Emma Tarlo Intro

Unsettling memories : narratives of Indias emergency / Emma Tarlo; New
Delhi: Permanent Black, 2003. (21-61 p.)

FORGETTING AND REMEMBERING
THE EMERGENCY
'Nothing that happens in the future can undo this past.' (John Dayal and
Ajoy Bose)
The history of Independent India can, like all history, be read as a

history of remembering and forgetting. Certain characters, moments
and events are splashed large across the canvas of public memory;
others are watered down, diminished, reduced, faded out of the picture
altogether. One such faded moment is the Emergency of 1975-7. So
much has it slipped out of public discourse that today it is remembered,
if at all, for the extent to which it has been forgotten. Yet, such forgetting
is not without significance. It has its own history. As Ashis Nandy
recently commented: 'Enormous political effort has gone into wiping
out the Emergency as a live memory.' 1
The Emergency does not lie alone in India's pool of forgotten
moments. Neither is it unique. Such moments share at least one
common factor: they do not fit comfortably into the national picture
of how things are meant to be. Hence, as Shahid Amin has demonstrated, the violence that occurred at Chauri Chaura in 1922 has
been sidelined in the 'nationalist master narrative' of the freedom
struggle which seeks to uphold an image of non-violence. 2 Similarly,
the horror that accompanied Partition in 1947-8 has been underplayed or passed off as a brief'moment of madness' because it does
not fit the 'history, of progress' as we want to see it.3 The Emergency
1
Ashis Nandy, 'Emergency Remembered', Times of India, 22 June 1995.
Amin, 1995, Event, Metaphor, Memory.
Gyanendra Pandey, 1995, 'Nation and Masculinity: Some Reflections on Gandhi

and the Partition of India', paper presented at a conference on Gandhi held at SOAS,
21
22
Forgetting and remembering the Emergency
is another violent moment. Like Chauri Chaura and Partition, it is

difficult to digest. Not only does it threaten the precarious image of
India as 'essentially non-violent'an image increasingly difficult to
sustainbut it also implicates the state as the key agent of violence.
More threatening still, the Emergency challenges the discourse of
democracy which claims an unbroken hold over India's past from the
present day right back to the attainment of Independence in 1947.
But the Emergency cannot be forgotten without leaving some casualties in the discourse of democracy, for to forget it is also to forget
what was once described as 'democracy's finest hour': the vote which
dramatically overthrew the Emergency government in March 1977.
At the time this event was projected as a historic victory, a genuine
'people's struggle' on a par with the attainment of Independence. One
British journalist even went so far as to state '22 March 1977 may be
recorded by future historians as one of the most significant dates in
the second half of the twentieth century'.4 His words read oddly now,
as if in the process of entering history, they somehow got deleted.
Recent trends in historiography teach us to take an interest in
such deleted moments. We are no longer concerned only with what
is written but also with how it is written and what has been excluded.
This creates an awareness of the processes by which certain events
become significant through the activation of memory whilst others
become insignificant through the institution of forgetting. Forgetting,
like remembering, can be public as well as private. Whilst public
memory is triggered offby collective symbols that often take on physical
form, public amnesia operates through producing absences or
substitutes; absences which serve to discourage the construction and
survival of memory, and substitutes which serve to redirect memory
along alternative routes. Public forgetting is a subtle process, not least
because we tend to forget what it is we have forgotten. And that is
when forgetting is most successfulwhen we are no longer aware
of what is absent.
The visitor who arrives in Delhi is offered a tour of the monuments
October 1995. It is only in very recent yean that attempts are being made to recover
Partition narratives and to recognise and analyse the levels of violence they contain.
See also Butalia, The Other Side of Silence and Menon and Bhasin, Borders and Boundaries.
4
Michael Henderson, 1977, Experiment with Untruth: India Under Emergency, Delhi:
Macmillan, preface.
Teen Murti Bhavan
23
of public memory. For the modern period these include Parliament

House, Rashtrapati Bhavan, India Gate and the memorials and
cremation sites of great national leaders, notably Mahatma Gandhi,
Jawaharlal Nehru, Indira Gandhi and Rajiv Gandhi. It is a tour which
traces history as it is meant to be remembered, replete with physical
markers inscribed in the landscape of the city. What is proposed
here is a guided tour of how a certain moment, the Emergency, has
been forgotten, and how its forgetting is equally imprinted in the
capital's landscape. It is a tour which takes us to places which might
have become sites for remembering the Emergency but which, in the
course of history, have become sites for forgetting it. We begin our
tour by following a bus of Indian tourists to Teen Murti Bhavan, the
residence of the Nehru family, just a short distance from Parliament
in the heart of New Delhi.
Teen Murti Bhavan
Teen Murti Bhavan is a handsome cream coloured mansion built by
Edwin Lutyens in the 1920s as part of.the new imperial capital. It is
situated in a luscious tree-filled garden, one of the few places in
contemporary Delhi where peacocks literally strut. Jawaharlal Nehru
lived here during his 16 years as India's first Prime Minister and much
time was also spent here by his daughter Indira and her sons, Rajiv
and Sanjay. Until 1948, however, it had been the official residence of
a British Commander in Chief. History has since smoothed over
these imperial edges by converting the building into a memorial
museum 'dedicated to the nation'. Walking around this gracious homecum-museum one can see Nehru's study and living rooms, frozen in
time since his death. One can also begin again at his birth and follow
his steps through a photo montage of the freedom struggle and the
founding of the Indian Republic. It seems an ironic place for tracing
memories of the Emergency, a period which most intellectuals consider
a blot on the noble Gandhi-Nehru legacy. But history has kindly
intervened on two occasions to save posthumous Nehru from exposure
to his daughter Indira's politics: once in 1971 when close associates
prevented her from fulfilling her plan to take up residence in the
mansion; and again in 1974 when the library, which used to be inside
the mansion, was transferred into a new modern building around
the corner. All of this means that when Indira Gandhi declared the
24
Emergency, she was living not in Teen Murti Bhavan, but in the nearby
residence of 1 Safdarjang Road, and when literature about the
Emergency began to surface, it was shelved, not in Jawaharlal Nehru's
home but in the modern new library next to it.
The library, moulded in sandy concrete, may lack the historic grace
of the mansion, but it serves our purpose well as a repository of the
past. Whilst the tourists continue to follow the arrows of public memory
in Teen Murti House, we shall make a brief detour in search of things
once remembered but since forgotten, for it is only through reviving
memories that we can comprehend what their forgetting is about.
Rummaging through the shelves marked 'Constitution', it is possible
to trace die duration of the Emergency both as an experience and as
a written memory. The books, though jumbled together, slip easily
into two categories: those which welcome the Emergency, generally
published between 1975-6, and those which deride it, generally
published between 1977-8. The overlap is minimal since censorship
had prevented people from openly criticising the Emergency at the
time, whilst simultaneously pushing criticism underground from which
it re-surfaced after the event. What we have, then, are two alternative
narratives, each with its own vision; one which projects the Emergency
as a step into a brighter future; the other which remembers it as a
bleak and shameful past. Each narrative creates its own time-scale,
re-arranging past and present to suit its future, yet neither dominates
for more than 21 months. These are phantom futures and ghostly
pasts. By 1979 they are already subsiding. By 1980 their demise is
marked by the absence of new additions that year to the Emergency
shelf.5
Stepping into the future: the official narrative of the Emergency
'I am sure you are all conscious of the deep and widespread conspiracy,
which has been brewing ever since I began to introduce certain
progressive measures of benefit to the common man and woman of
India,' Indira Gandhi announced in her first Emergency broadcast
The official narrative of the Emergency
on 26 June 1975. 'Certain persons have gone to the length of inciting

our armed forces to mutiny and our police to rebel...How can any
Government worth its name stand by and allow the country's stability
to be imperilled? The actions of the few are endangering the rights of
the vast majority.'6
'We were not happy to declare Emergency,' she announced some
six weeks later in her Republic Day speech, 'but we had to under the
compulsion of circumstances...Stringent measures were taken just
as bitter pills have to be administered to a patient in the interest of his
health...No one can prevent India marching ahead.'7 These were
themes she was to repeat throughout the Emergency; that temporary
hardships were necessary in order for India to speed up the march
of progress. They were themes splashed across the newspaper headlines
and posted onto billboards and stickers throughout the city:
THE NATION IS ON THE MOVE!
EMERGENCY USHERS IN ERA OF DISCIPLINE!
MARCHING TO A BETTER TOMORROW!
EMERGENCY FOR A STRONGER MORE PROSPEROUS FUTURE!
Integral to this vision of the future was the notion that democracy
had been derailed and that the country was spiralling towards
unprecedented disaster. Jayaprakash Narayan was identified as the
chief conspirator intent on provoking full scale rebellion and
encouraging 'anti-Congress parties' to obstruct not only economic
development, but all normal functioning of the administration and
economy. They were inciting people not to work, encouraging the
non-payment of taxes, preventing farmers from selling their produce
to the government, encouraging mass strikes and rousing children
and students to violence. They had created 'the kind of climate' in
which it was impossible for any nation to survive, let alone prosper.8
The Emergency was therefore a constitutional necessity. It gave the
Prime Minister the much needed right to deal harshly with disruptive
elements and to set the nation back on the path to progress at an
6
Occasional books on the Emergency trickled into the library in the 1980s such
as Voices of Emergency, Bombay: Popular Prakashan, a collection of resistance poems
edited by J.O. Perry which did not come out until 1983 owing to the difficulties
that had been involved in collecting poems from across the country.
25
Broadcast on radio, 26 June 1975, included in Indira Gandhi, 1984, Selected

Speeches and Writings (SSWIG), vol. Ill, 1972-1977, Delhi: Ministry of Information
and Broadcasting; pp. 177-8.
7
Speech from Red Fort, 15 August 1975, SSWIG, pp. 200-1.
interview, 3July 1975, SSWIG, p. 180.
26
accelerated rate. 'Whatever we are doing is pro-India, it is pro-Indian

people, it is pro-the direction of the future of India,' she told the Lok
Sabha (Lower House of Parliament).9
By portraying the recent past as a descent into catastrophe, Indira
Gandhi not only justified 'stringent measures' but also proclaimed them
as a duty: 'It is incumbent on a democratic regime to remove obstacles
and impediments...for social, political and economic progress.'10 The
arrest and detention of opposition leaders, social activists, journalists,
students and academics 'were necessary' for the preservation of
democracy. So too was the banning of certain organisations and groups
'wedded to terror and murder'. Similarly press censorship had become
'a necessity'. 'I am not happy that we had to impose regulations on
newspapers,' she told M. Shamim in an interview, 'but some journals
had shed all objectivity and independence and allied themselves totally
with the opposition front and did anything to spread doom and
defeatism.'11 For some time they had 'deliberately distorted news',
'made provocative comments', 'hurled allegations' all of which had
to be stopped in order 'to restore a climate of trust'.12 As for foreign
journalists, they had long enjoyed maligning India and spreading vicious
rumours so their trumped up criticisms were not to be heeded.
Slogans in the streets of Delhi reiterated these messages:
GRAVE MISCHIEF HAS BEEN DONE BY IRRESPONSIBLE WRITING!
SILENCE IS GOLDEN!
Conditions restored to 'normalcy', Indira Gandhi was then able to

'GET ON WITH THE JOB OF NATION BUILDING!' by introducing a new 20point economic programme aimed at hoisting the country forward.
'The Emergency provides us with a new opportunity to go ahead
with our economic tasks,' a government pamphlet announced. Plans
were oriented towards improving the social and economic conditions
of the poor. They included lowering the price of essential commodities,
providing land-sites for the landless and weaker sections, banning
barbarous customs like bonded labour, reviewing agricultural minimum
wages, expanding irrigation, accelerating power schemes, developing
'Speech in Lok Sabha, 22 July 1975, SSWIG, p. 187.
'"interview with Indira Gandhi in Souvenir on Emergency and SocialJustice, 1975,
Delhi: Council of National Affairs.

