My Memories of the Emergency

Originally written: 25-Jun-15
Updated: 03-Sep-23

Looking back over the last few decades, there are a few significant political developments in India which are hard to erase from my memory – the Lok Sabha election results of 1977 and 1989, the Babri Masjid demolition, the Kargil War, and of course, the election result of 2014. But perhaps the most unforgettable of the memories – and also the oldest – is of the Emergency. So, on the 40^th anniversary of the unprecedented savagery of Indian democracy, I’m noting down my memories as a child.

Emergency was declared during school summer holidays in Delhi. I was 8 years old and indifferent towards politics. As young children, my sister and I did know Indira Gandhi was the Prime Minister and that my father used to write against her. 

Some weeks, or perhaps days before the declaration of Emergency, Indira’s speech was being telecast on TV. My sister and I just happened to tell my father, K R Malkani about it, in case he was interested. He was probably reading in our garden (he was always reading!). Without a moment’s delay, he entered the house and proceeded to listen to the speech. I don’t know if declaration of the Emergency was an expectation in June 1975, but clearly, he wanted to hear what she had to say.

The night of 25-Jun 1975

Our home did not have the luxury of a cooler. During Delhi’s long, scorching summer our family used to sleep outdoors to escape the heat inside our house. We would sleep in the garden or front courtyard of our modest home in Delhi’s New Rajendra Nagar. On the fateful night of 25^th June, we were sleeping in the courtyard just feet away from its gate leading to the road outside. My sister and I were children – 10 and 8 respectively – and slept through the night, not aware that we had had visitors at an unearthly hour.

I learned from what my mother, Sundari Malkani, told us on the morning of 26^th and from my father’s book, ‘The Midnight Knock’, published in 1977, that we had police visit us at about 2:00 AM. They did not enter but called out his name from the gate. My parents woke up and were told that Emergency had been declared and that they wanted my father to accompany them to the nearby police station. When my mother asked them why, their response was that my father knows why.

For some support, my mother woke up my brother who was 17 then. He probably just watched the developments in a daze.

I learned years later from The Midnight Knock that before leaving home, my father turned and looked at us children, thinking perhaps this might be the last time he was seeing us.

I don’t recall my sister or myself crying on hearing the news the next morning. We probably didn’t understand what it meant for our family. I didn't know the meaning of the word arrest, till my mother explained it to me.

Surviving without the sole breadwinner – my incredibly brave mother

I learned, also from The Midnight Knock, that my father had left a modest balance in his bank account – probably his life savings. Meanwhile, on that dark night, my mother was left with what must have been a frightening situation – my father’s safety – under Indira’s MISA it was not conveyed why a person was being arrested, where he or she was being taken, and for how long. In addition, the sole breadwinner of the family was gone, but we still had to be fed and educated! Throughout that dark period, she was very brave. In spite of almost no money at hand, our swimming lessons (which had commenced that summer) didn’t stop.

All three of us studied in what was the most expensive school in Delhi in those days. Not that my parents could afford it easily. It was only because it was considered the best and they decided to cut expenses wherever they could, in order to give us good education. Moving us to a government-funded school too would have reduced some of her short-term challenges. Yet, for our futures’ sake, our school wasn’t changed. I learned several years later that my mother’s Delhi-based brother was supporting her financially, as were at least two family friends.

The car we had was provided by my father’s office. It could not be sold, nor could it be just kept standing month after month. My courageous mother took driving lessons during this time of uncertainty, secured her license and became the only driver in the family. During summer holidays she even used to drive us, and a few neighbourhood kids for swimming lessons at the National Stadium behind India Gate. And there were these times that makes childhood delightful, when right after swimming, she would suddenly want to take us for a movie instead of heading home. I recall at least once when after swimming, we headed to the modest Stadium Cinema nearby, which was playing the Hindi movie Kalicharan. None of us fancied watching it! Somehow, in spite of the car being available, as well as a lot of time at hand, we never managed to make the short trip to Plaza cinema in nearby Connaught Place, to watch Sholay, which probably ran throughout the period of the Emergency (I watched it for the first time in 1989).

