A moment of pride

There is just a thin line that separates jingoism from patriotism. On all occasions, I can tell one from the other but Independence Day is an exception. Whenever I see our Tiranga flying proudly atop public buildings or displayed on home balconies, watch a little urchin selling it at a traffic crossing or stuck on vegetables or fruits at wayside stalls, I feel a swelling of pride. The same happens each time I hear the National Anthem sung (even if often off-key). From early childhood, it is such a vital part of our public display of pride in our country that no amount of indifference from cynical friends can smother it.

When it brings so many memories to those of us who were born after Independence, can you imagine what it meant to the generation that participated in the freedom struggle? My mum-in-law was gifted a superb Banarasi tissue sari by her husband (who hid it from her until the actual day) to wear to the Raj Bhavan in Lucknow (where they lived then) that evening. She would tell me how Mrs Sarojini Naidu — then Governor of UP — gave such an emotional speech that everyone had tears in their eyes as they greeted each other. Fifty years later, when she had moved with us to Delhi, she wanted to join the crowds in the India Gate roundabout to see the lights go up on Raisina Hill when North and South Blocks and Rashtrapati Bhavan were lit up in a dramatic second. A collective ‘Ahhh!’ went up from the hundreds who had gathered there to see this spectacle and I could feel tears prick the back of my eyes as I witnessed their joyful pride.

Sadly, we have lost that innocent pride over the successive decades after 1947. Today, children sit in a bored way as they are dragged to Red Fort to shout ‘Jai Hind!’ at the end of the PM’s speech. Many invitees look ready to die in their stiff, formal clothes and the chaos of locating your driver at the end of this torture is another story. Come now to the evening reception by the President at Rashtrapati Bhavan and re-live the torture of the morning as you drink your tea and battle the hordes for a bite at the buffet tables. Celebration is the last thing that comes to mind to describe the occasion given the sweaty weather of August. I wonder what insane logic was behind the choice of the unkindest month in our calendar for our leaders to declare this as our country’s Independence Day.

And yet, despite all the sweat and heat that is a necessary part of our Independence Day, we all feel compelled to attend the unfurling of the flag or at least see it telecast live from the Red Fort. And no matter how many times one has heard ‘Sare Jahan Se Achcha’, or ‘Ae Mere Watan Ke Logon’, it moves one each time. Cynical opinions on how degraded our political leaders are now or how the dignity of every national institution has been stripped, cannot dim our pride in our Independence Day.

Let us now come to the Alaskan date between Trump and Putin and hope that some good comes out of it. Most political commentators are not very hopeful and poor Trump looks further away from being awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. With yet another war resisting his ‘peace’ proposals, there is no saying what this crazy leader may do. Slap India with more sanctions perhaps? Invite Asif Munir to take over the command of the American troops? He is regarded as almost a cartoon figure and the memes he has inspired could fill a huge book. Seriously though, he is mentally unstable and completely unfit to lead his country, leave alone the rest of the world. Let us pray that the Americans will do us all a favour by declaring him unfit to be President of their country and impeach him.

Come now to the impact of climate change on our planet. This year, Europe has witnessed higher temperatures than India. Wildfires have devastated huge tracts of southern Europe while even England’s balmy temperatures have suddenly shot up. Floods have devastated our own country and one watches with horror as little trickles have turned into furious roaring rivers as they sweep villages before one can count 10. As for our city roads and the plight of commuters, what can one say? How can the city’s municipal authorities be unprepared each time? Predictably, each party blames the previous government for corrupt siphoning of funds meant for cleaning drains and sewage lines. No one, in short, is to blame but our karma.

As for the demolition of slums and illegal colonies, why choose the monsoon to strip the poor of the roof (plastic sheet actually) over their heads now? Yet, given the heat of summer, the freezing weather in winter, public ire is bound to rise no matter which season the clean-up efforts are made. Similarly, everyone agrees that electoral rolls need revision yet when such an exercise is undertaken, every political party plays its own games to discredit the efforts. Some don’t believe the Election Commission, others the Supreme Court, while our worthy parliamentarians prefer dharnas outside its precincts rather than debates inside.

Yeh duniya gol hai.

— The writer is a social commentator

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