Kasturba.
As I sit here and recall, I can only reminisce about my first visit to the Aga Khan Palace in Pune. Very few moments like these have had a lasting influence on me. It was around 2013-2014 when I was preparing for the Trinity’s College of London's English examinations, for which the portfolio task required me to write about a place of historical importance in our city. And so I decided to do a write-up about the Aga Khan Palace.
It was the 8th grade, and I was barely introduced to the chapters about India’s freedom struggles. There I was, writing about the place where Mohandas and Kasturba Gandhi had endured incarceration during the Quit India Movement. Looking back, I still remember the feeling of being completely awestruck.
It's just that some places have a certain energy running through their veins. Here it was the strength of revolution, and vulnerability of man. Each and every hall, pathway, staircase was a journey into the era, a time which was too vibrant to be stuck into a history textbook. A time which had stirred up a nation. Walls and hallways were filled with pictures never seen, models, artifacts, paintings, letters, and clothing. But the best was yet to come.
It was the samadhi of Kasturba Gandhi. He had lost her there. Only a few people could visit that sacred space at a time. All I thought was how it would have been for Gandhi, standing up and walking ahead. Leaving behind a companion, an integral part of his life’s journey. Yet striving ahead. It’s strange how this monument of remembrance, and pain, provided me with strength.
It is something that I couldn’t completely comprehend. Maybe being at the place, the idea of what it represented, the tranquility, and an emblem of hope. It just wasn't a museum, but a place that protected and preserved revolution, and love.