"Interview, 3July 1975, SSWIG, p. 181.
12
Broadcast on radio, 27 June 1975, SSWIG, p. 179.
27
the handloom sector, implementing agricultural ceilings and liquidating

rural indebtedness. They also included income tax relief for the middle
classes, control of prices for books and stationery, and harsh measures
intended to tackle tax evasion, smuggling and various types of 'economic
crime'. The overriding message was that through hard work and mass
co-ordination, India could enter a new and successful era of socialism.
THE ONLY MAGIC TO REMOVE POVERTY IS HARD WORK!
YOU TOO HAVE A ROLE IN THE EMERGENCY!
WORK HARD! PRODUCE MORE! MAINTAIN DISCIPLINE!
While slogans, stickers and newspaper headlines codified the basic

message into succinct and memorable phrases, government pamphlets
with titles like Timely Steps and Preserving our Democratic Structure spread
the word. Meanwhile books and seminar proceedings lent the weight
of academic approval with titles like: Freedom is not Free (1975), Era
of Discipline (1976), Thank you, Mrs Gandhi (1977) and Emergency: Its
Needs and Gains (1976). Such books, along with newspaper and
magazine reports of the time, should be read, not as witnesses of the
past but as mouthpieces of the dominant narrative of the then present.
Take for example the commemorative booklet Souvenir on Emergency
and SocialJustice, 'presented to the great leader of masses, Indira Gandhi'
on her 58th birthday (19 November 1975). Here the Prime Minister's
words are echoed in the praise of successive chief ministers and
important dignitaries who proclaim the Emergency 'a necessary
measure', a 'good opportunity for the poor', 'a wise and timely action'.
Meanwhile Indira herself is admired for her dynamic leadership, her
pursuit of truth and her dedication to the nation for which she
will never be forgotten. 'The coming generation will feel extremely
proud of the name of Indira Gandhi. They will worship her as [the]
personification of Sita, Laxmi and Durga [Hindu goddesses]. Long
live Indira Ji,' predicts an enthusiastic Virendra Khanna, General
Secretary, Council of National Affairs.
By 1976 the 20-point national economic programme had been
joined by an equajly promising five-point programme, to be implemented by the Youth Congress under the 'dynamic leadership' of the
Prime Minister's youngest son, Sanjay Gandhi. So apposite was this
smaller programme that Indira Gandhi even suggested that the 20point programme could do with borrowing some extra points from it!
Some, in their enthusiasm, began to refer to 'the 25-point programme'.
28
Sanjay's points were short and pithy: Each One Teach Oneto achieve
complete literacy; Family Planningfor a prosperous future; Plant
Treesfor ecological balance; Abolish Dowryto end a social evil;
Eradicate Casteismto destroy social prejudice.
The speed with which Sanjay Gandhi was rising to prominence
was heralded as 'a symbol of the new emerging youth power', made
possible through the favourable conditions brought on by the
Emergency. It was in the enthusiasm and actions of this newly roused
Indian youth that the country's future lay. 'Significantly and happily',
wrote the journalist of a reputable fortnightly magazine, 'Sanjay Gandhi
today has leapt out of the wings...and raced to the centre of the
Indian political theatre. He has won this prize race within a span of
12 months, or even less...He is ensconced today in a position of
political leadership which comes naturally to him. He is in the keyslot of authority: both political and organisational.'13 This magnificent
leap to power at the age of only twenty-nine, and without any previous
political experience, showed his extraordinary energy, his 'hard-asnails approach' and his 'accurate perception' of India's urgent problems.
Like his mother he seemed to magnetise the crowds through his
projection of a better future: 'As a catalyst he is a vital and necessary
political bromide to organise Indian youth. Appropriately large numbers
of Indian young men and women have increasingly gravitated towards
Sanjay Gandhi. They have all gravitated for a reason. And they will
remain with him for a reason.'14
In Delhi Sanjay's praises were sung for two main 'reasons'. His
close involvement with the Delhi Development Authority (DDA),
and his personal dedication to beautification of the city, had resulted
in the planting of thousands of trees and resettlement of thousands
of squatters who had previously lived in miserable and wretched
slum conditions. Such slums could no longer be tolerated with callous
indifference. Demolition and resettlement were the prerequisites for
development, and Sanjay Gandhi was visibly at their forefront. But
most importantly of all, Sanjay Gandhi was praised for his deep
commitment to family planning. At the 'Hum Do Hamare Do' (We
are two, so let's have two) Family Planning seminar in August 1976, he
was acknowledged as one of the driving forces behind the new priority
13
'Sanjay Gandhi: A Driving Force', India Today, 1-15 Sept., 1976, p. 20.
Ibid.
14
29
given to this urgent economic problem. The conference pamphlet

contains Sanjay's photograph on the frontispiece, along with those
of the President and the Prime Minister. The cover of the pamphlet,
typical of government publications of the time, portrays a panorama
of the vast, uncontrollable Indian 'masses'. Inside we are confronted
by the horrifying urgency of the population explosion, as the chief
ministers of various states compete with alarmist statistics. 'Every 19th
second a child is born in West Bengal, every minute, 3 new born
babies, every hour, 180 new born babies and by the time you leave
the conference todaytoday we shall be spending two hourswe
shall have 360 new born babies in West Bengal...Can you see how
dangerous the problem is?' There was unanimity that vasectomy was
the most efficient means of tackling the terrifying birth rate which
would lead India to ever more grinding poverty if not forestalled.
Vasectomy camps were already spreading throughout the country,
and incentives in the form of cash, ghee and electrical equipment
were offered as appropriate. Sterilisation was heralded as the means
by which every Indian, rich or poor, could contribute to a better and
more prosperous future.
The dominant narrative of the Emergency was bold and unmistakable.
It flowed not only from the mouths of Indira Gandhi and her son,
but also from the mouths of politicians, bureaucrats, officials and
journalists. In Delhi, it was quite literally plastered in the streets in
hoardings, stickers and bold slogans painted on the back of rickshaws
and buses. By controlling population growth, increasing production,
boosting agriculture, encouraging industry, abolishing socially
backward customs, clearing slums and rooting out corruption, India
could achieve new levels of greatness. Modernity was the goal and
the Emergency was the means to attain it. It provided India with
the discipline she so desperately needed. But, despite the clarity of
this message, certain people deliberately chose to 'misunderstand' it.
They went about spreading rumours of 'forcible sterilisations' and
of people 'crushed to death under bulldozers'. They delighted in
exaggerating the^occasional mishap and spreading fear amongst the
people who were basically in favour of the Emergency.
By the end of 1976, the dominant narrative had become increasingly
defensive. It was losing its hold. Despite censorship and imprisonments,
voices of dissent were beginning to surface which could no longer
be glossed over as the discourse of the traitor. Previously reduced to
30
the hushed tones of underground literature, the muted criticisms of

the few Indian newspapers with editors brave enough to risk their
careers15 and the blatant but distant rumblings of the foreign press,16
these voices of dissent were getting both louder and closer. By early
1977, they seemed to be emanating not just from subversive activists,
many of whom were in prison, but from the ordinary citizens, from
the very crowds who had previously cheered so loudly, not least because
they had often been paid to do so. Attempts were made to adjust the
dominant narrative to suit the apparent change of atmosphere. A
halt was called on family planning activities and prominent individuals
began to alter their tone. Bansi Lai, the Defence Minister, made a
public apology to the people of Haryana, promising, 'no more
sterilisation'. Increasingly ministers began to speak of'overenthusiastic
officials' getting carried away. Indira Gandhi decided to calm fears
of a permanent dictatorship by relaxing censorship and announcing
a general election in January 1977, but the tide had already turned.
At her first election rally on 1 March 1977, her speech was shaky. It
began with references to 'reactionaries and vested interests' bent on
attacking her, but continued with an admission that certain 'excesses'
had been done, not only by officials, but also by politicians.17 Her
words were drowned out by a disgruntled crowd. During the election
campaign that followed, counter arguments gathered strength in the
merging of the opposition forces under the Janata Party. These forces
were speaking a new discourse of vengeance.
The election results were announced on 22 March 1977. They
15
During the Emergency the two national newspapers which most successfully
withstood censorship restrictions were the Indian Express and the Statesman whose
editors, VK. Narasimhan and O R . Irani respectively, retained their commitment to
the idea of a free press.
16
Foreign newspapers played an important role in publishing critical material
about the Emergency, much of which fed back to India through underground channels.
Foreign correspondents were at first expected to submit drafts of their articles for
inspection by official censors. Later they were permitted to censor their own dispatches
according to official guidelines. Peter Hazelhurst (The Times), Mark Tully {BBC},
Lewis Simpson (Washington Post) and LorensJenkins (Newsweek) were amongst those
foreign correspondents who were expelled from India for their controversial reporting.
17
Since the main source of Indira Gandhi's speeches is a 'selected' rather than a
'collected' works (SSWIQ, it contains very few of the speeches she made during
the Emergency. This means that we are obliged to rely on the reports of journalists
and writers for their content.
31
recorded a massive Janata victory. Indira Gandhi revoked the Emergency the following day. Her march into the future had been abruptly
halted. It was time for a new narrative to assert its dominance.
Anatomising the past: the post-Emergency counter narrative
'On 25 June 1975, Indian democracy was put to death'so reads the
cover of B.M. Sinha's Operation Emergency, a slim paperback completed
only 10 weeks after the March elections. The book purports to be
'an uncensored sweeping narrative of the terror, oppression and
resistance during those dark days'. The words are sprawled dramatically
in black and yellow on a white background. In the right-hand corner
a blood-red splash contains the words 'Topical Hard Hitting Political
Best-seller'. On the back cover is a potted history of the Emergency
experience, printed dramatically in heavy black ink:
POLITICAL LEADERS AND WORKERS, INTELLECTUALS AND JOURNALISTS NABBED

