My mother paints a vivid picture ... of her father glued to the radio waiting for the daily despatches on Nehru’s health. Like countless others across the country, her father would sit beside the radio and wait for news on the dearly beloved, ailing prime minister’s health. The radio was playing Mat ro mata, laal tere bahutere....
Suddenly he let out a wail and began to cry like a baby. The entire family joined in that collective outpouring of grief. A funerary gloom descended on the family. The cooking fire was not lit that day for no one could think of eating a morsel. It was as though a family elder had passed away. Such was the grief and the profound sense of loss.
In hindsight, the loss was indeed irreparable. Nehru’s death on 27th May 1964 marked the end of an age of innocence – in life as in politics.