The case of the mistaken identity…Sorry Mrs Gandhi!

My grandma was one stunner in her days. So say all. I’m glad I got some of her looks! He he … Kidding! But I do long to see her in a saree which she completely refuses to wear now. She looks pretty harassed in them and I’d rather have her smiling. Well just got off the phone with her and we were having this fascinating conversation about Ayodhya. Yeah a skeleton in the cupboard which better be left there to disintegrate slowly. In india however skeletons come alive! Something like voodoo practices by the government. In the wake of the CWG, Ayodhya looms over our heads time and again and threatens to add another spoke in the wheels of already woe-ridden chariot of shame… Chariot of fire…rather engulfed in it!
However conversation slowly drifted to the inevitable… the Gandhis…call it legacy…dynastic politics. But that too was not quite what we were discussing about. We jumped back some thirty years. Yeah! My grandpa always burst out laughing at this one in particular. Mention the word Gandhi and you’ve gotta hear this one definitely. Well in the spring of her time Late Mrs Indira Gandhi was travelling far and wide campaigning and rigoursly campaigning on the onset of the elections.
Okay the background…my great grand mother was known as ‘kali mem…’ Goto to Farrukabad and you’ll know exactly who she was. She was a doctor and the only one in the district. Sooo when Mrs Gandhi was to make a tour my great grand mother was invited and she planned on showing her typical brit bahu off so she asked her to come too.
My grand dad was driving her around with shaan in his willis! They were just in the Cantt area when suddenly music broke out and deafened the powerful whirr of the jeep. They found themselves amidst a frenzy of people and dancers and dhol walas comes to life as if someone had turned the lights on! They were garlanded and tilak was put on their heads…women were dancing…the band was playing it shrill tone of welcome… it was only after this whole Pandara’s box of music, dhol and flowers was coming to a close that they heard the naras of ‘indira gandhi zindabad!!!’ Shocked my grandfather put the jeep in top speed and sped away before their identity was revealed.. Close on their heels was the jeep of Mrs. /andhi herself. Alas she had to make do with the leftovers of the celebration. Well somehow believe it or not my grandma was mistaken for the late Mrs Gandhi…was it cause of her short hair cut of the little white speckled in her hair, one would never know.
‘m sure Indira Gandhi was not given the welcome she deserved after that! The trumpets and the dhol was quite laxed after we passed by my gran remembers with the glint in her eye. However the damper did not affect the vote bank. She won all the votes and went to become the first lady Prime Minister of independent India after that. My grandma went back to living her laid back life of perfect luncheons dinner and tea times.
Come to think of it… If my gran is Indira Gandhi…then well believe or not I’m related to Rahul Gandhi…and that leaves me very elated indeed! So look out you might just see me close enough to the blue bloods of politics in India soon! Cheerio!