IN MIDNIGHT SWOOP, AND JAILED
PRESS GAGGED, AND EMASCULATED
PRISONERS SUBJECTED TO TORTURE AND. UNHEARD OF BRUTALITY
HOUSES AND BAZAARS BULLDOZED INTO RUBBLE
MEN AND WOMEN DRIVEN LIKE CATTLE INTO FP [FAMILY PLANNING] CAMPS
THE 'CAUCUS' STRIKING TERROR, UNHINDERED BY THE LAW
SYCOPHANTS AND HANGERS-ON CALLING THE TUNE
We have entered a new body of literature, enthused with outrage and

the desire to expose. As if to compensate for the burden of censorship
during the Emergency, this new literature seems to have virtually
flooded the market in the years 19778. Whether in the form of
prison memoir, official judgement, resistance literature or political
expose, this new literature is concerned primarily with remembering
the Emergency in such a way that it can not and will not be forgotten.
'Because we tend to forget,' writes Rajmohan Gandhi in his foreword
to Michael Henderson's Experiment with Untruth, 'we must be reminded
of what it was like to miss the air of liberty.'
This elevation'of memory to the status of a national imperative
had the effect of cancelling out Indira Gandhi's presentation of the
Emergency as a transitory phase designed to usher in a new future
a tough means to a more glorious end. The new post-Emergency
narrative spins the focus back in time. We are no longer concerned with
the projected ends but with the actual means. In the new atmosphere
32
The post-Emergency counter narrative
of political post-mortem, the 'bitter pills' which Indira Gandhi had

administered as 'a cure' are now identified as a form of poison. The
new prerogative is to track the progress of that poison as it seeped into
the veins and arteries of the nation, thereby infecting the entire system.
Unlike the official Emergency narrative, the new master narrative
cannot be traced back to a primary source. Rather, it is multi-vocal
and has been cobbled together from a mixture of personal experiences, underground literature, prison memoirs, public hearings and
newly uncovered government documents. Above all, it is part of a
vast collective exercise in memory with a view to judgement. This is
not to argue that the elements of such a narrative had not existed
earlier. Voices of dissent had of course been present throughout the
Emergency, but political conditions had rendered them fragmented
and dispersed. Arrests, censorship and the climate of fear had not only
prevented the circulation of alternative views, but had also cultivated
a series of blanks which had worked against the formation of a single
coherent narrative. It was only after the Emergency, when the fear
of repercussions had been lifted and new information uncovered, that
such a narrative could be established and elevated to a position of
dominance.
After the nightmarish experience of nineteen months of terrifying darkness,
the nation awoke to the clear bright sunshine of a new day...The dawning
of this new day brought to light the gory sequence of that night...And those
who were the perpetrators of the horror, those whose hands shaped the
pattern of events, will not be let off lightlyJustice will take its toll!18
One strand of this new master narrative lay in recovering fragments
of dissent originally expressed during the Emergency under what
were then conditions of danger and adversity. The Smugglers of Truth,
for example is a selection of articles and drawings taken from Satyavani,
an underground paper that was published in London and New York
during the Emergency. It contains the writings of foreign journalists
and resistors whose controversial words and opinions had been
'smuggled' in a two-directional process both in and out of India. 'It is
a selection of what people in India could not read at the time.' Although
the articles it contains were originally written during the Emergency,
the volume itself belongs to the post-Emergency era and is part of the
collective exercise of asserting a dominant interpretation of the recent
past. So too is Voices of Emergency, an anthology of resistance poems.
Its retrospective quality is highlighted by the fact that some of its
poems turn out not to have been written during the Emergency at
all!19 A recurring theme throughout the volume is people's inability
to speak out against the Emergency which imposed an eerie silence
just as it imposed an all-engulfing darkness. Jimmy Avasia's short poem
'Emerging' expresses in a few words what others say in many:
One day we woke,
Free to do as they wanted.
Ideals collapsed in smoke.
Nobody spoke.
On the way to an answer
they selected a truth
but all suggestion of question
died en route.
A volume of the intellectual journal Seminar is quite literally the

publication of critical voices that were silenced until the final phase
of the Emergency.20 But here the silence signifies resistance rather
than compliance. The editor of the review, Romesh Thapar, had
originally prepared the volume in 1976 but, refusing to submit to
censorship restrictions, withdrew the manuscript from publication.
His decision to publish it six months later, when Emergency restrictions
had been lightened, makes it part of the retrospective exercise of
remembering the past.
There are three principal overlapping genres of this post-Emergency
discourse: the political expose aimed at making visible what was
previously hidden; the prison memoir providing the intimate account
of personal experience,21 and the public judgement aimed at
19
The journalist, Dhiren Bhagat, later criticised the validity of some of these so
called 'resistance poems'. Having found one of his own adolescent ramblings in the
collection, he was well-placed for making such a criticism, especially since his own
poem had been written long before the Emergency. (See Dhiren Bhagat, 1990, The
Contemporary Conservative: Selected Writings, Delhi: Viking.)
20
18
N.D. Rawla and R.K. Mudgal, 1977, All the Prime Minister's Men, Delhi: Pankaj,
preface.
33
Seminar, 210, February 1977.

This book is concerned less with the prison experiences of the literate than
with the unwritten narratives of the urban poor. Those interested in prison memoirs
21
35
interrogation of the guilty. Barely two weeks after the Janata victory,
the Home Minister, Chaudhuri Charan Singh had asserted that justice
must be done 'by bringing to book all those guilty of excesses,
malpractices and misdeeds during the Emergency from the highest
down to the lowest functionary of the Government'. On the basis
of this statement special commissions were established to bring the
past under the microscope of the law. The most famous judgement
was that of the Shah Commission, which opened its enquiry on 30
September 1977. It received as many as 48,000 allegations of abuses
which it whittled down to 2,000 cases for investigation. The scale
and scope of the commission was compared with that of the famous
Nuremberg trials. But long before it had published its slow and
ponderous conclusions, the framework of the new master narrative
had already been established in books with dramatic titles like An
The declaration of Emergency features both as a moment of

revelationthe time when Indira Gandhi's real intentions become
apparentand as a descent into utter darkness. 'We were caught
unawares in this unexpected treachery undermining all our constitutional provisions, parliamentary practices and public institutions,'
recalls P.G. Mavalankar, a member of the Lok Sabha. Others, like the
journalist V.K. Narasimhan refer to the Emergency as 'the long dark
night' when 'free people lost their basic liberties and were subjected
to a regime of terror and suppression they had not known even under
the British'. What is unanimous in all of these accounts is the view
that Indira Gandhi declared the Emergency in order to stamp out
opposition voices which she could no longer control by democratic
means. The arrest and detention of thousands of men and women
conveniently classified as 'conspirators' provides indication of her
sinister intentions. So too does the sudden termination of the electricity supply to major newspapers for a period of three nights
thereby enabling her to prevent adverse publicity in the short term
and install press censorship for the long term. The Emergency therefore features as a device through which Indira Gandhi obtains access
to the basic tools of dictatorship: the ability to ban all meetings, processions and agitations that did not work in her favour; the ability to
arrest and detain people without trial and the ability to gag the press
and to use it as an agent of personal propaganda. It therefore represents
a complete subversion of democracy.
The 20-point economic programme, which features prominently
in the official Emergency narrative, becomes a minor detail in the
post-Emergency expose. The programme is dismissed as old plans
dressed up in new populist discourse. Socialist talk about 'helping the
weaker sections' and 'going to the masses' is interpreted as mere rhetoric
whilst the fact that food prices dipped in 1976 is explained by the
heavy rains which had resulted in a successful harvest. But none of
this, we are told, could deceive the masses into thinking that the
Emergency worked in their favour. 'People were, no doubt, terrorised
but certainly their thoughts could not be checked,' Sinha suggests.
'They were aware [even before the Emergency] that the Government
was slowly turning them into slaves by promising them the bread of
plenty. The 20-point programme was another attempt to fool them
into believing that long-awaited millennium had come. This resulted
in hate for her and her coterie. How could they accept somebody as
34
Eye to India: The Unmasking of Tyranny (1977), Black Wednesday (1977),

Nineteen Fateful Months (1978), What Price Perjury? (1978), Democracy
Redeemed (1977) and Experiment with Untruth (1977). Such books
may sit together with Emergency publications on the library shelves,

but the story they tell is a very different one.
Like the official narrative, the new narrative takes us back to the
period immediately before the Emergency. But this time Indira Gandhi
is portrayed as a corrupt and tyrannical leader trying to assert her
already fading power, whilst Jayaprakash Narayan (popularly known
as JP) is described as the noble and ageing people's hero, encouraging
the masses to assert their discontent through non-violent protest in
the Gandhian style. Justice had seemed destined to prevail when on
12 June 1975 the Allahabad High Court had found Indira Gandhi
guilty of corrupt election practices and debarred her from office for
a period of six years. The crowds had been expectant as J.P. Narayan
and opposition leaders had demanded the Prime Minister's resignation,
but their hopes had been shattered by an unforeseen event. Obsessed
by power, and egged on by her ruthless son, Indira Gandhi had chosen
not resignation, but dictatorship.
of the Emergency should consult the following: Jayaprakash Narayan, 1977, Prison
Diary, New Delhi: Popular Prakashan; Lai K. Advani, 1978, A Prisoner's Scrap-Book,
New Delhi: Arnold-Heinemann; Kuldip Nayar, 1978, In Jail, New Delhi; Vikas;
Primila Lewis, 1978, Reason Wounded, New Delhi: Vikas; and Mary Tyler, 1978, My
Years in an Indian Prison, London: Penguin.
their leader who had thrown to the winds all ideals of truth and
justice, and on false ground claimed to be the most virtuous person in
the world?'
As it unfolds, the new narrative becomes like a play, endlessly
repeated with minor variants but with the basic roles well defined.
Indira Gandhi is the new 'Hider' otherwise known as the 'Durga of
Delhi'.22 Dominated by an oedipal passion for her own son, she is
seen to support his rise to power despite his well-known history of
failure and corruption. The fact that Sanjay dictates orders without
holding any official position is an indication not only of his ruthlessness,
but also of the insatiable greed of the politicians and officials who
surround him. They feature in the play as an ever-flattering chorus of
sycophants, singing the praises of the powerful with unholy gusto.
Not much better are the journalists and editors who readily bow
down to press censorship, crawling when only asked to kneel.23 Last,
but by no means least, petty officials and bureaucrats populate the
stage like small but lethal spiders, building the bureaucratic web with
which to ensnare the populace.
The role of intellectuals in this tragi-comedy is more ambiguous.
Though some are perceived as being guilty of complicity, many feature
as the emotional sufferers of the Emergency; the men and women
burning with indignation but unable to speak out either because
they are already in jail or else because they fear arrest. 'For India at that
point was a country where mail was opened, phones tapped, movements
watched, and dissenting views punished with imprisonment without
trial.' Thus wrote Michael Henderson, a foreign journalist who had
tried to publish a critique of what was happening during the
Emergency itself, but had been unable to find a foreign publisher
willing to accept the manuscript for fear of the damage it might do
to their commercial links with India. When, after the Emergency,
such critiques became hot commodities, Henderson's newly expanded
manuscript joined the growing body of post-Emergency exposes.
The new narrative also features victims and resisters, the bulk of
whom are poor and illiterate. Indeed speculation even arose as to
whether Sanjay Gandhi's resettlement and family planning measures

