Any attempt at recreating the contours of personal memory against the landscape of a nation’s historical journey is a daunting task for any chronicler. Even more challenging is the interweaving of an individual life into the tapestry of seven-and-a-half decades of national experience – a task that often calls for a fusion of genres.
Among the very few equipped for such an undertaking, Gopalkrishna Gandhi holds a front-row seat to the unfolding of India’s story since Independence, seen through the lens of his own life. That makes his new book, The Undying Light, an unusual memoir – one that blends archival material with personal recollection to produce a multi-layered account of the times. In doing so, Gandhi turns his gaze to the intersections between post-Independence India and his own journey, without losing sight of how both followed their distinct trajectories.
It would be simplistic to assume that Gandhi’s historical sensibility stems merely from his formidable lineage – being the paternal grandson of Mahatma Gandhi and the maternal grandson of C Rajagopalachari. That’s merely a sideshow in a far more complex narrative, enriched by the author’s own evolution as an astute observer of national life and the human condition, shaped through his roles as a civil servant, diplomat, and later, governor. At the same time, he pieces together strands of his personal life – not as assorted anecdotes, but as a journey of an individual coming to terms with himself, his world, and the people around him, through reflections on his encounters with events, personalities, and ideas.
The book’s chronological frame is put to good use in recounting the events and key figures of different epochs, starting with the political ferment and communal tensions that accompanied India’s independence, Partition, and the assassination of Mahatma Gandhi. The book opens with the flux of events before and immediately after Independence – from the horrific violence in Bengal, Bihar, Punjab, and Delhi, to the Mahatma’s assassination. Looking back, Gandhi seems inclined to interpret the murder through his elder brother Ramchandra Gandhi’s philosophical insight: that it was the Mahatma who stopped the bullets of suspicion and vendetta, not the other way around.
The book is particularly riveting in its portrayal of the formative years of the Indian republic – the figures who shaped it and the politics that defined it. Drawing from newspaper archives, primary sources, and firsthand accounts, Gandhi also brings in conversations from his family’s proximity to those at the helm of affairs. The fact that his father, Devdas Gandhi – Mahatma’s youngest son – was then editor of a leading English daily in Delhi adds further depth to his grasp of the period’s happenings.
Yet, Gandhi’s familial proximity to the dramatis personae of the national stage does not prevent him from critically examining the era’s stalwarts. Despite his admiration for Nehru, he does not allow the book to become uncritical. He points to some of Nehru’s blind spots – such as the flawed dismissal of elected governments in Jammu & Kashmir and Kerala, and the Congress’s drift into what some critics saw as a “one-person party”. Gandhi also recounts episodes showcasing Sardar Patel’s decisive role in integrating princely states, particularly viewing the accession of Hyderabad as Patel’s triumph.
With the benefit of hindsight, Gandhi forthrightly regrets that Dr BR Ambedkar wasn’t accorded his due place in the national iconography of his time. He observes how, in the decades that followed, Ambedkar “outpaced” all his Bharat Ratna contemporaries in public influence. Gandhi narrates in some detail what comes across as the graceless send-off Ambedkar received after resigning from the Union Cabinet. On a different note, though he was an admittedly grandfather-smitten boy, Gandhi doesn’t shy away from examining the flaws of his maternal grandfather, Rajaji. “Rajaji could be fascinating; he could be frustrating,” Gandhi sums up, capturing the grandson’s dilemma.
One of the book’s understated strengths lies in how Gandhi – perhaps unintentionally – retrieves the life of a boy growing up in Delhi’s posh localities during the 1950s and much of the 1960s. His recollections are not just slices of urban history but are of sociological value, as he rightly places himself in the ‘urban upper middle class’ of the national capital. His family ties brought him into the orbit of the city’s elite, allowing him a sheltered – if not cocooned – life. He studied at the most coveted institutions of the time: Modern School, Barakhamba Road, and St Stephen’s College, of course.
Yet, he is aware of his social location. It was only in his youth, as a young IAS officer of the Tamil Nadu cadre, that he began encountering the grassroots realities of India. He began his service in the late 1960s as a probationer in Tanjore (now Thanjavur), where he confronted farmers’ issues for the first time. His civil service journey is filled with examples that underscore the ethos of fairness, service, and integrity – from district-level officers like TV Antony to bureaucratic stalwarts like Naresh Chandra, whose sagacity as Cabinet Secretary in 1991 is recalled with respect. He also takes potshots at power-hungry civil servants thriving on opportunism – surprisingly, citing TN Seshan as an example.
In later decades, Gandhi’s account shows the tightrope walk of upholding bureaucratic values while reflecting on a rapidly changing world. His critique of Indira Gandhi’s authoritarianism, culminating in the Emergency, is unambiguous – as is his lifelong admiration for Jayaprakash Narayan. So deep is his reverence that he calls a 2005 visit to JP’s house in Bihar a “pilgrimage”.
His recollections of serving as secretary to two presidents – R Venkataraman (1987–92) and KR Narayanan (1997–2002) – offer insights into the working of the country’s highest constitutional office. While political dynamics are alluded to, the emphasis remains on how both presidents upheld constitutional propriety in an era increasingly defined by coalition politics. President Narayanan, in particular, found ways to do or say what he believed was right for a head of state.
Gandhi also reflects on his tenure as director of the Nehru Centre in London, and his diplomatic postings as high commissioner to South Africa and later Sri Lanka. However, it is his gubernatorial stint in the first decade of this century that places him at the centre of political tumult. As governor of West Bengal (2005–2009) and briefly of Bihar, Gandhi recounts moments when he had to invoke constitutional morality – such as during the police firing in Nandigram. These reflections gain contemporary relevance, given recent debates over alleged gubernatorial overreach. Referring back to Rajaji’s governorship of West Bengal in pre-Independence times, Gandhi argues that while the governor’s powers are limited, the office’s moral gravitas can exert quiet influence.
In important ways, the book is also a conversation with the self. Gandhi is candid about his ambitions and disappointments. He openly expresses his dismay at not being granted an extension as governor in 2009, nor being nominated as vice-president in 2012. He lost the vice-presidential race in 2017 and declined the opposition’s proposal to field him as a presidential candidate in 2022. “Did I want to become president or vice-president? Of course, yes. I knew my failings, of which hankering for high positions was the greatest failing. Ambition, like lust, intoxicates before it leads you to crash. And age-seniors are the most pathetic of ‘crashers’,” he writes.
In an open letter published in The Hindu two days after Narendra Modi’s 2014 electoral victory, Gandhi urged the incoming prime minister to act not just as the leader of his voters, but of all Indians. He has since voiced consistent disappointment over the government’s conduct over the last decade.
More than he perhaps realises, Gopalkrishna Gandhi is a fine raconteur – attentive to both tales and the details scattered around him. He wears his scholarship lightly and navigates profound stretches of memory with erudite insight. Some blue-pencilling could have caught a few slips – like the error on page 558, where June 8, 2014 is mistakenly cited as the year the BJP named Modi its PM candidate (it was, in fact, 2013). But these are minor quibbles in an otherwise meticulously sourced work.
Gandhi’s sense of history has produced a finely crafted interplay of personal narrative and the national memory of post-Independence India. In drawing upon the cool reasoning of hindsight, he never lets it obscure the view of things as they were in their own time. That’s a delicate challenge for any chronicler of both personal and public life – and one that this book meets with finesse.
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