The Things We Do for India: A Journey to Reiterate the All-embracing Idea of Bharat

Oh damn Google maps! It insisted I take a right off the highway onto a dirt track which has now petered out in the middle of fields. Which is not a good time to discover that your reverse gear is not working. My teenaged daughter and I are driving across three states in our caravan to join the Bharat Jodo Yatra and here we are marooned in a sea of sugarcane.

A brightly coloured turban comes bobbing through the green. The farmer assures us that there is a road and it does lead onto a highway. Fingers crossed, we inch forward.

Phew! Back on the road we discover the third gear is not working and—calamity!—the horn has quit as well. It is decision time. Well, we have no reverse gear but four forward gears. We keep going. Oh, the things I do for you, Rahul Gandhi!

The truth is I am not doing this for Rahul or for the Congress. My journey is not at all a political statement. My upping and schlepping hundreds of kilometres is because I am haunted by a ghost. It is the ghost of the India I grew up in. Where hate had not been sown, saffron flags had not been aggressively waved, and it didn’t matter what religion all your schoolmates were.

If that idea of India is to survive, someone has to do something. And finally, somebody is. The very act of a padyatra is loaded with historical and revolutionary significance. I love that it is going from one end of India to the other. Desperate for change, I too, am turning up to be counted.

Having driven across Goa, Karnataka and Maharashtra, we arrive in Nanded to discover that we are actually in Punjab. We are booked into the Gurdwara Yatri Niwas (for the princely sum of Rs 150).

We feast on alu parathas and kali dal at the dhabas that dot the massive Gurdwara complex. The tables are full of people who have come for the yatra from across Maharashtra. The warm hospitality of the Sikh community embraces us. We sneak double helpings of prasad at the langar. We get the gears fixed!

The next morning, our friends arrive—a mixed group of artists, photographers, designers. They carry specially printed tee-shirts that feature the Constitution—‘We the people of India…’ ‘Amar Akbar Anthony— united colours of India’. Twenty of us have been moved by the same urgency to join the yatra, which starts in the morning, takes an afternoon break and resumes in the afternoon, which is when we will join in.

The road that the yatra will take has been shut for miles. The only way to get there is on the buses the Congress has provided. So off we go to the Congress office where a general air of celebration prevails. We are loaded onto a bus along with a chattering group of women all wearing bright pink dupattas.

They are a Mahila Sangathan group from Kolhapur that works on widow’s rights. They carry large tags with ‘VIP PASS’ written on them that we eye enviously. We don’t have those! The bus is about to take off when a friend and I leap out and storm the Congress office.

“I drove hundreds of kilometres with missing gears and no horn!” I rail. Within five minutes, VIP passes (for all of us) are assembled and stamped. The bus breaks into loud cheers.

We are dropped off on the highway about ten kilometres from where the BJY has already started out. Hundreds of villagers line the road. This will swell to thousands. We chat with them. “Hum bahut pareshaan hain,” is the phrase we hear again and again. People are in despair and have nowhere to go. They want someone to hear their troubles and it seems Rahul is listening carefully. He describes the yatra as his own journey to understand this country.

The first few walkers go past us to a cheerful shout of “Jodo! Jodo! Bharat Jodo!” We chorus back “Nafrat Chhodo, Bharat Jodo!” Those wearing full white are the yatris who will walk every inch of the journey from Kanyakumari to Kashmir with Rahul. Rajasthan, Meghalaya, Tamil Nadu—they are from every state in India.

For the first time I feel a little hope for the future of India. What a political baptism these young people are getting! A walk from one end of India to the other, meeting people, listening to them, catching the actual pulse of the country. If this yatra achieves nothing else, it will have grown the next generation of politicians.

Other faces go past. Kanhaiya Kumar. Jairam Ramesh. Everyone stops to chat or greet us. Unlike other political rallies, this is a very friendly one with an overall air of great cheer.

Then we hear it. The hypnotic thud… thud… thud… of drums. Over the rise comes an absolute sea of people. There are thousands and it is quite a heart-stopping moment to see them crest the rise and then come pouring down towards us.

It all happens super-fast. The drums get louder, the huge crowd surges towards us. Right in front is Rahul in white, deep in conversation even as he walks.

We have no idea we are standing right beside where the yatris will stop for tea. Suddenly we are drowned in a sea of flags and great reverberating cries of “Nafrat Chodo! Bharat Jodo!” Then whoosh! The main thrust of the yatra has passed us and the tea tents.

The forty- odd cops who hold a rope cordon around Rahul’s core group just drop the rope and collapse to the ground, winded and laughing. Rahul walks fast, even breaks into sprints, and they have had to keep up. (Not surprising for a man who is a free diver who can hold his breath at 70 metres, and a black belt in Aikido.) This is also a man who has had a grandmother and a father assassinated, and yet has the courage to step out among crowds of thousands. Forget the politics. The person is worth admiring.

From the moment I announced on social media that I would be going to join the yatra I have been inundated with messages from friends saying, “Do this for me. I wish I could be there.” One friend has described this as a “journey of the heart.” She is right. I have made the long journey because I loved the nation that I grew up in. That accepting, all-embracing idea of India.

Not everyone can join the yatra. But if the India we loved is to be more than a ghost, then each of us has to make our own journey of the heart. I wish you safe passage on yours.