When were we more liberal ?

Best Articles on Independence

At 7:30 AM my eyes opened out of a cold chill, I discovered the unused bed sheet lying beside me. I recalled how the idea of taking a ‘nap’ midst of writing an article last night deceived me so bad that I couldn’t change the AC temperature, switch off the lights of the room and finish off the glass of milk still lying unlidded on the bedside table!

With lethargic despondency, I optimized the temperature, took on the sheet, curled up my body against the cold and tried to put myself back to sleep. But the lights were still on, shining bright. So, I woke up and started compiling my pending article.

While I was in the middle of the work, the maid came over – a 12-year-old little girl with a characteristic cheerful smile which she keeps on her face despite all her miseries. “Happy Independence Day didi!” She said. I returned her wishes with a broad smile and lounged back.

She opened the door to the balcony which gave a view of the drizzle outside. The striking of the airy drops against the surfaces was a soothing noise. And the dim light coming through the dark clouds was eye-relaxing. It had been a long time since I had savored a beautiful morning in my bed – a sense of tranquility.

I slept again. This time, until my bhabhi woke me up at 11 o’ clock. She was preparing breakfast, something as a daily chore for which I would always be grateful to her. I finally got off my bed. By now, the maid had left and the rain had subsided, but as I dropped my foot on the floor, I felt a cold touch beneath, shaking me to recall my yearly ritual.

I closed my eyes and recollected something I would read in my history books back in school. The details about the names, dates, and places are erased from my memory over the time, but the feelings from reading those chapters at school stay the same. Just like we don’t feel the air around us until we feel the lack of it, we don’t feel independence until it is taken away from us.

71 years ago, when every Indian dreamt of nothing but ‘freedom’, it was certain that the cost wasn’t anything less than their life. But they paid that cost without a second thought so that ‘we’, their descendants can live their fulfilled dream. This makes all of us, who are born in free India, responsible to value the independence bequeathed by our forefathers. I felt a sense of independence and as a part of my private ritual, thanked those great souls who are responsible for it.

“Understand the value of air that surrounds you. Because its abundance doesn’t reduce its worth.”

I took bath and got dressed up in white and green while the lipstick added a tinge of matt orange. I loved the flare of my bi-color skirt and got back to writing. Gradually, the bleak slackness began to return as the day progressed. Slowly and slowly, I slipped down in my bed. But, before I could sleep for the third time, I heard mom’s voice coming from the kitchen. From her conversation on phone, I learned that mausi and her children would be visiting our place in an hour.

I got up, once again and cooperated in the household chores, just the trivial ones.

They arrived in due time. The minutes of the day evaporated in easy hours as the multi-channel talks went on. Now when I opened the door to the balcony, I saw numerous kites dancing amongst the rainy clouds. I ran upstairs. On the terrace, my brother, cousin and dad were flying kites.

Soon, bhabhi too came over and joined me on the nearby cemented pedestal. While the males were earnestly involved in kite flying, we would either click each other’s pictures or look up in the sky to see the colorful kites soaring like butterflies.

Everything looked the same as it has been on the past independence days. Only that, I was missing our childhood version. As soon as I plunged on one thought, series of memories kept unfolding. I noticed my brother was still wearing half pants with T-shirt as he used to wear back then.

I would be wearing a funky frock with tricolor hair beads, to make my Independence Day special. While he would fly the kite, I used to hold the charkhi. I would watch his kite and others’ in the sky until the smell of brewing tea would start wafting through the iron mesh of the courtyard’s roof near the kitchen followed by an angry roar of mom, reminding us about the time. My brother would turn at once towards the mesh and briskly reply, ‘coming in some time.’ But that would be a token to reserve some more time.

I would enjoy the loitering when I knew the blame would go entirely to him. Meanwhile, he would show me some unique kites flying here and there, and tell me his ‘score’ with the pride of an achiever only to bear a long lecture from mom afterwards.

While I was thinking over the sweet past, my phone beeped once more. There was another ‘WhatsApp’ message, a ‘forwarded’ greeting of Independence Day. I scrolled down to find an array of unread messages. I imagined myself forwarding one’s wishes to the other and filling their phone’s gallery with the clutter of greetings and patriotic quotes. The idea was instantly denied. Even if I would compose a greeting or a quote myself, there is hardly a chance that anyone would actually read it. Because they would as well be having to do the herculean task of sending forwarded messages and put their selfies – pouting with a flag in their hands, on as many media as possible only to meet the social standard. I empathize with the need enforced by advancement but I thought to myself… When were we more liberal – today or earlier?