were not part of a systematic plot to obliterate the poor. 'Was Sanjay
trying to wipe out the harijans and the tribals and the poor through
vasectomy?' asks Raj Thapar in an article in Seminar, concluding that
he was. Writing in more sociological bent, Anirudha Gupta declares,
'It was the poor, the illiterate and the depressed who suffered the
most. The richeither because they had the money or the influence
mostly escaped.' 24 Just what the poor suffered is made explicit in
the numerous accounts of how, in the effort to fill sterilisation targets,
chief ministers and others anxious to please Sanjay Gandhi instilled
terror by imposing forcible sterilisation. 'People were rounded up at
random, from the streets, the tea shop, and the bazaars, and taken to
the family planning camps to be sterilised. No distinction whatsoever
was made between old men and young boys, between married and
unmarried menthe forced sterilisation just went on and on!'25
Many books feature an assortment of nightmarish incidents of death
by sterilisation. In the northern states of Uttar Pradesh and Haryana,
located in the so called 'vasectomy belt', there were tales of entire
populations of village men hiding in the fields to escape police raids
in the night. There were also instances of police firings and innocent
protesters killed. Most post-Emergency writers identify the fear
and fury over sterilisation as being the primary cause of resistance
to the Emergency. 'Please do not think I am exaggerating,' an old
Congressman is reported to have told a journalist during the 1977
election'campaign, 'but these damned vasectomies have become
something like the greased cartridge of 1857.'26
In the Delhi version of the post-Emergency narrative, the poor
suffer a form of double victimisation. Not only are they sterilised, but
they also lose their homes in the massive slum clearance project directed
by Sanjay Gandhi in the name of resettlement. David Selbourne's
eye-witness account, published during the Emergency, and republished
after it, sets the scene: 'In clouds of dust, and with children weeping
beside their smashed and bulldozed hovels, as I saw myself, trucks
36
24
22
Durga, the powerful and vengeful goddess renowned for having slain the
buffalo-demon, Mahishasura.
23
A phrase used by Lai Krishna Advani and much-quoted in the post-Emergency
literature.
37
Anirudha Gupta, 1977, Revolution through Ballot, Delhi: Ankur, p. 85.

N.D. Rawla and R.K. Mudgal, 1977, All the Prime Minister's Men.
26
Gupta, 1977, Revolution through Ballot, p. 83. This is a reference to the famous
Indian Rebellion of 1857 which is said to have been sparked off by the rumour that
cow's fat was used to grease the cartridges used by Indian sepoys.
25
38
39
now drive the displaced away and dump them without food, sanitation,
water or building materials for "resettlement" in the name of a new
politics of "discipline" and "development".' Writing in more controlled
language, the Shah Commission concludes: 'The manner in which
demolitions were carried out in Delhi during the Emergency is an
unrelieved story of illegality, callousness and of sickening sycophancy
by the senior officers to play to the whims of Sanjay Gandhi.' Within
a mere 21 months an estimated 700,000 people were displaced from
slums and commercial properties, including large areas of the Old
City. And it is here, in one of the ancient Muslim strongholds known
as Turkman Gate, that Delhi's counter-Emergency narrative reaches
its climax as the dual forces of sterilisation and demolition unite.
'Turkman Gate is where it came to grief/ chronicles Henderson. 'People
speak the words now in the way that they spoke of Jallianwala Bagh
after General Dyer's massacre in 1919.'27
What exactly happened at Turkman Gate on 19 April 1976 remains open to speculation as each playwright revises the script. But
the overall theme is clear: local resistance to family planning and demolitions precipitated a brutal massacre of innocent citizens. Some litter
the stage with as many as 1,200 corpses; others are more restrained.
The version we shall follow here is that of John Dayal and Ajoy Bose28
who, after conducting 'two months of tough and continuous investigation' put the death toll at 12. Their tale winds its way between two
nearby localities of the Old City: Turkman Gate on AsafAli Road and
Dujana House near the Jama Masjid. It begins in mid-April with the
inauguration of a family planning clinic in the Muslim-dominated
area ofDujana House. The clinic is run by a glamorous socialite turned
'social worker' whose name is Ruksana Sultana to some, and rundi
(whore) to others. She is Muslim herself and goes about trying to
persuade Muslim women of the area to get their husbands sterilised.
As the week progresses, the people of the area watch in horror as
beggars are rounded up in the streets and bundled into a basement
clinic, from which some, never emerge. The story advances to Turkman
Gate, only a mile away, where demolition squads show no sign of
leaving the area and residents begin to realise that their homes may be
next on the list for devastation. Some try to enlist the help of Ruksana
Sultana, knowing her influence with Sanjay Gandhi, but she is only
willing to support their case if they set up a family planning clinic at
Turkman Gate and supply her with 300 sterilisation cases within a
week. As fears spread a delegation of local residents try to approach
Jagmohan, then Vice-chairman of the DDA (Delhi Development
Authority), asking amongst other things, if the Turkman Gate people
might be resettled together in a single colony known as 'Welcome' or
the nearby colony of New Seelampur in east Delhi. Jagmohan is
angered by the idea of displaced Muslims building up their strength
by huddling together in particular locations. He is said to have replied,
'Do you think we are mad to destroy one Pakistan to create another
Pakistan?'
The tension is mounting. At Dujana House the knives are out; at
Turkman Gate, the bulldozers are preparing to roll. Women ofDujana
House begin to protest. A burqa-chd (veiled) woman lies on the road,
blocking a van full of sterilisation victims who have been collected
randomly off the streets. The police try to intervene and end up arresting
one man. The crowd raises a protest and a general strike is called
throughout the area including Turkman Gate. When Ruksana Sultana
next arrives at Dujana House, she is besieged by furious local women
but manages to escape. 'It was around this time,' report Dayal and
Bose, that the message from Turkman Gate was flashed to Dujana
House. 'They are massacring us here at Turkman Gate. Come and
help us if you can.'
27
Henderson, 1977, Experiment, p. 59. In 1919 General Dyer ordered troops to

fire on a crowd of protesters gathered at Jallianwala Bagh in Amritsar. This resulted
in the death of 379 unarmed civilians and the wounding of over 1,000 others. This
event became a major rallying-point around which many Indians united in the freedom
struggle.
28
J. Dayal and A. Bose, 1977, For Reasons of State, Delhi Under Emergency, Delhi:
Ess Ess Publications, pp. 35-65.
The message took the family planning camp right out of the mind of the
people of the Jama Masjid. Men, women and children ran through the lanes
and by-lanes towards Turkman Gate. The people of Turkman Gate were
their relatives and friends. If they were being attacked, that was where they
would fight the police...The two parallel dramas of Turkman Gate and
Dujana House had at last converged.
So the scene is set for the ensuing onslaught. At its centre are women
and children squatting on the road in the hot April sun, trying to
protect their homes from demolition. Facing them are demolition
squads; men wielding pickaxes and backed by bulldozers. Close by
40
the Central Reserve Police Force (CRPF) is standing guard, arms in

hand and ready for use. Violence finally erupts when some women
and children get up to pray. Seeing the sudden movement, the chief
of the Nehru brigade incites his men to prevent the crowd from
throwing stones. This they do by throwing stones themselves only to
be met with fierce retaliation. What follows is a stiff police crackdown,
first with sticks and then with a teargas shell which lands in the midst
of the women and children. 'An eerie scream went up amongst them.
It was not a cry of fear. It was a battle cry.' Someone, nobody quite
knows who, incites the police to fire and a bloody conflict follows.
Some flee into the Faiz-e-Elahi Mosque only to find themselves gassed
out and physically and verbally abused. 'In just half an hour the Masjid
had become an abattoir. Blood lay in pools on the ground and the
air was noxious with fumes of teargas and groans and moans of the
injured congregation. Doors, windows and furniture had been smashed
and the cash box of the Masjid, containing a few thousand rupees had
been looted by the marauding policemen. It had been a wholesale
affair.'
Outside in the street the desperate crowd is throwing stones and is
aided by new arrivals who attack the police from behind, taking control
of the police chowki (post). The Commissioner of Police orders
reinforcements, which, armed with bayonets, aim to kill. 'The Western
horizon was red. Four o'clock in the afternoon and blood flowed
down Turkman Gate. Their short-lived jubilation had turned sour as
bullets cut them down one by on. Nobody, not even the people of
Turkman Gate, could take so much punishment.' At 5.30 in the
afternoon a curfew is declared, leading to a systematic wave of rape
and looting as foul-smelling constables break into the homes of
defenceless women whose husbands have been arrested or have fled.
It is a tale which ends in darknessliterally and metaphorically. The
electricity has been cut off, leaving only the shadow of bulldozers
grinding through the night. 'The rubble of Turkman Gate was scooped
up into trucks and thrown behind the Ring Road where buzzards
and jackals were seen rummaging through the rubble. Only the stink
of stale meat which hung for days together over the thrown rubble
remained to tell the story of the life and death struggle of the people
of Turkman Gate.'
Who threw the first stone and for what reason? Was it the Nehru
brigade or the people of Turkman Gate? Were the latter resisting
41
sterilisation or demolition or a mixture of both? The unanswerable

