gandhi

I got to see Dr. Arun Gandhi a few days ago. He spoke at Xavier University during Amnesty International’s Human Rights week. His topic was, “All I needed to know, I learned from my Grandfather: a season of nonviolence.” What an incredible evening!

I arrived late, as always, but guess it started a half hour earlier than advertised. Oh well, double jeopardy. The room was full, but they had a loudspeaker set up outside and it was a warm night, so I popped a squat right there on the sidewalk. From the sound of things, I missed the preamble and little else. Fine with me.

Dr. Gandhi was so well balanced, even-keeled and full of joy. He definitely spoke of nonviolence from that center. I hope I’m able to return to such a sweet spot someday. Seems a long, long way off, but someday. He basically just told stories about his grandpa. Some I knew, some had fresh (first hand) twists and some were completely new, but the overarching theme of the night was penance, as opposed to punishment.

To me the most striking example of this was a story not about his grandfather, but father. I’ll try to relate the gist.

The mahatma had been assassinated two years prior and Arun’s family had moved back to South Africa, where this whole revolution began a half-century earlier. Arun was sixteen.

Going into town was a rarity because they lived eighteen miles away. His father had a semi-regular speaking engagement, however, and asked Arun to drive him there. Arun gladly accepted and was immediately loaded up with errands and extra chores to do in town.

They arrived at the venue and his father said to pick him back up at 5 pm. Arun dutifully did all his chores, parked the car and proceeded to get engrossed in a John Wayne double feature, which let out at 5:30. Uh oh! With traffic, he didn’t get to pick his father up until 6 pm.

When Arun got there, his father was naturally worried, so he asked what happened. Arun said the car wouldn’t start. He was unaware that his father had called the garage.

“Son, I need to know where I went wrong in raising you that you felt you had to lie to me, so you can drive home while I walk.” He did, contrary to his son’s pleading, and that act of penance had such a profound effect on Arun that he hasn’t lied since. Finally, his grandpa’s oft-repeated words about truth being the backbone of nonviolence made sense. I had an example of one who has lived nonviolently for half a century, in thought, word and deed before my very eyes. Amazing.

Something of that story served as prescience for me later that night, but at the time it just flew right over my head. Apparently, my ride wasn’t in that crowded chapel. I discovered this well after most people had cleared out, so I walked home as well. It was no eighteen miles, but was quite hilly, ruined another pair of shoes and took the better part of three hours. Slow going, but it gave me time to process (more below). Carrying my computer also wrecked my neck and back for days, which is why it took me so long to finish this little write up.

I thought about my venomous blog, how hypocritical it would be of me to mention this night and even considered deleting the entries laden with ribaldry. I decided that would be fake. If someone wants to try to get to know me through this medium, they should be aware that I’m conflicted, angry and have fewer answers by the minute. I guess it’s like shit and roses.