Freedom's child-Nehru's Niece

Chandralekha Mehta (Pandit) is perhaps the best person to write a book
that tells the story of a turbulent, pre-independence India. After all
she is Jawaharlal Nehru’s niece and Vijaya Lakshmi Pandit’s daughter;
growing up she had a ringside view of the freedom struggle.

Says the author at the outset: “We now take our freedom for granted,

but it would be interesting to look back on the struggles that led to it

and what it meant to those who played a part in it.” Mehta’s account is

absorbing and illuminating, without being preachy.

Freedom’s Child starts at Anand Bhawan, the Nehrus’ mansion in

Allahabad. Life in the city was a mix of childhood activity and political activism.

The house of the Nehrus played host to a galaxy of legendary names. Playtime

was interspersed with arrests of “Papu” (Mehta’s father, Ranjit Pandit),

“Mamu” (Nehru) or “Mummie” (Vijaya Lakshmi Pandit).

Gandhian philosophy ruled. The dress code at marriages — and other

functions — was khadi. Life at Anand Bhawan was anything but ordinary.

But Mehta’s descriptions are tinged with humour and a carefree attitude

that fails to hide the nostalgia and the concern that a child displays —

whether it is the holidays they spent in Khali (near Binsar), her visits

to jail to meet Mamu, Papu or Mummie or imminent threats of a police raid.

Here’s one. She recounts a tale about how, one night, Lal Bahadur Shastri

(who was the only big Congressman to escape arrest in 1942) was at

Anand Bhawan cyclostyling pamphlets that were to be distributed in

the countryside. Suddenly they got the news that the police might arrive.

Shastri, in panic, flushed the fliers down the toilet. “Along with all other

anxieties Mummie was going through at that time was now the possibility

of a malfunctioning toilet system in a house full of people!” says Mehta.

The author offers interesting insights on the big names of the time.

She paints a realistic picture without letting awe overshadow everything

else, touching upon little-highlighted things about the luminaries she grew

up around. Sample this one on Gandhi: “Bapu’s journeys were as full of

drama as other things he did… When the train stopped at a station,

a multitude of people would be on the platform, jostling around for a

glimpse of Bapu through the window or for darshan if he came to the door.

Among them were those who begged for an autograph, and Bapu,

with his business acumen, would come to the door of the compartment

and mischievously ask for money for the party fund in exchange for

his signature. This was gladly given.”

The spartan Gandhian life, travelling third class and wearing coarse

khadi — aren’t these sacrifices that made the Nehru family the shining

examples of the freedom struggle? Mehta scoffs at the word ‘sacrifice’.

As, she says, did the rest of the Nehru-Pandit clan. “Mummie,” she

writes, “used to be quite sharp with those who commented on the

sacrifices made by the Nehru family, in the hope of pleasing her.

She would say to them, ‘When you do what you want to do there

is no question of sacrifice’.”

Mehta says no one in the family other than Nanima (Motilal Nehru’s wife)

took the “sacrifice” thing seriously. Vijaya Lakshmi Pandit’s

conversation-stopper on sacrifice was this: There were hundreds of

families who gave up all for Bapu — at least our family was well-rewarded

after independence.