nature of such questions does nothing to diminish the symbolic value
of the story. For, of all Emergency tales, the story of Turkman Gate
contains the most dramatic elements for a tragedy. It begins as the
state versus innocent women who fight for the basic right to retain
their homes and reproduce. The fact that they are veiled highlights
their sanctity and emphasises the state's violation of it, whilst the fact
that they are accompanied by children reinforces the image of innocent
lambs to the slaughter. It becomes the state versus the community as
residents of the old city rush to support one another, willing to unite
and die together in the face of such oppression. It is also the state
versus the minority, with the suspicion that this is a deliberate attempt
to remove Muslims from one of the few areas where they are dominant.
The reference to 'a second Pakistan' creates an echo of the bloody
massacre that accompanied Partition. In this cruel drama the people
are poor and unarmed; but the state does not hesitate to use the
technology of violence, crushing the people with guns, gas and
machinery. Most accounts contain at least one incidence of a person
who is crushed to death by the bulldozers. In many accounts it is a
breast-feeding mother and her new born baby who are the victims.
As far as symbolism is concerned nothing is lacking: the bureaucrats
are callous and speak like villains; the police murder innocent citizens
and rape women; homes, bodies and religious property are systematically
and brutally violated, leading Sinha to conclude: 'Never was such a
great human tragedy caused in any part of the world.'29
The post-Emergency retrospective ends with a people's victory
as the victims of the Emergency rise up to overthrow the dictator. It
is the victory of right over wrong. Many dedicate their books to the
millions of victims and resistors who made this victory possible. Nineteen Fateful Months for example is dedicated 'to those valiant sons of
the Indian soil who refused to submit to the forces of tyranny, high
handedness and authoritarianism and preferred misery, humanitarianism or even death'. Similarly The Emergency: Future Safeguards is
dedicated to 'the victims of the Emergency whose sufferings roused
their countrymen to sweep out tf power governments which had
caused those sufferings.' With the victory India's new future is realigned with her noble past. Jayaprakash Narayan is the new Gandhi,
29
Sinha, 1977, Operation Emergency, p. 153.
42
and just as Independence Day had heralded a new era of optimism for
India, so the March elections promised a fresh reawakening after the
lengthy darkness.
However, the discourse ofjudgement breeds its own controversies.
The institution of the judge splits the people not only into the roles
of witness and accused, but also of defendant and approver. Many of
the ministers brought before the Shah Commission claimed that they
had simply been following orders and had been unable to resist the
terrible pressures placed upon them. Even prominent men like Kishan
Chand, Lieutenant Governor ofDelhi and B.R. Tamta, Commissioner
of the Municipal Corporation ofDelhi claimed a combination of
ignorance and helplessness. Some even wept with humble apologies;
others sought to alleviate their own guilt through implicating their
colleagues. 'During the Emergency many people like me had to
mortgage their conscience,' remembers Congressman Shankar Dayal
Singh, 'but the truth is I have often been smitten by a feeling of
repentance over all that happened during the period.' He presents his
book, Emergency, Fad and Fiction, as an attempt to redeem his conscience
by revealing the inside story of what really happened. His foreword is
humble but inside the book he devotes much time to denigrating his
colleagues whilst remaining relatively silent about his own position.
He is also highly cautious in his critique of Indira Gandhi, recognising
(and perhaps hoping) that she may still rise again.
More radical is the discourse of defence which surfaces in the
works of those who refuse to don the mantle of guilt and shame.
Jagmohan, for example, the 'villain' behind the DDA's demolitions,
not only defended his actions before the Shah Commission, but also
published a book aimed at proving his innocence. In bland of Truth,30 he
portrays himself as a lone honest man surrounded by hypocrites and
buffeted by concocted accusations. He dismisses much of the dominant
narrative as 'inaccurate', 'an injustice to history and public information',
a product of'hypocrisy and superficiality'. He claims that the Turkman
Gate episode in which he, as Vice-chairman of the DDA, was directly
implicated has been blown out of all proportion and embroidered
with erroneous facts. The riot was caused, not by demolitions, but
by the threat of family planning at Dujana House. He supports his
argument by pointing out that out of the six people killed, only one
lived in the Turkman Gate area and he happened to be someone
whose home was not scheduled for demolition. Jagmohan insists that
the entire resettlement drive conducted during the Emergency was in
line with DDA policy which was created back in the 1950s. His
language is emotive: 'Mine is an island of truthtruth in its essence,
truth in its basic framework. I intend to take you to this island...I
hope to show you a few spots from which the reality may emerge,
and you may be able to see true reflections even in a cracked mirror.
You may realise that what was done in Delhi during the Emergency
was development and not "demolition". It was a dawn, not a doom.'31
Similarly in response to David Selbourne's dramatic accusation that
25,000 displaced people could only get new plots through compulsory
sterilisation, he argues: 'Not in a single case, compulsory sterilisation
was made a pre-condition for allotment of land or plot to those who
were affected by the clearance-cum-resettlement operations.'32
But the most effective challenge to the post-Emergency narrative
came from Indira Gandhi herself who refused to submit to the role of
dictator that had been ascribed to her. Her arrest on 3 October 1977,
and subsequent release the following day, acted as a buttress to support the idea that she was not guilty after all. Meanwhile, by claiming
that the Shah Commission was politically motivated, she justified her
refusal to comply with it. Eventually, when pressurised, she did attend
the court but refused to come to the witness box and be sworn in for
testimony. This resulted in Justice Shah ordering a case to be filed
against her, thereby delaying the procedures of the commission. Meanwhile, Indira Gandhi continued to wield power within the Congress
Party and was beginning to reassert her importance by promising to
devote herself to the service of the nation. Some blamed the Janata
Party for failing to make use of the atmosphere of revenge that had
prevailed immediately after the Emergency. Dayal and Bose who wrote
a second Emergency book, this time about the Shah Commission, conclude: 'The developing political scene made time a valuable commodity, the public memory a political force of considerable magnitude.
31
jagmohan, 1978, bland of Truth, Delhi: Vikas.
43
32
Ibid.,p. 1.
Ibid., p. 82.
44
45
1 Safdarjang Road
The public which had suffered was crying for justice. It had shed
blood and it wanted blood...The appointment of the Commission
in those blood-thirsty times was an anti-climax.'33
Even before the Commission opened its enquiry in September
1977, the post-Emergency narrative was already subsiding against a
backdrop of rising prices and political chaos.
from Jawaharlal's home is the residence where the adult Indira Gandhi
lived and died. We are at 1 Safdarjang Road, a comparatively modest
bungalow in another leafy bird-filled garden. In the early 1970s Indira
Gandhi had considered it too modest; hence her plans to set up
residence in her father's loftier abode. But her plans had been thwarted
by the Nehru Trust and she remained at 1 Safdarjang Road which
now serves as a museum and memorial both to herself and to her
eldest son, Rajiv.
To those familiar with the Emergency literature, the address alone
is poignant with memories. A scene from the post-Emergency epic
immediately springs to mind:
The euphoria of March steadily gave way to bitterness and cynicism by

August. The victims of the Emergency like the people of Turkman Gate or
the resettlement colonies outside Delhi still continued in their misery and
sorrow. To make things worse, prices of almost all essential goods had started
rising alarmingly. There had begun to circulate already among some the
dangerous logic that perhaps Mrs Gandhi was right in saying that the
Emergency was a bitter pill needed by the country.34
Our excursion through the book shelves of the Nehru Memorial
Library ends with a Janata Party publication entitled Will we let her
do it again? Published in late 1979, the pamphlet bears witness to the
decline of the post-Emergency narrative. It is a desperate attempt to
convince the electorate not to allow Indira Gandhi back to power. It
ends with a plea: 'Shrimati Indira Gandhi imposed Emergency on an
unwary people; if the people vote for her in the coming elections, she
would, true to style, argue that the people have endorsed a return to
fascist, dynastic rule. Ponder over it.'
After 1980, the shelves marked 'Constitution' fill up mainly with
books on other themes; communalism, regionalism, minorities. The
Emergency has ceased to be either journalistic coup or scholarly
preoccupation.
1 Safdarjang Road
It is time to leave the library and to converge with the coachload of
tourists back on the heritage trail. Our brief detour through one of
the more neglected shelves of the Nehru Memorial Library has
reminded us of what it is we might be looking for as we track the
forgetting of the Emergency in Delhi. Just a few hundred yards away
33'j.
Dayal and A. Bose, 1978, The Shah Commission Begins, Delhi: Orient Longman,
'1, Safdarjang Road. Late 1975. "They come quite early, by 7.45 a.m. Municipal
Commissioner B.R. Tamta, Delhi Development Authority Vice-chairman
Jagmohan, VS. Ailawadi of the NDMC, Minister H.K.L. Bhagat, Lt Governor's
Special Secretary Navin Chawla. Police DIG P.S. Blunder is also occasionally
here.
They wait in the ante-rooms, sometimes with Dhawan (Prime Minister's
Secretary) and talk about Delhi affairs. They eye each other with rabid
suspicion. He (Sanjay) calls them in one by one. He listens to their situation
reports, and tells figures. Sometimes he taunts them that the other fellow is
far more active. The person promises to be better by tomorrow.
Sometimes he calls all of them together. This is when the big schemes
are chalked out. This is when the officers bid for more portion of the work
to be done. It is like a grand auction."' (An eye witness)35
We are standing at the entrance to the place where Indian democracy
went to the highest bidder. This was the infamous den of secret
meetings, conspiracies and unconstitutional goings on; the home of
the monstrous two-headed tyranny of Delhi. But when we join the
crowds waiting at the entrance we find, not surprisingly, that we are
queuing for an entirely different play.
We are greeted by a photograph of a smiling Indira Gandhi who,
like us, stands at the doorway of the house. Below a plaque reads,
'Indira Gandhi lived in this house with her family as Minister for
Information and Broadcasting from 1964 to 1966, and as Prime
Minister from 1966 to 1977 and 1980 to 1984. Rajiv Gandhi, sworn
in as Prime Minister 31 October 1984, lived here till March 1985.'
Where Indira lived between 1977 and 1980 we are not told. Who
p. 3.
34
Ibid., p. 6.
35
Cited in Dayal and Bose, 1977, For Reasons, p. 33.
46
1 Safdarjang Road
took up residence in the house during that period is also omitted.

Such details have no place in this new drama. For this is the Life and
Martyrdom of Indira Gandhi.
The exhibition begins with a photograph of her addressing a vast
crowd of people in Orissa. With it is an extract from her patriotic
final speech:
I am here today, I may be gone tomorrow. But the responsibility to look after
national interest is on the shoulders of every Indian citizen. Nobody knows
how many attempts have been made to shoot me, lathis [sticks] have been
used to beat me. In Bhubaneshwar itself, a brickbat hit me. They have attacked
me in every possible manner. I do not care if I live or die. I have lived a long
life and am proud that I spent the whole of my life in service of my people.
I am only proud of this and nothing else. I shall continue to serve until my
last breath and when I die, I can say that every drop of my blood will invigorate
India and strengthen it. I hope that youth, women and others, will all think
together. They should shoulder the responsibility and it cannot be done by
accepting others as leaders. (30 October 1984)
Next, we are confronted by screaming newspaper headlines in various
languages:
MRS GANDHI SHOT DEAD
End comes soon after outrage at house.

Assassination by 2 guards: One killed
NATION MOURNS INDIRA
Dastardly Killing by Security Men.

Funeral and 12 day Mourning
INDIRA GANDHI ASSASINATA DAI SIKH. IL FIGLIO
RAJIV NUOVO PRIMO MINISTRO
This is a room dedicated to her brutal death in the garden of 1

Safdarjang Road where she was shot by two ofher own security guards.
The shelves contain posthumous awards from foreign dignitaries. A
photograph ofher distraught son, Rajiv Gandhi, at the funeral pyre
links the grief of the individual to that of the nation. We, too, should
mourn the death of the mother. A display of stones and crystals emphasises the durability ofher soul.
47
Lining the top of the walls up to ceiling level are panorama shots most
of which show Indira with the masses; receiving garlands, shaking
hands, visiting villages and handing out flowers. Beneath are portraits
demonstrating her various moods and attributes. In younger portraits
she is shy and demure; later she is strong and authoritative, sometimes
pensive, always dignified. At eye level is a montage of^newspaper
headings and selected articles. Since this is only the second room of
the exhibition, it is quickly choked with people and the museum
stafFhave little patience with those who loiter to read the headlines.
'Move on! Form a line! Quickly! Go through!' an authoritative
male voice bellows out in Hindi. 'There's nothing to see in here.
Move on!' Soon the jostling crowd of adults is replaced by a train of
uniformed children who trot past, hand to shoulder, with the occasional
teacher to direct the stream.
I have been granted special permission to go at my own pace which
enables me to read the headlines: UNANIMOUS ELECTION OF INDIRA
GANDHI. YOUNGEST WOMAN TO BE CONGRESS CHIEF (Indian Express,
February 1959); INDIRA GANDHI ELECTED AS PARTY LEADER INDIA'S

FIRST EVER WOMAN PRIME MINISTER (National Herald, 20 January 1966);
PRESIDENT ASKS MRS GANDHI TO FORM GOVERNMENT (The Tribune, 1 3
March 1967); NATION GIVES PRIME MINISTER MASSIVE MANDATE FOR

CHANGE (Patriot, 12 March 1971); MRS GANDHI LOSES, SANJAY, BANSI LAL
AND GOKHALE DEFEATED (Statesman, 21 March 1977); MRS GANDHI
WINS BY 77,333 VOTES [at Chikmagalur] (Hindu,9 November 1978);
'MASSIVE MANDATE FOR INDIRA. SANJAY, SHUKLA, CHAVAN WIN. PAI, DHARIA,
(Amrita Bazaar Patrika, 8 January 1980).

