Last fortnight, the country observed Gandhiji's martyrdom day. What, I wonder, would he (Gandhi) be thinking about the independent India which he so steadfastly worked for, and which now enters the 50th year of its Independence? No doubt there were weighty reminders about his views, his beliefs, his faith, his relevance too. And in that ruminant mood, as I reflected on which particular aspect of his personality I ought to focus upon, the thought that kept recurring was about courteousness in every facet of his behaviour; particularly to the British who were unarguably the principal political adversaries, indeed only against whose imperial regime Gandhi's plank of Civil Disobedience was structured. But that platform of political activism, which had ingredients of non-violence, 'satyagraha' and so much else, has been so extensively written about. But nothing on a relatively unknown yet pervasive and necessary aspect of his life "" his correspondence.
In this respect, coincidentally, there was a controversy recently over the auction of some of Gandhiji's correspondence. This acted as a catalyst to the thought process. He was a prolific writer, answering personally, almost every letter that he received. And his mail was voluminous; to all of it he replied, writing on anything. He saved scraps of paper, replied on backs of envelopes, postcards etc, but reply he did. This was a staggering industry, and whilst shaming to the slothful like us, it also exhibited exemplary courtesy. I do not know about others, but on an average I receive around 100 items daily by post. Some, of course do not even merit a reply (so at least I reason) because they are complimentary copies of newspapers, magazines etc; a few are anonymous, therefore, ditto treatment. I admit, unhesitatingly (also somewhat shamefacedly), to not always being punctilious in my correspondence. The sheer volume of it defeats me. Of course, I am not able to follow the courtesy of replying hand-written
letters correspondingly. This is because demands on time in today's world are so onerous (and human flesh being what it is) a recourse to secretarial help, through dictation, typing etc. has to be taken. At least that is how I reason out with myself. But that is also why I so marvel at the extraordinary courtesy and labour that that great man put into his correspondence: succinct, elegantly phrased, full of condensed wisdom, Gandhiji's spidery hand covered many pages and myriad topics. From where was this industry and this courtesy born ?
Recently I came across two other examples of similar attitude: the Duke of Wellington and Thomas Jefferson: these two, however busy, treated correspondence even with perfect strangers with great courtesy and efficiency. The Duke of Wellington is believed to have received letters from tens of thousands covering all kinds of issues. His replies may not have been lengthy, and tended occasionally to also being terse, but were never rude. There is a delightful sample that I must quote: a junior officer, who had got in a tangle with a woman asked him for some advice. The Duke replied: Dear Sir, You are in a devilish awkward predicament, and must get out of it as best as you can. Yours etc, Wellington.
Like Gandhiji, Thomas Jefferson too never threw away any paper. And typically, just like Gandhi again, he too was a meticulous filer, list-maker and accounts keeper. Even though entitled to leisure, as I read recently, Jefferson insisted that his first duty was to attend to the claims of the intrusive, often selfish and self-centered, paranoid, needy, self-pitying or simply pathetic people who claimed a hearing. This was civility on a truly heroic scale. I find it awe-inspiring considering how lesser mortals like your columnist behave when similarly pressed.
A selection of Jefferson's letters was published a few years back: To his Excellency Thomas Jefferson: Letters to a President (Norton, 1991). The book opens a fascinating window onto the lives of ordinary Americans at the beginning of the 19th century, as also on correspondence. Inevitably, many of those who wrote to Jefferson were critical ('you infernal villain'), or admonitory ('you must know there is a plot to murder you'), yet others were obsequious ('I think your conduct as the presiding member of our government has been eminently calculated to bring prosperity and happiness to our country'). Many sought employment ('permit an unfortunate youth to approach your presence'), or were from widows in distress ('I beg you would be so kind as to help me to a little money'), or men who had invented diving suits, window washing machines, hot water guns, dental drills or from the inventor of a wheel that runs perpedie without wind or water or steam.
If I cite these examples, it is to make but two points. First, that not all the correspondence that great men receive is about momentous issues of the day; about high matters of policy, or about events on which their opinion or advice is vital. A great deal, inevitably, is about day-to-day matters, the trivial and unworthy of being attended to by the great and the busy. And yet they did: remarkable patience, forbearance and courtesy. The other point is about a sense of humour in compiling such correspondence. Our approach is altogether too worshipful. The compilers and editors choose only the serious and the weighty ones. But Gandhiji was not a humourless ascetic; otherwise he could not have smiled as he did. Therefore, will someone please undertake to write a book about 'Gandhi and his humour'?
