The best part of our conversation was that Donny spoke of Gandhi in the most natural way possible. He was not proudly describing Gandhian techniques, but just stating things as a matter of fact. That touched me even more than anything else, because telling things without a pride, makes it look like more earnest. It makes it look like the ultimate truth or the indisputable axiom. I was practically speechless. In spite of, being brought up in India and being an Indian, I have never thought of Gandhi as a saint. I agree that he was a simple, honest and determined man, who relentlessly struggled for Indian freedom. He was a great soul and totally forgotten in today’s world. This is all I have ever thought of Gandhi. The thought of him being a saint and comparing him with Jesus Christ has never crossed my mind. A sharp pang of guilt stung my conscience. I should have been the one extolling Gandhi’s virtues to a foreigner. I should be the one, proudly giving kudos to the great man whom mother India was proud to give birth, but instead I was on the receiving end. Donny continued “I know that Gandhi was in South Africa and I think he studied in England” “Yes, that’s right. He studied law in England.” “Oh! Is it? I did not know that. I remember that on his death, his body was taken in a third-class compartment, because that is what he would have preferred. When was the day he died? I quite don’t remember that.” To my own surprise, I started thinking! I don’t mean that I was pondering for a long time. It was just a matter of five seconds. Yet, I could not give him a quick answer. “It was on January 30th 1948” I replied back. I knew that Gandhi always travelled in a third-class compartment. I have heard all those as bedtime stories, a long time ago. But I realized that I myself did not know that on his death, his body was carried in a third-class compartment, until a foreigner told me two minutes ago! I should die of shame! I thought to myself.

After few hours, I decided to analyze myself. “How could I think and give him an answer to that question? How could I not give him a prompt reply? What had confused me?” To my horror, I realized that I had mixed up October 2nd and January 30th in my stupid brain! That is what had taken me full five seconds to sort out, before I could reply. How could I commit such a grave error? It was so unforgivable and I was filled with shame and remorse. Yet, one part of my heart was filled with euphoria, that a few people out there still remember Mahatma Gandhi. Smiling to myself, I have finally decided that from now on, for people who ask me “India is the country of arranged marriages, right?” my answer is going to be “No, it is the country where Mahatma Gandhi was born!”