Being Gandhi

By Paro Anand

How many times are kids supposed to study Gandhi? Come September and out comes the bald head wig, round glasses, white dhoti, tall stick ... that's about the extent of how today's kids engage with the Mahatma. Chandrashekhar is one such teen. Bored by the annual Gandhi projects, he wonders if his teacher is being too unreasonable in asking them to "BE" Gandhi. And then, his world is shaken by events that rock him to the core, forcing him to dig deep and not just find his 'inner Gandhi', but become Gandhi. Not for a day or two. But, maybe even, for life. This is a novel that explores, not Gandhi the man or his life as a leader, but really the Gandhian way that must remain relevant to us. Especially today when the world is becoming increasingly steeped in violence and hate.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harper Children's
• Release date: Apr 8, 2020
• ISBN: 9789353578695

Paro Anand

Paro Anand is a Sahitya Akademi, Bal Sahitya Award winner for her book, Wild Child. She has written books for children, young adults and adults. As a performance storyteller and speaker, she has represented India all over the world. In 2019, she was awarded the Kalinga Karubaki Literary Award for Fearless Women Writers.

Book preview

Chapter 1

My Life Sucks, Just Sucks

Preeti Ma’am, she’s nice and everything, but you’ve got to admit that she’s one of the most boring teachers in the world. Like most teachers I have been the unwilling victim of these past few years. It’s like a necessary qualification. In the interview, a potential teacher gets asked, ‘Are you boring?’ ‘No, no, I’m a very interesting person with a wonderful sense of humour.’ REJECT. NEXT …

I have had some teachers who are fun, but I think they are closet fun. They don’t let the authorities know. That’s why, if a class bursts into laughter, we’re told to hush up. No one should get to know that there was fun happening within the walls of a paper dry classroom.

But Preeti Ma’am, well, she stands out. She could well be Queen of Boringisthan. Where she rules with deadpan face and monotone voice.

I start drawing her and her legendary dry town where everything has got to be grey and brown and all clothes are shapeless. Everyone’s head droops and shoulders slouch. There is no need for eyeballs because there is nothing to see. No wait, that would qualify as interesting. I love drawing. It’s the one thing I am good at. I want to draw my own digital comics one day. But till then, I have to suffer school. I pencil in some details of Boringisthan’s dying trees.

‘Ouch! What the hell?’

Someone’s pinched my ear. I raise my hand to wallop them back. But draw it back as the class gasps in collective horror.

Of course, it’s Preeti Ma’am. And of course, she’s snatched my page away and is examining it. But of course, she can’t understand what I’ve drawn or see any humour in it. Naturally not, she is the Queen of B … the Queen B. Hahaha!

‘Tell me what you want to do for your project?’

Blank.

I don’t know what project she’s talking about.

‘Answer me,’ she snaps.

I look down because there is no way to answer her, of course, but I see her hand curling up into a fist. She is about to wallop me a good one. This should not be allowed. But I better say something fast. Anything.

‘Ma’am, I think this will require some thought, I will have some ideas by tomorrow.’

She smirks, she knows I’m buying time. She knows I know nothing.

‘Initial thoughts, then?’

Gulp.

She is just being mean. And she knows it too.

I glance over at Sid, who sits in front of me. We always help each other out in times of need.

‘Look at me!’ Preeti Ma’am roars. But before I snap my eyes back at her, I’ve caught the word Gandhi mouthed by Sid. Owe you, Sid. I shoot a good grin at the teacher.

‘Ma’am, Gandhi is such a vast topic. And with 2nd October coming up, we have to think of something really, umm … unique. I mean everyone will be doing something special for Gandhi Jayanti, isn’t it?’

‘Gandhiji to you, you scoundrel. You think you are on first-name terms with the Father of the Nation, or what?’ she snaps. She knows she’s defeated. I barely swallow back the retort. ‘Ma’am, if I was on first-name terms, I would have said Mohandas. Gandhi was his surname.’ But I don’t, I smile a smile as innocent as I can manage through my gloating.

Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi.

Yep, that’s what she was on about. It’s all the teachers think about in our school once September hits. I get that it’s September and the school has to do something on Gandhi. Well, OK, Gandhiji, Mahatma, I know that we can’t just say Gandhi.

Well, yeah, 2nd October is coming and every class has to put up something, like a play, an activity, posters and stuff. I know he’s the father of the nation and a great man. I mean, was … but sometimes I feel that it gets too much.

Between you and me, I don’t see the point of celebrating one man, one leader, year on year. As though we’ve only had one great man in our country. Surely we should be choosing a different great leader every year and learning about them. Look, how original can one be when you’re studying about, celebrating one man? Like from Nursery onwards, we’ve been doing the same things. Let’s face it, it gets boring and when Preeti Ma’am is teaching, it’s like a big boring cake with dullsville cream on top. But at least we don’t have Shabnam Ma’am, who just shouts.

So, I frankly tune out. I can’t take it anymore. I have things that occupy me. Real things in the real world. Right now, I don’t think there are many 13-year-olds who have much time for Gandhi. Our own lives are busy and complicated, and frankly, passive resistance is rarely enough to get us out of our messes these days.

So yeah, I’ll fit myself into whatever role 2nd October brings along for me. Gandhi and his world are far, far away and totally irrelevant today. So, my heart and mind and soul will be far, far away. In the real world. With real problems. My problems. Huge problems. I start to list them out in my notebook.

Sigh … there’s also an 8.

But I can’t talk about that one. See, I can’t even talk about my problems with my own sorry self. Just in case someone finds out.

Chapter 2

Why Are Teachers Allowed to Torture Us?

Finally, the bell rings and it is almost time to go home. As I lug my bag and head for the door, Preeti Ma’am asks me to stay back. I think it is to help carry her books. She has some spinal problem or a bad arm or something. So, she employs us students as her slave labour. It’s okay, but sometimes, like today, my bag is already very heavy and the thought of additional baggage weighs me down. But of course, when a teacher asks you to lug for her, you lug. Simple as that.

‘So what is it that you’re thinking of doing?’ she asks, gathering her stuff up.

‘Huh?’ I’m always clueless when it comes to teachers, but this time, I really have no clue as to what she is asking.

She repeats, ‘So, what is it that you’re thinking of doing?’

‘Umm … carry your assignment books for you?’ I hope that’s the right answer, although, of course, I know it’s not. And her face confirms that. She grins. Like a real evil grin. Her evil grin is the only interesting thing about her.

‘For your assignment, have you any ideas of what you could do. You’ve had a little time to think, as you wanted. What have you come up with?’ She is smiling. She knows that she has caught me unawares. But she knows as well as I do that I had not given a single thought to her boring project, so I couldn’t even begin to fake it. I hang my head, which is my best go-to action when confronted by an adult.

She laughs a laugh slightly edged with evil. Like a monstrous mwah-hahaha laugh. Almost. She knows she has me just where she wants. She is the hero and I am the

Reviews for Being Gandhi

[Team Carnival · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Does't matter whats ur age if u have some to spare just pick this up ...something within u will surely gone change ..??