The True Spirit of Independence

I do not write posts on every other festival we celebrate in the country. I sometimes think I should though, since there are so many that my blog would complete 50 posts each year only with such posts. I wasn't planning on writing today, but something compelled, rather inspired me to.

We Indians love to criticize our country. I can vouch for the fact that it is our common favorite pastime. Whenever two or more Indians get together in any damn situation - traveling in a bus, sipping tea at the roadside chai-wallah or watching an exciting Cricket match onscreen - the discussion eventually veers towards how big a failure our Indian system is.

Youngsters huddle together and criticize the Indian Education system, the septuagenarian-octogenarian politicians ruling our country and any particularly hot topic in the news, usually not knowing any of the intricacies involved. It isn't like we don't also criticize every other country there is on the globe, especially our erstwhile rulers from the Great Britain and the gorey Amreekans. We Indians are uniformly racist for everyone that way. Just that, in the end our own motherland turns out to be the winner in terms of the number of subjects it can disappoint us on. Admit it, don't we all do that?

THAT is the kind of negative attitude we Indians carry like a chip on our shoulders today. Criticize Gandhi for dividing the nation, dig up dirt on famous freedom fighters to character-assassinate them, abuse the current political system, curse the country for its high crime rate and faulty security system and declare that we as a country and people suck. We do this all year round as a rule, and then, come Independence Day, there we all are - celebrating our independence, flying kites, chanting slogans of "I love my India" and changing our Facebook display pictures (more recently, cover pictures have taken over that function) to reflect the National Flag or something similar. 'Spirit of Independence' we like to call it. But pry a bit deeper, and is that spirit really there? Does it exist in all of its intensity and fervor in the average Indian citizen? I should think not.

Most of us fail to realize the true effect that the freedom struggle and the nation's eventual independence have had on our nation and our psyches. If we are independent in our thoughts and lifestyle today; if we have our own system in the first place, our own rules and even a near-fair, documented system to implement them, it is all due to that fateful day from 65 years ago. We are a democracy today, even though much flawed and criticized, yet something no Indian could ever have dreamed of until the 1940s. With independence came not only the right to run our own country, but the confidence to govern ourselves and make things work without foreign intervention. Many of you would know from personal experience how hard it can be to stand on your own feet and think for yourself if you've been imposed upon and led for far too long. It takes a population full of courage, determination and belief in their collective strength to salvage a nation from ruins and build in its place a real force to reckon with.

To all those people who love criticizing the country, ask yourself - aren't we all ultimately learning? We make mistakes, take wrong decisions, hurt people, lose valuables, in the process learning from it all and looking towards a better future. We all may not have the same ability or the fastidiousness to do things right and achieve note and fame, but each life is unique in itself and has merit worth exploring. Analogously our country is also learning, growing with each passing year, sometimes bettering itself, sometimes facing huge setbacks, yet looking forward with a vision. Before independence, we had everything but hope. Development ensued in many spheres even in the British raj, yet the common man did not think for himself. He was at best a slave, an urchin to many. I daresay the common man is at least his own master now. There are rules even now; government policies that don't go down our throats so well, but rules will always exist. Without rules and a system, chaos shall ensue. A chaos much much worse than what your eyes see across the country today. With the independence of the nation and development of our own Constitution, India as a country got a vision to work towards, a prize to keep its eye on. I shall quote Mr. Shashi Tharoor here:

"A nation exploited for two centuries by the British, which had effectively a zero per cent rate of growth throughout the first half of the 20th century, a land riven by religious, regional and caste conflicts, and full of poor, malnourished and diseased people, faced with the enormous political challenge of integrating several hundred 'princely states', came together through its elected representatives to produce, in the soaring majesty of its Constitution, a compelling vision for the future."

The prize may have kept on changing over the years, but it is very much there. The country today has many aims to work towards - elimination of corruption from the system, combating natural disasters, addressing issues like unemployment, hunger and poverty to name a few - and the dream of someday being called a SUPERPOWER. However none of the growth we see around us today could have been possible had our people not willed themselves to sacrifice their lives and jump into the freedom struggle at different points of time to free India of foreign rule. That having been one shackle removed, there are many more boundaries still to be surpassed, many feats to be achieved before one can fully be satisfied with the nation. Yet, if the efforts, achievements and laurels of all those pre- and post-independence years go unapplauded, wouldn't it be an insult to our nation, to our very own people?

