n=8;
The one national holiday I loved as a child was Republic day, with every contingent of the armed forces represented by it’s chosen jawans conjoined in movement, marching down the extremely aseptic looking Rajpath and backdrop commentary in the ageless voice of Late Jasdev Singh. I was particularly in awe of the soldiers on horsebacks and always wondered if there was one amongst them like me who would just give his horse an ankle to break out and defy the precise mechanical rhythm to which man and animal were synchronised. To my dismay, in all these years, not a single one has. But that’s precisely the thing about people in those uniforms, (the only ones) with shoes shining more than those of someone born in the fifties, glossily groomed facial hair, and the ones who shaved - probably used their razors right until the blade hits inner-most layers of the skin or incapable of cutting any more - I think their beards refuse to grow in fear for at least a month after.
The memories are still fresh as the packaged slices of baked flour told and sold as bread in modern day. The cold winter mornings of Delhi, hoping for no fog and rain, hot milk with rationed Horlicks and requesting permission to have a bath later (or skip) which was always overturned because who watches the Republic day parade without having a bath? It was just so pious, sitting in front of the tube to witness a piece of our nation’s prowess, valour and people who made us swell in pride.
But then, come August and I would realise that my favourite holiday was actually Independence Day and I would begin to count days until August 15th, but somehow it almost always took longer than 15 days to get there. The day would always start with education - made to sit down in front of the TV by my father and listen to the prime minister’s address to the nation and soak it in. Those used to be the longest 25000 hours that kept me from running to the terrace to fly the handful of kites my brother and I had been aggregating for days.
Ah, kites! There was something magical about them back then, a feeling snatched away by adulthood amongst other things. There’s so many things I could do back then - stare at the sun without hurting my eyes and neck, get my fingers cut by the sharp thread, orchestrate catching potential cut-away kites, avoid falling off the roof and yet have my hoisted kite engage in a duel with other kites up there in which the conundrum was to pull the kite fast like Clint Eastwood would draw his gun in a western or let it go and make my move as Jackie Chan would in Drunken Master. The choice made was often incorrect in hindsight as I would painfully see my kite cut loose and float yonder like a Russian gymnast somersaulting before landing gracefully on her feet. Whenever the move was right, however, I loved the sight of my opponent’s kite meeting a similar fate. Are such diabolical standards even possible in a juvenile I wonder?
It’s the 74th anniversary of our Independence as I write this draft and that made me pause to enquire myself about how do I really feel for this day, and have those feelings changed over the years or just that the kite has been replaced by respite - to not do anything and laze about?
Frankly, I don’t get a lucid response about it because I’m a bit muddled up in the head about the concepts of freedom and independence.
ये दाग़ दाग़ उजाला ये शब गजीदा सहर
वो इंतेज़ार था जिसका ये वो सहर तो नहीं
ये वो सहर तो नहीं जिस की आरज़ू ले कर
चले थे यार कि मिल जाएगा कहीं ना कहीं
फलक के दश्त में तारों की आख़री मंज़िल
कहीं तो होगा शब ए सुस्त मौज का साहिल
- Faiz
So I went down the line of questioning a wee-bit more, pondering, not so much in a Who is John Galt? fashion, or maybe I did, about some of the many facets of my existence that tie us down or make us free.
सोने दे अगर वो सो रहा है ग़ुलामी की नींद में
हो सकता है वो ख़्वाब आज़ादी के देख रहा हो
-Iqbal
And without implying something, or attempting to ignite anything, I leave it at that for your connotation.
आजादी तो मिल गई, मगर, यह गौरव कहाँ जुगाएगा
मरभुखे! इसे घबराहट में तू बेच न तो खा जाएगा
आजादी रोटी नहीं, मगर, दोनों में कोई वैर नहीं
पर कहीं भूख बेताब हुई तो आजादी की खैर नहीं
हो रहे खड़े आजादी को हर ओर दगा देनेवाले
पशुओं को रोटी दिखा उन्हें फिर साथ लगा लेनेवाले
इनके जादू का जोर भला कब तक बुभुक्षु सह सकता है
है कौन, पेट की ज्वाला में पड़कर मनुष्य रह सकता है
-Dinkar
Oh, and I am most certainly not cracking a wise one when I say this that we are better than the last several decades, last few years, last few months, even last few days. Because we are alive, free to make our choices and speak freely, spit-balling into our phones to trigger an unending, resounding textual diarrhoea on various social media platforms.
We are now a nation perhaps confused about several ideas, whilst allegedly seeming to possess clarity on others, but that is another subject.
We raise our children in plastic bubbles, if possible accompany them everywhere they have to go because we are in a free country.I however, can’t imagine growing up with my parents breathing down my neck and following me everywhere I went, nor can I imagine cycling in a restricting circle or square or rectangle or pick your own trapezium, because every road beyond the gated society is out of bounds.Even if it were, I would defy and revolt with every fibre in my body to ride as far away from the designated place as possible.
But not the children like machines we are raising today - they get it. They get it that it’s not safe to ride a bike but in circles, they get it that they must follow a structure and secure over 95% in the boards - thank God I’m not writing those dreadful exams in these times else I would have taken a huge hit on my self-esteem. These kids are certain that once their school is over, they will leave for education in a developed country and probably stay there as long as forever because we are making them feel that it’s the right thing to do.
It probably pains some of us inside because given a choice, we would love the emotional ROI on raising the kids and have them if not under the same roof, in our own country at least. Having passionately participated in debates on “brain-drain”, (against the motion) as school kids, we are now programming our children for it.
Independence Day, a day to celebrate freedom from the clutches of our colonisers, to remember and thank the people who made fighting for India’s freedom their sole purpose in life and died for it, a day to remember and re-examine the DNA of the brilliant people that make India. If I might make a suggestion, I’d want for us to grow a sense of humour - laugh at self-deprecation while retaining the cynicism.
So yeah, it’s more to me than the freedom to fly a kite or laze about.. What about you ?
In words of one of the greatest master-disciple duo ever :
Master Shifu : You are free to eat.
Po : Am I?
Master Shifu : Are you?
-Kung Fu Panda
The Times They Are a-Changin' by Bob Dylan. Summers of late 80s, early 90s those were the best days of my life. Simple things, no complications. Play marbles, fly kites or just roam around the neighborhood doing nothing. With onset of summer vacations - fly kites every evening and Imagine you are flying in the sky instead of your kite. Take it way way high so that no neighbor can touch it.
I miss those days.