A seven-year-old’s memories of when democracy was jailed and Punjab stood tall

The seventies were remarkable years. India was still not far removed from Independence. The generation that had lived through Partition and the birth of a new nation was still very much alive. They had seen unimaginable horrors. They did not scare easily.

So when the Emergency arrived, they had not lost their grit or courage. They stood up to resist the first great assault on Indian democracy.

My father was arrested one night. Earlier that afternoon, the DSP had quietly informed him at the district courts in Kapurthala, where Rabinder Singh Sandhu practised law. He had migrated there from Lahore during Partition in 1947.

My mother packed a small suitcase with a few clothes, some books and an abundance of faith.

Late that night, the police arrived. It was the first time I had seen so many policemen together. The DSP was courteous. He told my father he was being arrested because, as a lawyer, he had spoken against the Congress government.

Neither of my parents was intimidated. My father had survived Partition. My mother had escaped from Kinnaird College in Lahore during those turbulent days. They had endured far greater trials than imprisonment.

I was seven. It was my first lesson in what happens when democratic freedoms are suspended.

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My father spent the Emergency in Kapurthala Jail. Among his fellow inmates were Sukhjinder Singh, who later became a minister, and the father of Sukhpal Singh Khaira. When I watch Sukhpal Khaira navigate difficult political battles today, I understand where some of that resilience comes from. He, too, had witnessed his father being imprisoned during the Emergency.

People often forget that Punjab recorded one of the highest numbers of arrests during that period. Volunteers willingly courted arrest. Living on India’s borders had shaped a resilient people. Years later, I heard I.K. Gujral remark in Jalandhar that “living on the borders was never easy”. He was right.

Because my father’s friend Daljit Singh Dhillon was the Inspector General of Prisons, we were shown kindness. Meals were sent from home every day, and I often accompanied the cook and driver to the jail.

The barracks seemed enormous to my young eyes. My father shared them with Sukhjinder Singh and Balwant Singh, who later became Punjab’s Finance Minister. There were three beds, two fans and a table stacked with books. My father and Sukhjinder Singh were both avid readers, and every visit ended with the same question: “How many pages have you read today?”

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The jailer, a young officer, was always kind to me and allowed me to walk into the barracks to meet my father.

To a child, life still seemed normal. Only much later did I realise that normal had already been taken away.

Our house shared a wall with the Deputy Commissioner’s residence. During Sanjay Gandhi’s sterilisation campaign, officials from the nearby Excise and Taxation office would often rush into our home to avoid being rounded up. One day, the SDM arrived at our doorstep. My mother calmly told her she was not welcome inside. Having survived Partition, she was not easily overawed by authority.

Yet those were brave years.

Ordinary middle-class families went to prison without flinching. Every day, groups of volunteers walked out of Darbar Sahib prepared to be arrested because they believed democracy was worth defending.

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Indira Gandhi underestimated the Indian citizen. She underestimated the strength of democratic conviction. When elections were finally held, the people delivered their verdict.

Life inside the jail acquired its own rhythm. Fellow inmates joined us for meals, relatives came to visit, and friendships deepened. One wedding proposal was even finalised inside Kapurthala Jail. Sukhjinder Singh’s family met a young Army officer there, who later married his daughter. That officer eventually became Justice Ranjit Singh of the Punjab and Haryana High Court.

Every month my father was produced before the district court. His friend Karampal Singh Sandhu, who later became a judge, represented him. Another family friend, Surjit Singh Sandhawalia, who would later become Chief Justice, travelled to Kapurthala to meet my mother and me.

We were fortunate. Many others suffered without such support.

That year I was meant to leave for boarding school in Mussoorie. Instead, I stayed home. My mother managed the farm, looked after the family and extended help to families of other political prisoners. She persuaded Karampal Singh Sandhu to represent not only her husband but 35 other detainees without charging a fee.

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Justice survives only when ordinary people choose to stand beside it.

I am 58 this summer. Much has changed. But I continue to hope that India’s democratic and secular spirit remains strong.

We belong to a generation raised by men and women who willingly went to prison to defend democracy. People may agree with us or disagree with us, but we must never abandon our responsibility to protect democratic values.

May the Emergency always be remembered as one of the darkest chapters in the history of democratic India.

(The writer is Vice President, BJP Punjab)