My family’s love affair with the Nehrus and the Gandhis, it seems, will never end. To this day, my father has a huge portrait of Indira Gandhi in his bedroom!

Somewhere maybe they still feel bonded with the legacy of India’s two premier dynasties. I realised it all the more, when they came visiting me recently – my family otherwise stays at Jaipur. Instead of showing an interest in the historical monuments or the fancy malls, they wanted to visit the Nehru-Gandhi memorials. Not that I wasn’t interested. But memorials?

So, our Delhi darshan began at the Teen Murti house and ended at Shakti Sthal, Indira Gandhi’s samadhi. There was not much to remember from the darshan, but two things stand out. The instances were a sort of reflection on us as Indians and an expression of our respect for the great leaders and their contributions.

The first episode was more of an observation rather than an act.

There were a lot of visitors at all the memorials, but what struck me instantly was the composition of the crowd at these places. There were only three kinds of people: Foreigners, school children and local tourists, the percentage of each group, lesser than the last one. A little thought helped me understand why the composition of the visitors was what it was. It is mandatory for the school children to visit these sites, local tourists have paid for these “dilli darshan” itineraries, and the foreigners perhaps read about these places in the travel guides, or the more informed ones might have read about them in history books.

The second instance though a small one, made me realise a serious fact about the much talked about ‘Indian mentality’. As we were strolling in the lush green lawns of Rajghat (Mahatma Gandhi’s samadhi), we saw two white girls relaxing on a bench. As they had their backs towards us, we couldn’t see their faces, but they seemed to be engrossed in an intense conversation.

We didn’t pay too much attention, but my dad suddenly noticed something about them and frowned. Naturally, it made me curious. Wanting to take a closer look, I went towards them. One of the girls was smoking quite casually. I think the thought that struck me must have occurred to my father too; they are not allowed to do it here. It is a sacred place, but what could we have done when the guards and the caretakers hardly noticed.

As we crossed them, my parents suppressed – with great effort – the urge to say something to them, but I just couldn’t keep silent.

“Excuse me, I am sorry but you are not allowed to smoke here, it’s prohibited.”

“Oh is it? we are sorry,” the girl replied rather apologetically. She instantly put out her cigarette and I returned my gratitude.

As I moved away, there was a lingering thought in my mind; they would definitely light up again. And after going a few steps I turned back, but they were chatting away sans any cigarettes.

My dilemma didn’t end there. Suddenly I realised what would have happened if the violators had been Indians? Would they have stopped smoking on somebody else’s intervention? Would I have approached them to remind them of their incorrect conduct? May be not.

Instead, in all probability, I would have got a rude stare with a suggestion to mind my own business. Even worse I could have been at the receiving end of nasty comments about being too patriotic and acting too responsible. Then there was the possibility of the usual answers like, “How does it bother u?” “It’s my wish, we are a free country, aren’t we?” etc.

What do you think would have happened?