Visits to various jails

But going for swimming lessons or for movies by car instead of the usual DTC buses, were among the sweeter memories from those 21 months. I don’t know how my mother was informed of my father’s whereabouts, and when. He was first sent to a jail in Rohtak, Haryana. My mother’s Delhi-based brother had two cars and each time we went to visit my father, one of his cars and his driver would drive us there and back.

Rohtak was about 40 miles from Delhi. All the MISA detainees and their visitors would be made to meet in a large hall. Families would simply have to pull a few chairs together and spend a few hours chatting. I did not know anyone else there. In the same crowded hall, my father had pointed out Piloo Mody once, who's foreign-origin wife used to visit him.

The next "home" for my father during the Emergency was the jail in Hissar, also in Haryana. It was 100 miles or so from Delhi. I remember, our first trip there was a long one and we returned home only at about 10:00 PM.

In Hissar, the rules were more stringent for visitors. We were made to meet my father in a small room in the presence of a few jail officers. The seating was limited and the first time we were there, there was no chair for me so I sat on my father’s lap. Being a shy kid when I wanted to say something to him, I started whispering in his ear. The jailor objected to this. My mother responded to him saying that children are innocent (bachchay to masoom hotay hain). But he still wasn’t OK with me whispering. I don't recall if I completed my sentence at all. I doubt I would have liked to speak loudly in the presence of hostile strangers.

The next home for my father was Delhi’s Tihar Jail. This too was a fair distance away from our house. I don’t remember much of it at all. On either side of the huge door of the jail were the words “Hate the sin, not the sinner”. I think it was here once that as we waited to enter the jail, a large group of prisoners were being taken away in a bus. They were chanting a slogan – Shanti van say aayee aavaz, aaja beti mere paas. My mother found it quite amusing.

My mother was an exceptionally creative cook, and would cook or bake something for my father as well to give him a break from jail food.

Each jail also allowed only two adult visitors, besides the children. My brother was 17 at the time of the arrest but if he was with my mother, no other adult was allowed.

The bored spy in the neighbourhood

My mother was sure our phone was being tapped. She also spotted someone standing and watching our place all day some distance from our house. I suppose he had been asked to keep a watch over who visited us. Every journalist with a spine was already in jail somewhere in the country, as were many Opposition leaders, so the spy’s job was clearly boring. So much that once he asked a neighbour’s domestic help to keep an eye on our place, perhaps to allow himself an occasional break from standing and staring at hour house. The domestic help promptly told the lady of the house of this conversation. The good-intentioned neighbour told my mother about it, confirming her suspicion.

Balancing school and visits to jail

Since the jails were far away, and the time was specified (late afternoon), my sister and I had to leave school well before closing hours each time we were to meet my father. Initially we both were in junior school at Humayun Road (incidentally, Indira's granddaughter was studying in the same school), but after 5^th standard she moved to senior school at Barakhambha Road, while I was still in junior school. My uncle’s driver used to pick us up each time we had to visit my father. I remember I never used to leave my class early and the poor driver used to reach the school and go about hunting for me in the campus. And this probably happened each time! My sister, by contrast, was disciplined and always would be waiting outside the school when the driver and I would get there.

We both had taken ongoing permission to leave school early each time we were to visit my father. Once during a parent teacher meeting, my sister's teacher told my mother that she was taken aback when my sister sought permission to visit our jailed father. The teacher said she was wondering what crime he had committed. But on hearing the truth, the general feeling was of sympathy towards us and respect for my father for standing up to Indira's ways.

On one occasion I was punished in school because I hadn't completed my homework. The Hindi teacher, Mrs Sahai, a well-known terror, once asked the class to write an essay on Indira. On seeing the assignment, my mother was furious and asked me not to write it. The next day when I revealed to the teacher that I hadn't completed it, she gave me what was called a White Card - a severe punishment in my school, and the only time I ever received it. I started crying in the class but was still asked by the teacher to write the essay, which I did. On getting home I narrated to my mother what had happened. As I left the room, her good friend from the neighbourhood entered. And that was the only time during the entire Emergency period I saw my mother crying because of what had happened in school. Apart from that she was very brave, even though she knew that she was in charge of the family in a country run by a dreaded Prime Minister and her son, both of whom were stopping at nothing to retain power. 

