I was nine years old when India became independent of British rule. At that age I had no real idea of what "independence" meant. We, down in the South (we were in Kerala), were perhaps not as much affected by the struggle going on against the British, as were the people of the northern, eastern and western Indian states. The action was all in these states, where even the children of the revolutionaries were influenced by their elders going to jail, taking part in processions and defying the British rulers in other numerous ways.

I was studying in Class V (which was known as First Form) and on August 15th we were given a holiday. All excited, we were taken to the public grounds, where some function was to be held to celebrate India's attainment of "Independence." I have only a vague memory of the function - it was raining and some leaders were making speeches - there was perhaps singing of Jana Gana Mana and hoisting of the national flag. We heard the names of Gandhiji, Nehruji, Patelji, etc.

It was much later that we were taught about the history of India's struggle to gain independence from British rule; how the British had come as traders and had stayed on to become masters of our land. The meaning of "independence" began to dawn slowly upon me. How proud I felt of Gandhiji who had initiated the Satyagraha movement; how bravely he had faced the domineering British; how much he had suffered in Africa; how his indomitable spirit had survived against all odds. His movement for Swadeshi and revival of village crafts showed his practical and farsighted vision. Truly he was a great man.

I still remember the day Gandhiji died. My sister and I, along with some friends, had gone to watch a dance performance by Kumari Kamala, the famous Bharatanatyam dancer. The date was January 30th 1948. The programme was scheduled to start at 6.30 p.m. By 5.30, we were all in our seats, waiting expectantly for the dance programme to start. We children started getting restless as time went by without anything happening.

Then suddenly somebody appeared on the stage. At last, we heaved a sigh of relief, as we thought that the programme announcement was about to be made. Contrary to that, the person on the stage went on saying something which only the elders seemed to understand. Their mood suddenly changed - and then we children came to know that Gandhiji had been shot dead while he was at evening prayer. The news had perhaps been given on the radio; all functions were ordered to be cancelled.

Kumari Kamala appeared on stage briefly to express sorrow over the tragic death of the Father of the Nation. The organisers of the show announced the postponement of the programme to a future date, to be notified later.

I was disappointed, as I did not know the gravity of the situation. To make up for this, the elders decided to meet the danseuse in person. Accordingly we all went to the green room and met the beautiful dancer. She was very fair and slim, and gracious in bearing. She talked politely to us, without being standoffish. It was a small consolation to me that I could see and talk to the lovely dancer, even though I would have to wait to see her dance at some future date.

The significance of Gandhiji's assassination never struck me. Of course after growing older, I realised what a blow had been dealt by the fanatic in shooting Gandhiji. I do not blame the present generation for not realising the sacrifices made by our leaders and by thousands of other people who had taken part in the struggle for independence. But I think many of the younger generation will agree that a second independence movement has to be launched for freeing India from corruption, prejudices, illiteracy, etc. and to make India a united and prosperous nation.
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