We arrive at a plaque which informs us of various important
decisions that were made at 1 Safdarjang Road. From now on the
display is thematically arranged under headings: Self-sufficiency in
Food Grains; Devaluation of the Rupee; Bank Nationalisation;
Abolition ofPrivy Purses Privileges, Congress Split, Indo-Soviet Treaty,
Liberation of Bangladesh; Emergency; Election Defeat; Election:
Come back; Punjab.
We stop at the heading 'Emergency' and read: NO BAR ON INDIRA
CONTINUING AS PRIME MINISTER (Times ofIndia, 25 June 1975); PRESIDENT
GOREY LOSE'
PROCLAIMS NATIONAL EMERGENCY; SECURITY OF INDIA THREATENED BY

INTERNAL DISTURBANCES; PREVENTATIVE ARRESTS: PRESS CENSORSHIP
Room 2 whisks us through her political career in startling black

and white. A three-tier display bombards us from every direction.
IMPOSED (Hindu, 27 June
1975); INDIRA GANDHI DEFEATED (21 March

1977). A photograph shows her sitting cross-legged on the ground,
48
haggard and humiliated after her election defeat in 1977. Another

of the same year shows her being taken under arrest. Next she emerges
victorious and traditional, this time in a coloured photograph. She is
dressed in the orange of renunciation with the end of her sari pulled
modestly over her hair. On her forehead is a red tilak (mark). We have
passed on to the next section where new headings confront us: MASSIVE
VICTORY...
In case we should be overwhelmed by the political face of Indira

Gandhi, we are reminded of her simplicity by a low level display of
objects which 'formed an intimate part of Indira Gandhi s daily life'.
These are ordinary things: family snapshots, a scrabble set, knitting
needles, a Beatrice Potter plate, an artificial cockroach and some
butterflies, binoculars and books on wildlife. They seem to inform us
that despite her greatness, she was an ordinary human being like
you or me. As we leave the room we are confronted by a large black
and white photograph of the urns containing her ashes, and then we
arrive at the central exhibit which stands apart. Later we shall see it
again from other directions. It is the sari she was wearing at her death.
Reminiscent of other exhibits in the capital, such as Mahatma Gandhi's
blood-stained dhoti, the pale yellow sari contains the bullet holes of
the assassin. It is accompanied by a colourful embroidered bag and a
pair of rather worn black sandals which highlight the sense of missing
body. The perforations in the sari are discreetly encircled in what
looks like pencil. There is no blood. The man beside me is pointing
out the bullet holes to his son. Two women are discussing the sari,
commenting on how the dirt has turned the yellow to grey. A braising
quotation from Rajiv Gandhi leads us to the next room: 'Indira Gandhi
died as she lived; unafraid with courage abiding'. {Young Patriot, 1
November 1984)
Having begun with her death, we now swing back to her life.
First we are confronted with Indira Gandhi in context. We see her
noble ancestors and their family homes, one of which we have already
visited. We see her in genealogical perspective, with her parents and
grandparents on the one hand and her children and grandchildren
on the other. We are reminded that, not only she but her father before
her and her son after her were Prime Ministers of India. Having set
the frame we now go back to Indira Gandhi's childhood. We see her
as a wide-eyed baby, a serious school girl; a budding nationalist; a
coy adolescent and self-conscious student. Later we also see her as a
1 Safdarjang Road
49
courting youth; a married woman and mother. Her wedding sari,

woven from yarn spun by her father and the vessels used for the
nuptials form one of the major attractions to women tourists, leading
the museum staff to chivvy people on again. This time I am whisked
along with the crowd but the word 'population crisis' has caught my
eye and I stop in front of the relevant cabinet. This causes a pile up
as a group of young men crowd around hoping to see something of
particular interest. I am looking at a brass plaque presented to Indira
Gandhi by the Population Council 'in recognition of her fostering
support to solve the world population crisis through a demonstrated
commitment to share ideas, knowledge, and experience towards the
ultimate objective of reducing population growth and creating a
better life for all the world's people.' (New York, 2 August 1982)
With it is 'The United Nations Population Awardan affirmation
by the international community of the importance of population in
development, is presented to Her Excellency Mrs. Indira Gandhi,
Prime Minister of India for her outstanding contribution to the
awareness of population questions and their solutions.' (New York,
30 September 1983)
Past more certificates, this time indicating honorary degrees, and
past gaudy gifts from foreign dignitaries, we enter the room 'Indira
Gandhi and the World' in which we see photographs of her on world
tours or entertaining foreign politicians and diplomats. Soon we are
with the diplomats and politicians at her funeral, reading the lines of
Fidel Castro, the President of Cuba: 'We saw her disappear amidst
flames, while her people, her descendants, and statesmen from all over
the world surrounded the funeral pyre in respectful silence. And we
recalled the august calmness with which, years earlier, she had indicated
that one day she also would, with resignation, give up her life in a
holocaust for the unity of her nation.'
The last image shows her as a frail but determined figure walking
into the distance. It is reminiscent of a famous pose of Mahatma
Gandhi who, like Indira, sacrificed his life for the nation.
We step outside and then re-enter the house and file past her study
which contains unexceptional office furniture and a few easy chairs.
'Indira Gandhi's study was her sanctum. It was filled with well loved
books and pictures and she often worked here at her desk late into
the night.' A quotation from Indira reads, 'A tree must have roots.
Though the roots go deep into the ground, the tree itself grows up
51
1 Safdarjang Road
into the sky towards the sun. So must we turn our faces and our steps
towards the future though our roots remain in the past.'
We step outside again and this time re-enter the house in the section
where Rajiv Gandhi used to live with his wife and children. The
exhibition is primarily photographic, accompanied by extracts from
Rajiv's own writings, speeches and interviews. Again, we begin with
death. First we see Rajiv carrying the ashes of his father, Feroz Gandhi.
Next we see him with the ashes of his grandfather Jawaharlal. Next
he is performing the last rites at his brother Sanjay's funeral, and finally
he is at the funeral pyre of his mother. Above each photograph is a
smaller image of Rajiv with the person portrayed in happier times.
By seeing these deaths in quick succession we are invited to participate
in his grief and to understand how he was compelled to enter politics.
The context established, we swing back to his birth in 1944 and his
childhood. He is a sensitive and pensive boy, sometimes seen with
his mother; sometimes seen playing with his younger brother in the
gardens of Teen Murti House. Later we see him as a schoolboy, a
healthy adolescent in sports gear, a student at Cambridge and a young
pilot with Indian Airlines. His marriage to Sonia is noticeably more
prominent than his mother's marriage to Feroz Gandhi. What we
get is a sense of Rajiv s carefree existence as a happy family man; an
existence which ended abruptly with the death of his brother in a
plane accident in 1980.
on ceremonial occasions, now becomes his everyday garb. His adoption

of it marks his acceptance of the burden of political office and his entry
into the service of the nation.
His collection of intimate objects is noticeably more postmodern
than his mother's. It contains a personal computer along with his
travel bag and khadi outfit. We see him addressing the people in various
locations and read extracts from his speeches until finally we arrive
at the clothes he wore at his death. Unlike Indira Gandhi's discreetly
ruptured sari, Rajiv Gandhi's kurtapyjama (tunic and trouser) seems
to scream the violence ofhis death. It has been exploded into fragments,
hideously stained. Only his trainers remain intactstalwart and
unscathedtheir durability horribly reminiscent of those advertisements
for products strong enough to endure anything.
The exhibition which began with Rajiv performing the last rites
for his father, grandfather, brother and mother ends with Rajiv's son,
Rahul, performing the last rites ofhis father. Rahul's face is seen through
the flames, magnified but faint; almost ghostly. A tragic continuity is
established. An anticipation of the future perhaps? One last fleeting
glimpse of Rajiv's smile, then we are back outside, following the arrows
to the drawing room and dining room of 1 Safdarjang Road. Both
are tasteful and unostentatious, with fairly simple furniture and a few
choice works of Indian art on the walls. As we leave the house yet
again, we catch another glimpse of the sari in which Indira Gandhi
was assassinated. Outside we arrive at the path on which she was
actually shot. 'Every morning Indira Gandhi walked this path to her
daily darshaxF at which she met people from all corners of India and
the world.' It is now covered over in gleaming crystal glass, donated
by the Czechoslovakian government. Flower heads are placed at both
ends and at the spot where she was shot. The sun makes patterns on
the crystal as we walk to the far end where two uniformed guards
stand alert. And here we read an excerpt from her undated handwritten
notes.
50
'I wanted to be left to myself. That was very much the case when I was
flying. Then my brother Sanjay was killed in the prime of his life. My mother
called to me in her loneliness. I went to her side. She urged me to respond to
the insistent demand from the constituency and the party to take my brother's
place as Member of Parliament for Amethi.'
A sequence is established. First we see the adult Sanjay beside his mother.
The photo has been taken contra jour making Sanjay little more than a
silhouette in the darkness. Next we see Rajiv comforting his mother
after Sanjay's death. Then we see Rajiv's letter of resignation to Indian
Airlines and finally we see him addressing the crowds. White khadi
(hand-spun hand-woven cloth),36 which he previously wore mainly
di was popularised by Mahatma Gandhi who elevated it to the status of
national dress in the 1920s. The cloth still plays an important role in politics, though
today it is associated as much with hypocrisy as with morality. For a history of khadi
and itsrelevance,see Emma Tarlo, 1996, Clothing Matters, London: Hurst, chs 3 and 4.
If I die a violent death as some fear and others are plotting, I know the
violence will be in the thought and the action of the assassin, not in my
37
Darshan: sacred sight. In the Hindu religion gods and important mortals make
themselves'visible to people who imbibe their holy sight. Indira Gandhi used to make
herself visible by greeting members of the public in her garden everyday and answering
their queries.
53
1 Safdarjang Road
dyingfor no hate is dark enough to overshadow the extent of my love

for my people and my country; no force is strong enough to divert me
from my purpose and my endeavour to take this country forward.
dictatorship into a halo of self-sacrifice whilst at the same time

