To us, he was above all simply a friend.
Let's take the example of the dining hall. The rule was that all the ashramites eat their meals in this hall. The ringing of the ashram bell would call us to the meal. At the second ringing of the bell, the dining hall doors closed. The third ringing began the prayers.
One time, I was late getting to the dining hall. Just as I was climbing the stairs, the bell rang for the second time. The dining hall doors slammed shut.
Now, what child anywhere on earth has adhered to the rules and regulations regarding meals? Just the same, a closed door now stood between me and my food.
I began imagining the scene on the other side of the door. People would be sitting on the floor in four rows. Their plates would have been filled with rice, vegetables, milk, and slices of yeast bread. My mother, working in the kitchen, would be worrying over my absence. Bapu, sitting near the door, would be looking around at everyone with a smile.
I don't remember whether it was someone else's idea or my own, but standing at the closed door, I began to sing.
"Open the gates, O Lord, open the gates of your temple."
All was quiet in the dining hall, so my young voice carried inside. Bapu burst into laughter, and the doors swung open for Babla!
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