8 Gandhi and I.

Gandhi and I.

We have all heard of the name Gandhi. Or Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi.

I was aware of who he had been and many years before had watched the three-hour long Richard Attenborough film. It was an extraordinary film about an extraordinary man, but here in Sevagram we had the opportunity to visit the Mahatma Gandhi museum.

He lived here in Wardha for ten years between 1936-1946. The museum is a little bit dated with some old displays punctuated a few newer ones including mannequins.

I started to get a sense of the man from the book collection and works that inspired him.

Thoreau's book Walden tells of the author's attempt at a self-sufficient survival in the wilds of the American frontier and I had enjoyed reading it. I had studied this novel at university and found it inspirational. Living at one with nature, taking only what you need and respecting your environment – Gandhi was willing to read and follow any text that would offer a better world to his people. It did not matter what religion, creed or nationality the author was.

I gathered my English literature students around me, there were three or four, and I explained the significance of Walden and how the local ashrams set up by Gandhi's followers would have used some of its central themes. But there were shelves of books, how many ideas did Gandhi take from the wisdom of writers from all ages and countries?

And how brilliant was that? Here was a man of peace with a vision for the future and it was built on the wisdom and experience of all those that went before.

It started to bring the exhibits alive. Who was this man? He took on the might of the British Empire, he was the father of a nation of a billion people.

We moved over to the Ashram and visited the simple single room huts where he had lived. A simple wooden bed, very few possessions, a cotton spinning wheel, the large tree outside under which he would contemplate.

India, or Gandhi, was getting into my soul. It was bakingly hot but time had really slowed down. Wardha was having a big effect on me and this would be something that I would cling onto to counter-balance the darkness that was ahead.

The Ashram is unique in its simplicity. This was one of the most influential men of the twentieth century, I had learnt something. On my return to England I sat and watched the film Gandhi again. It drew me in and made me realise how magnificent a man he was.

These had been two very positive days, I think the break from Delhi, the recovery from the illness had coincided with being in this peaceful haven.

Our contact in the area Mrs Choudray, took us to see a school set up beside the Ashram, these were much happier children in their smart uniforms. It was yet another contrast that India was to throw at us. These children did not live in great wealth, but being away from the major city they seemed to have more of a chance.

We had the usual tour of the school and there was a chance for the students to mix with the children. I don't know why my recollections of the school are not more vivid. I suppose there was nothing to report, nothing that tugged at the heart strings, no extremes. And yet these were children who would form the new India, just as the children in Delhi would,

We had kept back some of our charity funds so that we could set up a scholarship for a child in the community. The cheque was formally presented and some pictures taken. Then we were invited to the home of Mrs Choudray.

Young people in India are so keen to speak English to English people. Maybe it is something about the classroom not quite being a genuine place to demonstrate language skills? In other countries I have felt embarrassed not to be able to converse in the local language, not so in India. Speaking English is giving the young an opportunity to flourish in life. The language they learn is proper grammar and pronunciation, now seen by some as quite dated. It is a correct language, my views have changed in recent years though on whether this should be treated as an embarrassment to our young people in Britain and the language that they speak.

The English language is always evolving and adding new strands from all types of other sources. What is spoken in England is a vibrant language, even if we don't like that evolution. These well educated young people in India are almost perpetuating some colonial myth to speak the 'Queen's English'. I'm certainly not saying it is wrong, our language has many unfathomable rules, and you cannot keep up with something that changes so quickly that we do not notice it. Before I would have said they spoke better English than we do, now I realise they have captured a 'prim and proper' version of our language.

Years later I would find myself in a Spanish classroom teaching A-Level "English as a global language", and recall those days in India. But that is another story.

Linguistics lesson over – Mrs Choudray had prepared a few simple snacks for us, a welcome break from the hut in our centre. The simplicity yet exquisite nature of the foods live in the memory, she really wanted to be the perfect host.

And then a shining moment.

From her fridge she produced two large bottles of Coca-cola. I grabbed them. I cuddled them. I caressed them. My illness on the train, drinking nothing but water and chi since had made me almost forget how wonderful a sugary, carbonated drink could be. I pretended that I would not be sharing any of the drink with the others, but I poured myself the largest glass I could without it looking too obvious how much I was craving this.

Drinking it cheered me up beyond what I can describe here with simple words. It's that moment that you reconnect with your old world again. Suddenly everything was good again, since the trip I have always had an affection for Coke, there is a little tug of a memory that sits in my mind.

I recall that Mrs Choudray had two sons who wanted to interact with our party. They had questionnaires for us to fill in and they wanted to test their English. As with most young Indians I have ever encountered they were polite and charming and a credit to their mother.

We returned to the Centre for a final night, in the morning we would finish our work and say goodbye – and then we would be back on a train for an overnight journey...

I was feeling much fitter and stronger now. In the hut we ate while recalling the events of the day. Gilly told me that I needed more variety in my meals, but I still stuck to simple potato and cauliflower dishes.

Next time… on the train again...