We, the people of India, need to believe in ourselves and our nation. We need to will ourselves into being the change we want to see in the system. If we as the common people keep exercising our own personal racist agendas, faulty principles and corruption at grass-root levels and still blame the system and the people running the government as the real culprits, what hope does the country have of evolving into anything better? The true 'spirit of independence' lies in believing in our country and its power. Look at the positives and work towards developing them rather than dwelling upon all the flaws. Work on the cons, I say, don't just criticize. Be true to yourself - don't just respect the country and its struggle for independence on the 15th of August each year. Imbibe that spirit of independence into your daily life, your dealings, respect for yourself and every fellow Indian. Be a true Indian - take pride in the treasure trove of culture, values, intellect and inherent capabilities that being an Indian by default brings you - be happy in being who you are by birth. There's nothing better you can do for your country.

The Magic Called Monsoon

It is common knowledge that monsoon is the season for lovers and artists. Well, I fit into both profiles - I am a romantic at heart and art flows in my veins. Okay, enough of lies and self-flattery. Simply put, I LOVE THE RAINS.

There is something truly magical and refreshing about the rain that energizes me, uplifts my mood even if for only as long as the raindrops and their after effects last, but it does. Now that I am recovering slowly (Oh! Thanks for asking, yeah my ankle is seeing gradual improvement), as soon as I hear the pitter patter of raindrops on my window AC (a slight deviation from the quintessential 'raindrops on my window sill', thanks to modernization), I run (or limp) along to the garden first and then to the front door to capture the amazing feel and look of the baarish. It invariably feels heavenly and refreshing. Easily defines divinity for me. No wonder that I vehemently advocate the rains' widespread use as instant mood-lifter and an all-natural aphrodisiac. God, what is it with the rain-haters, are they daft?!


Now most of my readers are familiar with my love for my garden and for the camera alike. Earlier I wrote about the joys of nature at my doorstep and of the surprisingly pleasant weather that the month of April brought with it this year. So here I present again, the look and feel of actual monsoon rains and the magical effects they have on everything, right from the smallest of species alive and kickin' under the soil to the newly sprouted leaves on the Guava tree and the fruit it bears. Everything is just so beautiful enticing exquisite!

Just one of the 20 odd shots I took of this particular beauty. (That moment when you realize you have a new muse. And it is a fruit, that too a guava)

I like to think of my garden in the rains as a lush tropical rainforest.

Water, water everywhere. Would anyone like to take a drink?

Ah, that nosey little neighbor Mr.Crow again. Never fail to make an appearance now, do we?

Every crawling, wriggling, cute little thing out there makes my sister cringe in horror. No wonder I love them!

And that's the crowning glory of the place. If only it housed things less nefarious than those evil vampire-like honey bees.

Love birds on a temporary break, eh?

I cannot describe what a rush clicking these pictures gives me. The pain in the foot seems to disappear for a while and I tune my senses to the sound and feel of the world of green and of all things natural and thriving. It is, as I say, a joy like none other. Simply love the Delhi monsoon!









P.S. What are you still doing, scrolling down to read my highly over-rated words? Go, move your lazy bum out there into the open - street, terrace, backyard whatever - and immerse into the magic called monsoon!


P.P.S. If you like what you see and would like to connect with me on Facebook, like my page here. :)

Coping with Pain

I remember this time long long ago, when I was probably 8 or 10 (random guess, I don't really know). It was a Sunday and mom was harnessing all the manpower she could lay her hands upon (read: me, sister and dad) into cleaning up the house, every nook and cranny. I'm talking about the days when we didn't have a housekeeper/maid and had no need for one either. Now I have never been a hard-worker or a cleanliness-freak, and I would do anything to not have to encounter dust as it gives me a highly irritating allergy. So I was kind of slacking in my job of dusting dad's medicine rack. Did I also ever mention how I have always been afraid of scoldings and anyone yelling at me? It frightens me to the extent that I start keeping a distance from the person who yells at me or fights with me.


