This year we celebrate the Azaadi ka Amrit Mahaotsav. And I suddenly realise that it’s been quite some time since I last witnessed a live Independence Day Parade. I know it sounds ignoble, but it would be even more dishonest not to own a certain fact- that for the past few years, I just don’t feel like being a part of it.

Ever since my birth, the Independence Day and the Republic Day Parades were events we kids looked forward to with enthusiasm. These two days were always highlighted in the calendar of our lives to enhance the patriotic fervour that we were brought up with.

Every year, after taking the salute at the nearby Parade ground as the chief guest, my Daddy used to unfurl a ‘home’ flag in the terrace of our house, with his entire family of contingents proudly watching him. The National Flag would then flap above our modest abode in Berhampur the whole day, for the entire town to see.

Since the ‘Har Ghar Tiranga’ abhiyan was still a thing of the future, there were times when Daddy was meekly reprimanded for this ‘uncivil act’. The authorities felt that the Flag had no right to flutter on an unofficial building in the house of a common man.

Daddy however mulishly refuted this statement saying the flag had no right to go into hiding because of some new fangled ‘silly’ rules. And having taken part in the freedom struggle in his own imperceptible way, he was not a ‘common’ man.

Since Berhampur was a small town and Daddy had been instrumental in its development, the admonishing proved futile. And the flag continued to flutter. No one could stop it. Not even the winds of change!

With the advent of technology came the Television, which broadcasted the Parades from the heart of India. The special days were boldly underlined as we watched with pride the direct telecast from the Capital, the unfurling of the Flag, the ceremonial pageants rolling by, the mobile tableaux marching past and the multihued youngsters demonstrating their skills.

Schools and colleges gave us a chance to involve ourselves and partake in the activities. Each year the feeling continued to be the same. Whether we were observers or participants. It was a simple emotion. Of joy and of pride!

I don’t exactly know when I started to divorce myself from the jingoistic sentiments. It was probably when my husband was posted in Assam.

In Guwahati, we were devoid of such functions. Often some untoward incident took place just before the events. Or invariably a ‘bundh’ was called for on that particular day.

Then only the officers were escorted by the Police force, in a special bus, to and fro from the location. The mandatory act of quickly hoisting the Flag was followed by an even quicker retreat.

The worried wives waited with bated breath at home. The loyalty had now been replaced by apprehension. And nationalism took on a new form. That of terror and trepidation!

Ever since, the feeling remained. Unlike us, our children grew up as ‘Flag wavers’, budding citizens, who could never differentiate between the tri-coloured khadi and the paper flags that were handed out every year for them to brandish.

Since liberation had already crowned their country, they saw no point in pledging to vows that now seemed hollow. I saw no point in performing a deed that was nothing but obligatory.

Of late the feeling has escalated. What’s the point of unfurling synthetic flags when most of the pillars of our democracy are slowly beginning to crumble?

How can you force yourself to feel a kind of elation when the balloons of truth are constantly being deflated? How can you pretend everything is okay when lies are pedaled, human rights are violated, and justice is raped?

How can you bring yourself to sing the Anthem loud and clear when on issues that matter, a deadly silence reigns? Maybe that is the reason I have stopped, not only attending these functions but also watching them.

Even the rare times that we go to watch a movie and we are asked to stand up for the National Anthem, I always stand up with a kind of reluctance. I mean, what’s the point of putting on a show of a patriotic act, when your insides are screaming a different tune?

And yet. Every time the Flag flutters on the screen, there’s a tiny bug that tugs at my heart. And every time the colours of green, white and orange are reflected in the blue sky, the same old feelings begin to unfurl from within my biased and bitter self.

Even without wanting to, my body experiences the same sentiments I had felt as a child while diligently discharging my duties as a citizen.

My ears throb with the same uplifting cadence. My heart swells with the same pride. I surprise myself every time when I start to sing in a full throated voice the Anthem being played.

It doesn’t even matter when some heads turn in surprise. I don’t even care if my husband’s eyebrows literally vanish into his scalp as he hears the zeal in my voice echoing across the hall.

The rush of blood is the same. The thumping heartbeat is back. With the strains of ‘Jaya Hey! Jaya Hey! Jaya Hey’, even as the tempo starts to escalate, I feel the same emotions slowly beginning to prick my eyelids.

After it is over, I take a deep breath. It takes a lot of restraint to stop myself from actually performing a salute!

Like Martin Sheen once said,” I love my country enough to risk its wrath by drawing attention to the negative things we don't always want to see.” And yet, I can never shy away from my sentiments.

Yes. Something has definitely changed. But it certainly isn’t me. And you know what the best part is? I don’t even need any Special Day to experience this blissful feeling.

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