I don't know if the topic of the essay was the teacher's choice. Very unwise, if it was. But it may have been that the government had mandated schools to get children to write the essay on Indira. Either way, I think it was insensitive and ridiculous of her to punish me for not completing that homework. In normal circumstances students can be punished for not doing their homework, but these were not normal circumstances. And my family specifically was severely impacted. A few days later she called me and said that a teacher is the children's mother in school - possibly her attempt at damage control. The thought that passed my mind was - should the mother in school make the mother at home cry? Of course, I didn't dare ask her that.

My father - immersed in books (and a comic) even in jail

During the last few months my father was shifted again to Rohtak. He was a voracious reader and used to spend most of his waking hours at home reading. His favourite book was ‘Choose Live’, a dialogue between an American and a Japanese scholar, respectively named Toynbee and Ikeda. To develop the habit of reading in people he used to cite the saying – A fool lends a book, and a bigger fool returns it! 

Being in jail offered him the luxury-of-sorts, of reading as much as he wanted in a day. So the time spent during those 21 months was probably in endless discussions with other occupants of the jails he stayed in, playing badminton (we had given him one of the racquets at home), and reading books - something Coomi Kapoor has mentioned in her riveting account of the Emergency. 

One of my Poona-based cousins owned a large book shop there. My father used to give my mother names of books he was interested in, which were sent to my cousin. When my cousin was able to send the books to us, we would deliver them to my father during our regular trips. But once he had finished reading the whole lot he had, and we had no book to deliver him during that visit. I generously offered him my Tintin comic, which I’d brought along for reading in the car. He accepted it, possibly with some amusement. He had the habit of scribbling or marking in the margins of books (a habit I disagreed with for decades, till I myself adopted it quite naturally once I became a regular reader) where he came across something interesting. ‘Prisoners of the Sun’ met with a similar fate. During our subsequent trip when he returned the comic, he showed me a few words he had written on the last page, which he wanted to explain me the meanings of. The first among those was Inca. I don't know how much of the story he understood, given that he hadn't read 'Seven Crystal Balls'. But then, neither had I.

My mother - alone but more active outside home

My mother, meanwhile, became relatively active in supporting any anti-Emergency movement in whichever small way she could. One Sunday evening there was a large rally (can’t remember the month or year). While we kids stayed home, she drove to the rally, taking a few interested people with her. I remember her saying on her return that it was a very well-attended one. While the rally was on, a chopper hovered over the venue, possibly for someone to report the size of the rally to the insecure Prime Minister. Another rally was to be held the following Sunday. The Sunday evening movie on TV was one of the few options for entertainment in urban India in those days. To coincide with this second rally, the very popular seventies movie Bobby was announced for telecast quite suddenly. The crowd at this rally was smaller than the first one! The desire to watch a teen years romance movie got the better of many democracy loving people in Delhi.

One person who used to visit our house during the Emergency was someone called Bhikshu Chaman Lal. I have no recollection of what he looked like or who he was. For some reason unknown to me he used to live in the staff quarter in our school at Barakhambha Road. But I remember one incident associated with him, which my father narrated to us many years later. This person was at our place once, had told my mother that he was going to meet Indira and was trying to convince my mother to accompany him, saying that she did not need to say anything during the meeting. My mother was unsure if this was right. At that time her brother happened to visit us. On hearing of this invitation, he advised my mother to decline it. While telling us about it, my father had said it was a very wise move since my mother visiting Indira would have made headlines. It may have been projected by media that my mother had apologised to Indira on my father's behalf or for his stand against her, which would have been a lie, and deeply embarrassing for my father.

Growing unpopularity

As the crazy period went on and on, the resentment against Indira was growing, although no one dared talk openly. I recall a funny episode indicating the growing anti-Indira tide. Along Minto Bridge in Delhi, a very long and tall painted hoarding was put up in 1975 or the following year. It contained a larger than life Indira at the centre with a very large number of faceless people painted behind her across the hoarding. I used to see it every day as my school bus passed from the nearby outer circle of Connaught Place. One day my mother learned that someone had smeared Indira’s face on that hoarding with tar. The next day for sure, I saw the spectacle from my school bus. However, the tar was scraped and the face painted back soon after. Whoever the "tartist" was, it was incredibly brave of him/them to take tar in the dark of night, climb on a ladder and express resentment so explicitly, knowing any person, or police, could well spot them and get them arrested.