Anyway, mom caught me slacking and gave me a piece of her mind; I panicked and the medicine bottle went crashing from my hand onto the floor. Glass pieces scattered all over. Another piece of her mind followed. Anyhow she cleaned up the mess and we resumed our respective tasks, this time my making sure I didn't become lax. In the meantime a mean little shard of glass that might have been left out got embedded into my heel. I felt the pinch but was too scared to stop working and risk another scolding and thus went about my work with a slight limp. Now I am a pro at hiding my feelings, especially pain. So no one discovered my limp or the injury for a long time, how long I fail to recall now. The glass obviously went deeper and caused more pain as time went by.

In a few days I guess, one of our beloved uncles visited us. He used to be a total child-pleaser, playing with us, giving us mock plane rides and recounting educative animal stories. And as fate would have it, he noticed my limp when no one else at home did. He asked about it and I came out with the truth. People got worried, analyzed the wound, plucked the glass out somehow and administered required first aid. End of story. I remember no more.

Now the reason why this memory keeps coming back is that I am in pain. And it reminds me of how long and silently I can cope with it. Though I'd consider it a good trait, but it isn't something my mother is proud of. She still almost cries on recalling this incident and laments that I should voice my feelings more; should tell them when I am in pain, so that they do not unknowingly subject me to more suffering and can take necessary action to ease my pain. If only I could do that. But it just isn't me. I wouldn't utter a sound until the pain gets too impossible to bear. Let's just say my body is wired that way. Its threshold of tolerance to pain is a couple of notches higher than any average person like me. I've had multiple ear piercings done at an age when they hurt a lot, eye syringing (read: medical procedure done by inserting a needle into the nictitating membrane of the eye to check if the nasal passage is blocked) done three times, had my left foot sprained about 11-12 times in the last 4 years and undergone a lot more painful stuff I cannot keep track of. I do feel pain, it isn't like I don't. I just don't like to make a show of it, I don't know why. It feels so much more awesome if someone expresses concern on seeing me all bandaged up, and I smile and say "I'm fine". Okay, that may not be the real reason. But I have no answer to why I hide my pain. I was just made that way, much to everyone's chagrin, either by life or by my very own nature and temperament.

But this is why I no longer have leverage with my family and friends as someone who is truly suffering an ordeal. Since I always grin and bear it, over the years they have started assuming that I am fine, so they've dropped the niceties, stopped running errands for me and even asking about my health, even though I am as much in pain as ever. I don't know how I can change that. It's human tendency - we all evolve and adapt. So I've adapted to the indifferent treatment and learnt to fend for myself even in sickness and pain.

But I had this terrible fall yesterday, very similar to the one I had a few years ago, the fateful fall that kick-started all these foot instability issues I have today. It sends chills down my spine to even remember that day...it has shaped my life in more ways than I can count. Though it's the other foot today - the right one. All the more reason to panic, since I don't want it to have the same fate as the left had. Amen.

So the fall yesterday was so bad, I couldn't move my foot at all. I somehow found my way home, slumped down on the sofa right in front of the main door and couldn't get off it for hours. I lay there quiet all day long, hoping that I'd be able to stand up soon enough. But finally when it was time to shift into the neighboring room, I couldn't even touch my foot to the ground without excruciating pain. But I had to move nevertheless, so I managed to play langdi-taang, or to put it in better words, hopped on one foot until the next room. I lay down on the bed there and cried for the next 20 minutes. Yeah, I cried, and I cried very hard. It pained so bad I just could not control myself. Those few meters of hopping felt like my entire foot was being ripped apart and burnt. My mother would surely have been surprised to see me cry, though I could hardly see her through all those tears. She consoled me tenderly and I felt warm, something I haven't experienced in a very long time. She sat by my side for a while, dialing up the doctor's to consult, bringing me various necessities and asking whether I needed anything else. It was when she left that strangely I burst out crying again, realizing that I hadn't had so much care showered upon me in a long long time. It felt...strange. Nice surely...but strange. Was it because of the crying? Probably yes. But it taught me a big lesson. If you expect care or concern, you must let your feelings be known and ask for it yourself. No point expecting anyone to care for you of their own accord. In today's busy time, no one would bother unless you show them that you need them. Alas, I am so used to coping with pain now that I don't feel the need of anyone's care anymore. And that is where I lose every time...