Falling in love with Gandhi

In my studentship days I had cared for Gandhi as much as a student was required, and to talk in more informal terms, the ideas, formulas which he invented or applied always seemed utopian to me.
When I got married couple of years back, it was not an easy task to live my life completely in a new avatar. Sometimes it actually felt as if there was a war of cultures, one trying to replace another, like Aryans did to Harrappans. And sometimes it was a biased labour policy, when I can get up in morning for the bed-tea everyday why he can’t do that once in a blue moon. So there were debates and arguments, a feeling of being colonized, a feeling of being a guinea pig and in moments of that outburst, a desire to declare independence. And in such situations I always preferred to choose Bhagat Singh or Chandrashekhar Azad from my cupboard, ignoring Gandhi as a vestigial idealism. So an argument will take the shape of revolts and revolts of nothing because both of us knew that marriage is the boundary which both of us should not and must not cross. So we kept fighting, re-conciling, raising slogans within the walls of marriage and life moved on.
But then it was not moving, it was actually galloping on this rugged path and leaving us in pain in what not places. When nothing seemed to work then atlast I thought of giving Gandhi a try.
So I got ready for this satyagraha, armed with tried and tested (tested actually on humans!) tonics and tablets. First syrup was ‘truth’. Two spoons daily before a possible fight. I had always believed that I have been true to him and also to myself, but truth could be seen as different by every person, and no one is necessarily right or wrong. The important things are to continue your search for truth, and not to inflict your views on others. Gandhi said that the search for truth must be nonviolent in the purest sense. When opposition is met, it is essential not to fight, offer violence, hatred or scorn, but to listen to their arguments as the issue is discussed. This is the only way to seek truth effectively.
Oops, this syrup requires combination of another tonic for its effective working, “Non-violence”, as prescribed above. I had to put down my swords and spears. Why to ride horse for the things which could be resolved sitting across a dinner table. So I kept on spinning my charkha when he left the tea mug lying on bed, I kept on spinning when he forgot to greet me on valentines, and kept on spinning when he swapped Big Boss with Zee business. I could see him sitting with his shining armour waiting for the bullets of complaint and I could hear Azad, Bhagat, Subhash banging the cupboard, invoking the comrade inside me but Gandhi’s laathi silenced them all. So I gave him a hot cup of tea in morning, and next morning and next to next. This toleration had a magic of its own. On one side it gave me ample time to cool my rising temper and on other side it was a weapon more powerful than the venomous words, which tickled his soul. So next morning I found no cup lying orphaned and no toffee wrappers stuffed in table corners. Gandhi was a hit. I was amazed at this capability of toleration in me, so wrong was I that non-violence is a sign of cowardice. It actually requires a great stamina, extraordinary patience, a fountain of pure love to tolerate. Strength does not come from physical capacity; it comes from an indomitable will. I could feel a ‘Mahatma’ rising in me too; (Pause) is that a halo forming behind my head?
It gave both of us an opportunity to sit back and understand each other, respect replaced the criticism and understanding replaced the arguments. And on these cushions love again bloomed. But yes there were issues which were little naughty and would not succumb to these syrups, and would have resulted in a fresh outbreak. But by now I had developed a deep faith in Gandhi and thus when nothing would seem to work, I would use his master formula which even British failed to resist. The formula of Satyagraha---fast unto death, and lo one more six!!!
Our cultures have now stopped riding on each other, but do a see-saw of assimilation. TV remote is no longer playing a role of AK-56. He has learnt not to use kitchen sink as wash-basin and I have learnt to keep my watch back in its case. So his car became our car, his camera our camera, even his pyjamas became our pyjamas. Gandhi had said, just as one must learn the art of killing in the training for violence, so one must learn the art of dying in the training for nonviolence.
Gradually and finally I fell in love with Gandhi and my husband ofcourse.

Postscript: But I still get up every morning and make him bed tea and rush for my school job and when return, pick-up the cup lying on the bedside but then there is love and lot more syrup of gandhism.