Another anecdote I remember is a joke I heard in school. I narrated it to my mother back home and she had a good laugh. It went that Rajiv (then a pilot) was flying Indira and Sanjay in a plane. As they flew over a village, looking down at it, Indira commented that if she threw a ten rupee note down from the plane, it’ll make the villagers very happy. Sanjay bettered her proposal by saying that if he threw a 100 rupee note down, that will make the villagers happy. Rajiv responded by saying “If I chuck both of you down from here, that will make the villagers the happiest”!

As time passed, some prominent Opposition members were released. Shri LK Advani, Shri AB Vajpayee and Nana Deshmukh were among them. I remember, after his release, someone had gone to meet Indira (I think it was Shri Advani). He asked her about Nanaji’s and my father’s release. She said my father would be released soon, but did not commit on Nanaji’s release. In the months to come, Nanaji was released but my father was not. Perhaps an indicator of how personal her hatred for him was. By a somewhat amusing coincidence, they both shared a common birthday.

Election Day - March 1977

Ultimately, elections were announced. My mother was very active on election day. She drove several people - including elders in families not even known to us - to the polling booth and back. She also went to several neighbours' homes reminding them to vote before it closes. She had a very close friend two houses away from us, who's husband was an unwavering Congress voter (Emergency notwithstanding). As my mother was visiting other houses in the neighbourhood, she asked my sister and me to go and remind her friend to vote before polling booths close. Innocent of the reason for her not going there herself, we both went to their place. The friend's husband smiled and looked slightly surprised when we conveyed the message, possibly thinking it was nice of my mother to remind them, knowing his political affiliation.

The first to be arrested, last to be released

Election results were announced over a few days. For us kids, it was a novel and delightful experience that Hindi movies were being telecast for a few days in a row. I’m sure the unfolding political scenario - whatever little we understood of it - added to the delight.

Indira’s government’s defeat was announced and only then was my father released. He reached home at night, driven back in our car. My mother and a few neighbours went to Rohtak to bring him back home. I think one neighbour had volunteered to drive. A very large number of people visited us that night to meet him and congratulate both my parents on the release.

Next morning, somewhat quietly and awkwardly, I mentioned to other kids at my bus stop that my father too had been released. At last it had happened!

Decades later, when my father used to live in Pondicherry, a close friend of the Nehru-Gandhi family (who was given a very high profile post when United Progressive Alliance came to power in 2004) visited him. During their hours-long chat my father asked him what had made Indira finally lift the Emergency. This person’s insight was that every major democracy in the world had strongly objected to her Emergency. Indira was not welcome in many countries. If she did visit, hostility was maintained with the host government not going beyond the compulsory protocol extended to a Head of State. He also mentioned that the jailing of Gayatri Devi of the royal family of Jaipur had infuriated the British royal family since they were close friends of the royal family of Jaipur. At one point, Indira succumbed to international pressure.

We must never forget the Emergency

I was ten when my father was released. During that 21 month period and for many years subsequently, I didn’t realise the horrors the Emergency had unleashed. Four decades on, the memory of the darkest period in independent India’s history is faint or non-existent for much of the country’s younger population. But all those journalists who have chosen to write or speak against the Emergency during its 20^th, 25^th, 30^th and 40^th anniversaries are doing good service to the country by reminding us of unprecedented abuse of power.

Every political party or alliance coming to power is supposed to primarily serve the country/state, not become some monster that abuses national institutions, controls media and suspends fundamental rights, all with the primary objective of retaining power. We should not forget those dark days when people with conscience and courage to speak were arrested, supposedly to maintain internal security. We need also to remind ourselves that the party that unleashed the Emergency continues to be unrepentant, and has shown traits of similar control each time it has been in power (or even out of it).