Azadi Ka Amrit Mahotsav: Stealing the tricolour!

This is a personal story that took place today – 15August 2022.

It was late in the morning when I woke up with fever and to torrential rains in the serene royal town of Jeypore, Odisha.

This was the first Independence Day since 2000 when I had left my hometown for studies and jobs. Like many of my friends, a job in the Indian defence forces was a dream unfulfilled but we used to be crazy about the defence forces and India. Patriotism was omnipresent and we used to participate in the annual parade with great pride.

Patriotic songs (mera karma tu, mera dharma tu…) and hoisting of the tricolour greeted you in every corner and students wore a bright smile despite the rains and inclement weather usually seen during this time.

But having lived in the metros for decades had made me forget all this, and I wondered if people celebrated the Independence Day at all in the small towns of India. Especially, considering smartphones have made most of the traditions old-fashioned and people lazy.

So, when I decided to get a flag to hoist in our ancestral house, it seemed a bit late but not impossible. People had distributed the flag to almost all in the town a few days ago as part of the Azadi ka amritsov. So, there definitely were surplus flags in the town, I thought.

Khadi Bhandaar and book shops would be facing losses today, I thought. But I was greatly mistaken. At around 10am, I set out to get a flag – the delay in favour of me. My first stop was at the sub-post office, where flags were sold for Rs.20 each. It had started to drizzle and people had gathered outside the post office to hoist the flag. To my surprise, they said they had run out of stock, and my pleading eyes were evaded by all.

I sped away to the main post office, mera karma tu…mera dharma tu playing along the roadside. I got the same response. On the way, I saw a sea of people with the tricolour in each hand – some had two. My fervent wish to hoist the flag in my home turned even stronger.

Not wishing to waste any moment, I rushed to Khadi Bhandaar – same response; and then in stationery shops – all of them in the town. The disappointment slowly turned into a shock for me. I went to a crowd that were chanting Bharat mata ki jai loudly and passionately – under heavy rain. All were waving the flag in the air and were too elated for me to even ask someone to lend me one – I had missed the bus.

My attention turned to an autorickshaw. This one had two flags. I mustered some courage and asked the driver to lend me one. He refused. I offered money and said he could definitely give me one. He refused and said it would reduce the charm of his autorickshaw.

I saw an old lady begging for alms in one hand and holding the flag in the other. I could not even ask her about the flag seeing the glee on her face. The children around had guardians fiercely protecting them.

Stealing was the last resort. Several shops were closed and some of them had two flags strung on top of their roofs. I found a secluded shop and quickly went ahead to remove one. No one was watching, and of course, the flags were not purchased by the shop owner. To my surprise, the neighbouring shopkeeper came out and started admonishing me. However, the flag was already in my hand. I apologised and merged in the crowd.

The joy in my heart overwhelmed the guilt in my heart – a minor guilt. After all, everything is fair in love and war! Though I do not believe in it fully, the adage had a new meaning today.  

My thoughts immediately ran to the people who say patriotism is dead in India. To those who say India will soon break into a thousand pieces; that small towns don’t matter. They do; also in the small towns within the metros. And India lives in each of our hearts, unconditionally.

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MDDTimes Staff Writer

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