I stepped out of my house early today morning (don't look at me like that, 11 AM is pretty early for me.) The sky was just the right shade of cloudy. A cool, wet breeze grazed past my skin. Music in my ears, a sparkle in my eyes, I thought today was a better day than most. It is then that I noticed that every single vehicle, from rusty old bicycles to swank new cars had at least two Tirangas (tri-coloured flag of India) affixed on them. All the shop fronts sported the three colours in front of the sternly closed shutters. Today was our 62nd Independence Day.
Hurray, I thought. I took a moment to remember the various flag-hoisting ceremonies that I have attended, the atmosphere full of desh-bhakti (patriotic) songs, the stiff salutes, the pride that flows through an Indian's veins as the freedom struggle is recounted in colourful detail. I watched as people with smiles walked with a renewed spring in their step, wishing each other a Happy Independence Day. Kids no higher than my waistline rushed past on bicycles, the tring-tring of their bells a testament of their joy (probably due to the sweets distributed at school.)
Although it's been 62 years, we Indians still proudly recall the struggles and sacrifices of those brave, brave freedom fighters. From Gandhi's innovative non-violent policies to the radical explosiveness of Bhagath Singh, from the silent sufferings of millions of resistant Indians to the courageous marching of Subhash Chandra Bose's army. What is more, most people I see on the street seem to share these feelings. Little paper flags pinned to their shirt-pockets indicate their patriotic spirit.
It is then that out of the corner of my eye, I notice an old woman squatting on the pavement. Her dirty Saree is in tatters, and she has no legs, and evidently no sons. Men and women pass by her; impervious to her outstretched hand, to her desperate pleadings, to her pitiable state. The children are dragged away firmly by their parents as they turn and stare at this anomaly in the universe. They all have small flags.
On the other side of the road, I spot a woman, her pallu (the loose end of her Saree) covering her head and a sizable part of her face. Her eyes are down on the road. She sees nothing but the brisk feet of her husband who walks in front of her. Yes, he has a flag on his pocket too.
A short distance away from them, an affluent(in wealth and girth) man steps out of his expensive car, right into a muddy puddle. The flag pinned to his pocket bobs up and down as his corpulent chest heaves in rage. He then proceeds to yell at his cowering driver while the smaller man tries in vain to apologize.
Just around the corner, I see another small flag. This one is not pinned onto a pocket proudly. Nor is it waving happily in a child's small hand. It is on the top of a pile of repugnant refuse. How fitting.
Are we really independent?
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Unrelated Update:
Got my very own Orbi-Glow™ today! Initially I wanted the 'Original Orange' one, but then I saw the 'Popular Pink' and couldn't resist. The fact that no other colours were in stock did not influence my decision in any manner.
After stringent testing (on myself, no animals were harmed), I have determined that Orbi-Glow™ has no compatibility issues with manically evil masterminds and has absolutely no side-effects (the expression you see is not caused by Orbi-Glow™, it is an inborn feature of the model himself.)
If you are an evil person who desperately needs to appear good, cheaply, Orbi-Glow™ is for you. Get yours today only at one of my favorite blogs:
The Loony Bean.P.S Did I mention that the
other posts there are just as interesting and hilarious as, if not more than, this one?