Long live the freedom!!!

Today is when you recollect the national anthem piled in parts in corner of your memory. Today is when you remember again the likes of Gandhi and Nehru. Today is 15th August, Independence Day. This day fills you up to the brim with pride and self-respect for being a true Indian. The flag hoisting pulls the patriotism out of you which was stashed in the corner of your heart. It reminds you how great your India is. The chauvinism, for a moment, overshadows poor governance, poor health, poor education, poor facilities and working environment, poor this, poor that. It was something that irked you throughout the year, but not today. In fact, all the visas and passports should be issued on this day only. This one day would remind how great your country is than the one you are going to. This would do away with the brain drain trouble. Long live the freedom!

How do you best remember Independence Day as? Well, this day fondly reminds me of a ‘peela packet of 2 motichoor ladoos’. Orange coloured ladoos seem to be flavour of the day. This must have been the initiative of the astute hardliner Hindu organisation, to clad the ladoos in the colour of Hindutva. The Christians and Muslims couldn’t see it coming. They blithely accepted this tradition of giving ladoos, oblivious of the veneer of Hindutva on them. The convent schools, however, have now woken up and the new tradition of ‘white’ coloured barfis and cake is on roll. Unfortunately, the Islamist couldn’t find a Quran verse urging for green sweets on I-Day (for they managed to find one for terrorism and killing people).So, they still go with the orange ladoos. Long live the freedom!

Surprisingly, Indian flag is the only thread of unity running along the country. No ideology, no religion, no party or sport or culture could unite it; even the national language fell flat in its attempt. When it comes to dignity of our flag, we stand together, we fight together. Neither Sachin nor Sania or Mandira could escape the brunt of this one-time-united Indians when they played with the sentiments of our dear flag. Long live the flag and long live the freedom!

Actually, these three days (I-Day, R-Day & 2 Oct) are assigned public holidays so that you can sit back and certify your patriotism to country. The entire country is closed; every Indian is made to do this compulsory exercise. They make you watch the flag hoisting, the parade and half a dozen patriotism soaked Bollywood films so that you can reaffirm your Indian-ness and loyalty to the country. The whole time in life is given to you on this day to proclaim or avow your allegiance to the country. Long live the freedom!

But now it is done with a flavour for youth in it. Our grandfathers freed us from the clutches of Englishmen, but we in turn freed ourselves from their clutches and started running hard, fast from them. Today, we have run quite a distance from their morals, culture and blah-blah. Failing in their endeavour of bringing us back, now they have starting changing themselves to our tunes. Markets have paved way for malls, dhotis for Capri, Hindi for Hinglish. TV channels now show ‘Lago Rahe Munnabhai’ instead of Richard Attenborough’s Gandhi, ‘Rang De Basanti’ for ‘Tiranga’ and many more. Just waiting for the day when Britney Spears or Shakira would be performing on Republic Day at India Gate. Long live the freedom and long live India!

Let there be light

Munni always loved it here. She loved the dangling chandelier, the staircase that swirled into the top floor, the marbled floors where she glimpsed herself every time she cleaned it, the fireplace made of silvery stone that sparkled like sand in the sunshine, the curtains that swayed in the wind gushing from the side-window, the vast picture of a chariot driver guiding a rider with a bow and arrow, in middle of a war-field while the army seemed spelled or frozen.

As long as she could remember, she could always picture herself there. Earlier, she used to play around her mother while she washed clothes or swept the floor. Sometimes, the mistress gave her toys to play with. She would play with rapture but she could never apprehend why the doll was without a hand or the car had no wheels. But now, her mother said she was a big girl and she succoured her in doing the dishes, washing the clothes and cleaning the furniture of their master’s house.

Today, she found everything intriguing. There was an implicit energy ubiquitous in the atmosphere. Servants decorated the home with lights and flowers, the house was ensured immaculate. The mistress supervised the cleaning and yelled repeatedly at her mother; every time she found a speck of dirt on the floor or on the furniture her mother just finished cleaning. “I want Goddess Lakshmi to bestow her blessings on us today”, the mistress yelled whenever she was exasperated with the servants. “Today is the festival of light, Deepavali. Goddess Lakshmi visits the best lit and clean home and blesses it with money and happiness”, her mother later explained to Munni, still busy with the cleaning of house even though the day progressed swiftly.

Soon, the sky gleamed red, gathering the last of the light, as the sun headed back to its origin. The decorations in the house were still on and it was some time before Munni’s mother could leave for home. She realised that it would be late before she left for cooking dinner at home.“Munni, you better leave for home and start preparing for the dinner. But, the mustard oil is also finished”, said she, pondering over the dinner paraphernalia. “OK, buy half a litre from Lala’s shop in the way home. I’ll cook saag for my little princess today.” She said handing over the money to Munni. She left without delay for the grocery shop.

She could easily make out her home from distance. It was bland and conspicuous by absence of dwellings around it. She always travelled along the same rutted path flanked on both sides by knee-tall grass, making her linger on every step she took. The walls looked crumpled as the mud parted way for cracks into them. A thin asbestos sheet on top to occlude the rain water had narrow openings through which sunlight crept in the morning. Inside, the wall was sodden on the edges while thickets of soot and layers of cobweb, encrusted on it, looked akin.

She knew what she had to do. She at once started scraping the soot layers and cleaned the floor. She arrayed the kitchen items and cleaned the chulha. She swept off the leaves and twigs fallen on the verandah. She, then, took cotton lumps and carefully rolled it between her palms to prepare cotton wicks. Then, she poured the mustard oil she just bought into baked clay diyas and placed a wick in each. Finally, the diyas were lit and the house glimmered in the light. She knew Goddess Lakshmi would bestow her blessings today.

She was outraged beyond confines, her wrath knew no bound. She slapped and pummelled Munni. She incessantly ranted and beat her, wilting with every strike. “How could you, you haraami. How could you squander the oil in that diya. Now, how will I cook the saag, in your blood? ,” her mother kept ranting.

A strong gush of wind flickered the flame. The flame of the diyas endured but finally gave up. Darkness and penury reigned the house again.