But the day that stands out the most clearly in my mind was the day Gandhiji fell a victim to an assassin’s bullet. I could not believe that Bapu was no more. I remember the funeral procession passing below our flat in New Delhi’s Connaught Circus. We sprinkled flowers from the balcony as Bapu’s mortal remains moved on.

Thus ended an era. As we bid adieu to him, scenes of the freedom struggle came back to us, as indeed his words. I had met up with him at Birla House on January 28, 1948, and he had told me: “Beta, tum swatantra ke phal khao. Hum to ab chalte hain...” (Child, you enjoy the fruit of freedom. We will have to go away...”)That old man has never failed to inspire me all my life. He continues to do so today.