Sunshine
15th August 2007, 03:11 PM
Today we celebrate India's Independence Day and over the years I have gone through many kinds of emotions on this days that have ranged from the completely childish, to tear wringing to very mature and poised.
As children, August 15 always meant the day when the oldies in our colony hoisted the tricolour and distributed plenty of sweets. Freedom largely meant the taste of the melting caramel and mint in my mouth as I happily waved a miniature flag in my hand.
As I grew up it got caught up with a lot of philosophies, talks of revolution, the need to wear homespun khadi and working in street plays that would enlighten many.
There were long-term commitments we made that helped us work for a thought, a movement that would ultimately help the sunshine smile on many.
But promises were broken, disillusionments set in, dreams got interrupted and as I grew up and married the real meaning of freedom metamorphosed along the way.
Five years ago, while on a visit to India, I had yet another vision of freedom that was unique. It was the eve of August 15.
The monsoons as usual had deluged Mumbai and here I was bravely trying to be punctual on a doctor's appointment. On the way we stopped for fuel at a petrol station and there was a motley assortment of people taking shelter under the roof of the petrol station.
Among them was a small child, barely seven years old, standing in a drenched vest and shorts holding about a hundred mini tricolours under a polythene, struggling to protect them from getting soggy.
He was pleading with everyone to buy at least one flag that was barely 50 paise but there wasn't much of patriotism in the people caught in a downpour.
Desperation
He tapped on my window pane and as I glided it down, I saw the desperation in his eyes. He begged me to buy a flag as he shivered to the bone with the chill of the season. I dived into my bag, but couldn't find loose change.
I came up with a fiver and offered it to him. He was hurt and refused to take that charity and walked away. I looked at his frail frame and was overcome by guilt. I had two small boys at home who would never know what freedom would ever mean to a child like this.
I got down from the car and walked up to him. Feeling a bit bashful about buying flags from him, I struck a conversation with him and learnt that he was the eldest of four children, a school dropout, father was an alcoholic and he lived in a shanty next to the station.
I looked at the huge bunch of flags he held and realised on a rainy day like this he hardly stood a chance of selling these. So I offered to buy all of the flags from him.
There was such a jubilant smile on his face. He couldn't believe his luck. In a matter of seconds, the money and the flags exchanged hands and the little boy scampered off with joy, disappearing into the foggy bylanes.
That independence day, was special for me as I festooned my home with a lot of tricolours and distributed many along the way.
I couldn't exactly wipe out the poverty from his life, but at least brisk business for the day ensured he could play and be free just for that day.
http://www.gulfnews.com/opinion/off_cuff/10146589.html
As children, August 15 always meant the day when the oldies in our colony hoisted the tricolour and distributed plenty of sweets. Freedom largely meant the taste of the melting caramel and mint in my mouth as I happily waved a miniature flag in my hand.
As I grew up it got caught up with a lot of philosophies, talks of revolution, the need to wear homespun khadi and working in street plays that would enlighten many.
There were long-term commitments we made that helped us work for a thought, a movement that would ultimately help the sunshine smile on many.
But promises were broken, disillusionments set in, dreams got interrupted and as I grew up and married the real meaning of freedom metamorphosed along the way.
Five years ago, while on a visit to India, I had yet another vision of freedom that was unique. It was the eve of August 15.
The monsoons as usual had deluged Mumbai and here I was bravely trying to be punctual on a doctor's appointment. On the way we stopped for fuel at a petrol station and there was a motley assortment of people taking shelter under the roof of the petrol station.
Among them was a small child, barely seven years old, standing in a drenched vest and shorts holding about a hundred mini tricolours under a polythene, struggling to protect them from getting soggy.
He was pleading with everyone to buy at least one flag that was barely 50 paise but there wasn't much of patriotism in the people caught in a downpour.
Desperation
He tapped on my window pane and as I glided it down, I saw the desperation in his eyes. He begged me to buy a flag as he shivered to the bone with the chill of the season. I dived into my bag, but couldn't find loose change.
I came up with a fiver and offered it to him. He was hurt and refused to take that charity and walked away. I looked at his frail frame and was overcome by guilt. I had two small boys at home who would never know what freedom would ever mean to a child like this.
I got down from the car and walked up to him. Feeling a bit bashful about buying flags from him, I struck a conversation with him and learnt that he was the eldest of four children, a school dropout, father was an alcoholic and he lived in a shanty next to the station.
I looked at the huge bunch of flags he held and realised on a rainy day like this he hardly stood a chance of selling these. So I offered to buy all of the flags from him.
There was such a jubilant smile on his face. He couldn't believe his luck. In a matter of seconds, the money and the flags exchanged hands and the little boy scampered off with joy, disappearing into the foggy bylanes.
That independence day, was special for me as I festooned my home with a lot of tricolours and distributed many along the way.
I couldn't exactly wipe out the poverty from his life, but at least brisk business for the day ensured he could play and be free just for that day.
http://www.gulfnews.com/opinion/off_cuff/10146589.html