establishing Rajiv's legitimate right to rule. His assassination at a time
when his image was badly tarnished led to a purification process which
enabled him to join Mahatma Gandhi and Indira as the martyrs of the
nation. The 'dynastic dictatorship' of the post-Emergency narrative
has slipped smoothly into 'dynastic democracy': benign, authoritative
and protective. India's new fortunetellers now speculate as to which
of Rajiv's children will don the mantle of power which some see
almost as a birthright.38
Convenient deaths and brutal assassinations may have helped to
push the Emergency narratives out of focus, but politics has also played
a part. If it had been in the interest of the Janata Party to build the
memory of the Emergency in the months that succeeded it, it was
also in the interests of the Congress Party to establish its forgetting.
The exhibition at 1 Safdarjang Road not only provides us with
alternative memories but also encourages us to forget the Emergency,
which features as little more than an empty hollow. It appears first in
the form of a declaration and next in the form of an election defeat.
Nothing is told of what went on between this beginning and this
end. Instead we simply jump from beginning to end to new beginning
with Indira Gandhi's return to power. Viewed within the broader
perspective of her lengthy political career, the Emergency is a mere
hiccup, one of those brief but insignificant disruptions that every
politician has to face. There seems no need to mention that the Janata
leader, Morarji Desai, also lived at 1 Safdarjang Road, from which he
too governed the country, albeit for a short while. Neither, of course,
is there any mention of the Shah Commission, nor of the fact that the
Congress Party is suspected of having bought up most copies of the
Commission's final report in order to prevent its circulation.
And what of the glorious future that Indira Gandhi had promised
during the Emergency? What of the revolutionary 20-point
programme? The 5-point programme? Sanjay Gandhi's fantastic leap
to fame? All of these have been effaced for they cannot afford to be
remembered without running the risk of invoking the post-Emergency
52
And the final statement: 'Here Indira Gandhi fell martyr to the bullets
of 2 assassins on 31 October 1984.'
This is the spot where those with cameras take photographs before
passing on to the book shop where Indira Gandhi key rings and post
cards are available along with works about her and other Indian leaders.
But I have taken a detour and cut back through the exhibition in
order to meet the director who is sitting behind a desk in a pristine
office near the entrance to the bungalow. He is young, welcoming
and somehow more helpful than I expect.
"This is the smallest Prime Minister's house in the world,' he informs
me. 'She liked things to be simple. When people tried to persuade
her to move to Teen Murti Bhavan or some other grander place, she
said she preferred this small bungalow' I remark on the crowds and
ask if it is always as crowded on a weekday morning. He replies that
the museum gets between 5,000 and 10,000 visitors a day; sometimes
as many as 20,000.
Thousands come out of love for Indira Gandhi. The fact that she died here
also counts for a lot. They think of her as a devi [goddess] and want to see
the place where she was killed. They just want to bow down and pay their
respects, especially the old women. I used to sometimes interview the people
queuing up outside and I found that they really consider her a goddess. Its
the blind faith of the peoplewell I don't know if its blind or notbut
their faith is really incredible.'
Pushing through the gates I leave the compound, noting the swelling
queue accumulating in the street outside, as organised groups arrive
by the coach-load from all over north India and possibly beyond. The
figures may be exaggerated but I have never before seen such a huge
queue outside a museum in India.
It is not difficult to trace the historical events through which this
new master narrative took over and ultimately effaced both of the
narratives that preceded it. Indira Gandhi's return to power in January
1980 is the first significant marker, followed shortly by Sanjay's death.
With his plane accident in July 1980 one of the most controversial
stars of both Emergency dramas ceased to exist. Meanwhile Indira
Gandhi's assassination in 1984 transformed any lingering shadow of
38
When Rajiv Gandhi's widow, Sonia, entered the general election campaign in
1998, she was thought by many to be paving the way for her children and in particular,
her daughter, Priyanka. Sonia Gandhi's recent acceptance of leadership of the Congress
Party has farther exacerbated speculations about the resurgence of the Gandhi/Nehru
dynasty.
54
narrative which encourages us to remember them in a certain way.

This no doubt explains why at 1 Safdarjang Road Sanjay Gandhi's
political career is entirely absent. His role is restricted to that of Rajiv's
little brother and of Indira's son. The only adult photograph which
portrays him in a political context has been taken in such a way that
his face is reduced to a faint blur beside that of his mother. Death
soon transforms him from beloved son to figure of tragedy and reason
for Rajiv to enter politics. After his death Sanjay reappears briefly as
an icon on a poster accompanying Rajiv on a political rally. Nothing
is said of Sanjay's own participation in politics except that he once
held the Amethi seat which Rajiv is now obliged to fill. With a curious
irony the misdemeanours of the past have helped legitimate the
presentation of the past in the present. The fact that Sanjay's power
was largely unconstitutional during the Emergency becomes a valid
reason for excluding him from an exhibition which aims to establish
a legitimate master narrative. Similarly, press censorship and government
propaganda of the past operate retrospectively. The occasional newspaper
cutting from 1976 works in Indira Gandhi's favour since public criticism
had been unpublishable at that time.
Safdarjang Road gives us the new master narrative in concentrated
form, but it should not be supposed that this is its only physical refuge.
Wherever Indira Gandhi's memory is publicly evoked within the
city, it is done so within the framework of this narrative. The international
airport and the indoor stadium, both of which bear her name are
gigantesque monuments in her honour, symbolising her own hugeness.
With the recent renaming of Connaught Place the narrative has been
officially inscribed at the very heart of the city. Connaught Place has
become Rajiv Chowk and Connaught Circus, Indira Chowk, thereby
placing the mother's embrace of her son at the very centre of the
capital city and nation. Needless to say, it is the son whose power was
legitimate who features in the renaming of the streets. Monuments
to Sanjay are conspicuous by their absence; the Sanjay Gandhi
Memorial Hospital being an exception.
In search of memories
Like the tourists, we shall pass through 'Rajiv Chowk' and 'Indira
Chowk,' but, like Delhites, we shall continue for the time being at
55
least to refer to them by their original names. We are passing out of

New Delhi and heading for the Jama Masjid at the very heart of the
old city, otherwise known as Shahjahanabad. As we proceed, the roads
become narrower and more crowded; Marutis, Ambassadors and
auto rickshaws begin to mingle with cycle rickshaws and ponies and
traps. The Jama Masjid towers majestically above us, its black and
white minarets lending a fresh look to its ancient form. But we are
not here to visit the Masjid. It is time once more to wander off the
tourist path, this time in search of one of the central localities of the
post-Emergency narrative, Dujana House. My map, though useful
in New Delhi seems instantly inadequate in Old Delhi and I find
the way by asking. The directions are clear. Opposite a small police
booth, in the midst of the food and vessel sellers I must take a left
turn. As I arrive at the police booth, I see a sign, Dujana House and
walk under an unimpressive gateway, checking as I go past to see if
there is any reference to the Emergency experience. Inside-is a courtyard
with shabby concrete apartments on one side and a beautifully
maintained garden on the other. Cycle rickshaws are lined up in the
entrance but the space remains open, populated only by the occasional
passer by and a few men polishing enormous biriyani vessels used for
wedding banquets. The people, mainly men, follow my movements
with their eyes, indicating that this is not a space for foreigners; not
a place for unaccompanied unveiled women either. I too am casting
my eyes about, looking for visible reminders of the Emergency; a
statue to the sterilised perhaps? A simple memorial plaque?
By now a middle-aged man in a kurta pyjama is looking at me as
if he wants an explanation, so I begin to explain and soon find myself
standing in a group. My knowledge of Hindithough by no means
perfectis adequate for converting me from mere object of curiosity
to curious subject with an enquiry. I ask the men if I can see the spot
where the family planning clinic used to stand during the Emergency.
They lead me to the end of the courtyard and into a neglected alley
where they point to a derelict building, locked behind a metal grill.
'It was there, in the basement,' a man points. 'That was where they
used to cut them up. Do you want So see inside?'
A young bearded man is sent off to find the key, but when we
enter the building we find there is no electricity, making it difficult to
see. A black cavern with white tiles on the walls of the staircase. Nothing
56
spectacular. A third man is pointing to an empty space nearby: 'This is

where they set up the camp. The main officer used to sit round about
here.'
What do you mean by 'camp'?
'It was a wooden shed. It was here they gave out the certificates and
money. They were also offering a pot of ghee and a clock for nasbandi
[sterilisation] at the time. They would grab the people by force, take
them into the tent, make them sign papers, then take them into the
basement. At first there was no toilet, but then they built this.' (He
points to a shabby concrete building opposite the clinic.)
Who used to take them by force?
'The police. Who else? If the police get you, you can't do much.'
Were many people from Dujana House sterilised?
'No. Not us. They brought the men from outside. They say some
went in and never came back.'
So what happened to the camp after the Emergency?
'When the Janata came to power they came here and pulled the
whole lot down.'
Conversation flows along familiar lines as the men begin to reiterate
episodes from the post-Emergency narrative. Their eyes are enthusiastic
as if recalling an old wife's tale they have not heard for a long while.
Their memory is more collective than personal, but it is not public.
No official attempt has been made to publicly inscribe the memory
of the Emergency at Dujana House. It is a place empty of connotations
to those who do not know.
Our final destination is Turkman Gate, the centre stage of the postEmergency narrative; the ultimate symbol of oppression and resistance.
If the Emergency is to be remembered anywhere it is surely here. We
arrive in a stream of traffic going down Asaf Ali Road on a Thursday
afternoon. Opposite is the tourist camp, one of the cheapest places
for visitors to stay in Delhi. It brings back personal memories of when,
as a student, I had spent a full two weeks in the camp, driving past
Turkman Gate everyday, oblivious then of what had occurred there
some ten years earlier. Was it that I had ignored the signs or was it that
there were no signs to ignore?
Today there is something written on the gate. It reads: 'Regional
57
Defence'. Behind it is an enclosure for the police. Yet again the police
headquarters acts as an indicator that we have come to the right place.
Another Muslim area in the Old city. Guarded. Under surveillance.
Later enquiries inform me that the police were located there even
before the Emergency and that this was the police chowki that had
been captured by the people during the struggle.
As we take the road that leads behind Turkman Gate, we again
enter a region of cycle rickshaws, burqa-chd women and fop/'-wearing
(cap-wearing) men. The architecture is unspectacular, consisting of four
storey concrete blocks painted in a pale violet blue. These apartments
correspond neither to the noble ancient homes described in the postEmergency rhetoric nor the filthy stinking slum of the Emergency
rhetoric. This is hardly surprising since these are the buildings that
were erected after the controversial demolition, leaving the two
narratives to dispute over the area's past appearance.
I talk to an old bearded man, dressed in a blue checked lungi
(waistcloth), white kurta (long-sleeved, knee-length tunic) and topi
(cap). He makes a wide gesture with his arm to indicate the extent
of the area demolished during the Emergency. He sends a small boy
to search for the person who will tell me 'the entire story'. A stalwart
man appears and introduces himself as the local chaudhuri (leader)
and Head of the Turkman Gate Committee. He tells me that he spent
several months in prison following the demolition and protests at
Turkman Gate on 19 April 1976. Our conversation on a street corner
inevitably attracts a crowd, leading the original man to offer his scrap
metal shop as a quiet place for discussion. Four of us go in: the chaudhuri,
the iron merchant, a burqa-cla.d woman who turns out to be a local
social worker and I. A conversation ensues:
CHAUDHURI
'Turkman Gate became a famous name during the Emergency. People

came from all over Delhi to see what had happened. Even foreigners
used to come and visit our houses. But look at the mess we are in
now.'
SOCIAL WORKER
'The government makes promises but they don't do anything.'

