Winter evenings in Dehradun can be extremely depressing; a town situated in the valley, the darkness descends rather quickly. The feeling gets reinforced many times if one is alone as I was and added to it was the looming intermediate examinations just round the corner. The misgivings about my preparations at top of my mind, the uncertainty of the prospects of success and the gloom of the dark evening all adding to my cumulative stress quickly pushed me in the abyss of abject depression.

Returning back after an aimless walk in my unhappy state of mind that 30th January of 1948, with the evening shadows lengthening fast I could sense some thing adding to depression in the air possibly the nature had already sense the tragedy in far-off Delhi.

As I neared the house I overheard the announcement being made by AIR from the neighbour’s radio that Mahatma Gandhi has been shot. Now I knew as to what it was that had suddenly augmented the depression of the evening: the light had gone.

Dehradun was completely shut down for the next many days and crept to life even so slowly, it was so complete and the general public so involved in the national mourning that if you asked for a glass of tea even from the way-side stalls you were greeted with a baleful stare instead.