CHAUDHURI
'This is a Muslim area so nobody bothers.'
58
The conversation swings back and forth between the Emergency

drama and present-day neglect. New details embellish the post-Emergency narrative which has become even more spectacular over time.
CHAUDHURI
'400 people were killed, at least.'

SOCIAL WORKER
Fragments of the past for the future
59
Are there any signs to indicate what happened during the Emergency to passers
by like me who might not know?
CHAUDHURI
'No. Nothing like that.'

SOCIAL WORKER
'We couldn't do that. If we did they would make us take it down.

They would say it was a provocation.'
They?
'The bulldozers crushed the people to death, grinding them into

the ground. There was one man, he had just got married the night
before, and the next day he was gone.'
SOCIAL WORKER
What about Sanjay Gandhi? Did he ever visit this place?
'The government'.
CHAUDHURI
They take me to the nearest equivalent; a brick arch standing in a

derelict park which has turned to dust. We all squint at its faded plaque,
unable to detect what is written theresomething about Morarji
Desai dedicating the garden to the people. A goat strolls by.
'But we do have a film,' the chaudhuri adds, 'a film which tells the
truth about Turkman Gate and Dujana House.' He invites me to return
for a screening on the evening of 19 April, the day of the famous
battle at Turkman Gate some 20 years earlier.
'Yes. He came. He took one look at our homes, which were bigger
and more beautiful than anything you see here today, and he said,
"These are aSljhuggis [slum shacks]. They must be demolished". He
wanted to build Sanjay Minar in the place of our houses but we did
not let him. He never came back.'
What do you mean, Sanjay Minar?
CHAUDHURI
'One of those restaurants that spins round and round. A revolving

hotelthat's what they call it.'
I ask if I can see the remains of the Faiz-e-Elahi Mosque which
they tell me has been largely destroyed. We cross over the busy road,
pass by the street vendors selling cloth for hajj (pilgrimage to Mecca)
and enter a large empty space of dusty barren ground. 'All the buildings
here were demolished.' We stare about at the vacant space, a space
fertile for forgetting. The chaudhuri is walking with his head down,
pointing out stone traces of old foundationstraces of demolition to
those who know; mere stones in the sand to those who don't. In one
corner stand some mature trees 'which got saved' and a section of the
mosque. 'They would have destroyed the whole lot,' the social worker
adds, 'but one of the bulldozers got stuck in the ground and the person
driving it was killed so they got scared and called it off.'
Next we re-cross the road and they take me around the residential
area, pointing out the dodgy electric wiring which twists and turns
from one building to another.

19 April 1996. Turkman Gate. Chairs fill the main lane, transforming
it into an open theatre. Above the stage, a black and white banner
bears an inscription in Urdu, 'Day of the Martyrs.' At 10.30 p.m., the
head of the Turkman Gate Committee makes his way to the
microphone and begins an impassioned speech which stretches on
until midnight. It soon becomes clear that this is not an occasion for
showing films but a political rally aimed at levering votes for the
Janata Dal in the forthcoming local election. As the chaudhuri raises
his voice, he swings his arms furiously like a prophet of old. His
cries, hideously amplified by badly rigged loudspeakers, reverberate
into the night, bouncing off the tenement buildings that line the
street. His words are met by cheers and applause from a responsive
audience composed almost entirely of Muslim men and boys.
'When our houses were being demolished, Jagmohan and Sanjay Gandhi
came here. They threatened to cut me up into tiny pieces...No one can
60
61
come here and wipe out our houses, sweep us off the streets just because
this is a Muslim area...For almost four hours we faced the bullets...'
article goes on to claim that those people from Turkman Gate whose
homes were demolished and who were taken to resettlement colonies
in outer Delhi during the Emergency are now grateful to the exVice-chairman of the DDA for having made them landowners.
Jagmohan 'the Saviour' is now appealing to such people to remember
his good deeds by supporting the BJP in the forthcoming election.40
Two fragments of memory of the same event. Both elaborated to
suit present day political agendas, both used as resources for
engineering futures, neither of which took shape. The Janata Dal failed
to muster adequate support from the Muslims of Old Delhi in the
1996 elections just as Jagmohan failed to get elected for the BJP that
time round, although he has since been elevated to the position of
Union Urban Development Minister. The Turkman Gate Massacre,
once so central to the post-Emergency narrative, has today shrunk
to the status of a localised grievance which may raise passions amongst
those individuals who were directly affected in 1976, but failed to
capture the imagination of the electorate two decades later.
Our guided tour of the forgetting of the Emergency is over. What
we have encountered in the city of Delhi is a series of absences in
time and spacephantom futures that never happened; ghostly pasts
whose relevance to the present has either been effaced or distorted
and reworked to different ends; physical blanks or substitutions where
houses were once demolished; where the conception of unborn
children was prevented; and where political decisions were taken by
a man who has since been edited out of history altogether.
Travelling around the city of Delhi we will pass many more spaces
where demolitions once perforated the urban fabric, clearing the way
for new homes, shopping centres, roads and parks, many of which
already seem old. Demolition or development? I hear the echo of past
narratives, fragments of which are discretely guarded and embellished
in different corners of the city. But is there an alternative perspective
from which we might begin to view the Emergency? One which
speaks a language less tainted by the master narratives of times gone
by? One in which the central characters are not the stars of Safdarjang
Road, Turkman Gate and Dujana House, but the hundreds of thousands
of ordinary Delhi citizens and bureaucrats whose lives were or were
not disrupted by the Emergency?
We have stumbled across an act of remembering, live and vibrating.

This is memory with a purpose. Like the demolition of the Babri
Masjid by right wing Hindu extremists in 1992, the demolition of
Turkman Gate in 1976 is invoked as proof of the betrayal of Muslims
by the Congress Party and of the need for all Muslims to unite under
the Janata Dal:
'All three stripes of the Congress flag have been stripped away leaving only
the stick which they will use to beat us with. The Janata must win. The
Congress try to buy us with favours but I am offering you my blood. I am
prepared to die for you...'
The chaudhuri % impassioned speech is followed by vehement words
from the local MLA (Member of the Legislative Assembly) and two
other Muslim notables. Like the chaudhuri, they invoke memories of
1976 and 1992 as evidence of an anti-Muslim plot and the need for
solidarity. The speeches go on for several hours. All are in Urdu.39
They speak a discourse of vulnerability channelled for collective action:
'All of you have come together tonight. If we scatter, we may have to face
bulldozers and bullets again. Stand together on the same platform. Today is
the day of the martyrs. The real tribute to the martyrs will be when we
honour them with our deeds.'
20 April 1996, just one day later. I come across an election leaflet
written in Hindi. Jagmohan, ex-Vice-chairman of the DDA, villain
of the post-Emergency narrative, is standing in the local elections as
a candidate for the right wing pro-Hindu BJP (Bharatiya Janata
Party). The leaflet lists his many achievements, heralding him as 'the
man who laid the foundations for making Delhi a modern city and
for setting a world standard in development'. A newspaper article
published the same week in an important national daily bears the
heading 'BJP plays Turkman Gate card to woo voters.' Underneath,
it claims, 'Jagmohan, the demolition man of the Emergency days, has
turned Messiah for the uprooted residents of Turkman Gate.' The
I am grateful to Rajinder, my research assistant, for accompanying me to hear
these speeches and for translating extracts from them.
^Pioneer, 17 April 1996.

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Unsettling memories : narratives of Indias emergency / Emma Tarlo; New

Delhi: Permanent Black, 2003. (21-61 p.)

The history of Independent India can, like all history, be read as a

Ashis Nandy, 'Emergency Remembered', Times of India, 22 June 1995.

Amin, 1995, Event, Metaphor, Memory.

Gyanendra Pandey, 1995, 'Nation and Masculinity: Some Reflections on Gandhi

Forgetting and remembering the Emergency

is another violent moment. Like Chauri Chaura and Partition, it is

Teen Murti Bhavan

of public memory. For the modern period these include Parliament

Forgetting and remembering the Emergency

The official narrative of the Emergency

on 26 June 1975. 'Certain persons have gone to the length of inciting

Broadcast on radio, 26 June 1975, included in Indira Gandhi, 1984, Selected

Forgetting and remembering the Emergency

accelerated rate. 'Whatever we are doing is pro-India, it is pro-Indian

Conditions restored to 'normalcy', Indira Gandhi was then able to

Delhi: Council of National Affairs.

The official narrative of the Emergency

the handloom sector, implementing agricultural ceilings and liquidating

While slogans, stickers and newspaper headlines codified the basic

Forgetting and remembering the Emergency

The official narrative of the Emergency

given to this urgent economic problem. The conference pamphlet

Forgetting and remembering the Emergency

Forgetting and remembering the Emergency

the hushed tones of underground literature, the muted criticisms of

POLITICAL LEADERS AND WORKERS, INTELLECTUALS AND JOURNALISTS NABBED

We have entered a new body of literature, enthused with outrage and

The post-Emergency counter narrative

Forgetting and remembering the Emergency

of political post-mortem, the 'bitter pills' which Indira Gandhi had

A volume of the intellectual journal Seminar is quite literally the

Seminar, 210, February 1977.

Forgetting and remembering the Emergency

The post-Emergency counter narrative

The declaration of Emergency features both as a moment of

Eye to India: The Unmasking of Tyranny (1977), Black Wednesday (1977),

may sit together with Emergency publications on the library shelves,

Forgetting and remembering the Emergency

The post-Emergency counter narrative

whether Sanjay Gandhi's resettlement and family planning measures

Anirudha Gupta, 1977, Revolution through Ballot, Delhi: Ankur, p. 85.

Forgetting and remembering the Emergency

The post-Emergency counter narrative

Henderson, 1977, Experiment, p. 59. In 1919 General Dyer ordered troops to

Ess Ess Publications, pp. 35-65.

Forgetting and remembering the Emergency

the Central Reserve Police Force (CRPF) is standing guard, arms in

The post-Emergency counter narrative

sterilisation or demolition or a mixture of both? The unanswerable

Sinha, 1977, Operation Emergency, p. 153.

The post-Emergency counter narrative

Forgetting and remembering the Emergency

jagmohan, 1978, bland of Truth, Delhi: Vikas.

Forgetting and remembering the Emergency

The euphoria of March steadily gave way to bitterness and cynicism by

Cited in Dayal and Bose, 1977, For Reasons, p. 33.

Forgetting and remembering the Emergency