That feeling called freedom

Preeti and Parul are excited, for it is Independence Day. As Ajoba tells them a story, they feel the spirit of freedom deepen.

Published - August 09, 2024 08:06 pm IST

Have I told you the story of how I got lost when I was a child?” asked Ajoba. He was making a tiranga omelette for Parul and Preeti. It was Independence Day and the little girls wanted everything in the colours of the Indian flag — green, saffron and white. They had got green capsicums, tomatoes and eggs for the recipe.

The girls had held a flag-hoisting ceremony in the morning after which they played with their friends and enacted their own little Independence Day play: Britishers being driven out by feisty little girls. Now, it was evening, the excitement of the day had not worn off and they still wanted more.

“Tell us, tell us,” said the girls in unison, forgetting about the excitement of making a tri-coloured omelette for the moment.

Aai, who was sipping her evening chai, chuckled in the background. She had heard this story a million times but she never tired of it. “Tell us, Baba,” she egged him on.

Down memory lane

Ajoba got ready to launch into the story. Not that he needed any prompt, but it was good to have his favourite girls as his eager audience. He cleared his throat. He had a frail frame but his eyes were twinkling with excitement.

“It was the eve of Independence Day,” he began, “and there was an excitement in the air. I was small, but I knew enough about celebrations like Ganesh Chaturthi and Deepavali. But this was something different.”

As the omelette sizzled in the pan, the girls climbed on a stool to keep an eye on it. Just in case Ajoba got carried away and burnt their special evening snack.

“All the houses had the tiranga fluttering on terraces and front doors. My baba had bought a radio because he had heard that the first Prime Minister, Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru, would make a speech at midnight. I remember the big brown contraption with big dials. I felt something important was about to happen.”

“How big was it, Ajoba?” asked Preeti, trying to imagine a radio.

“Hmmm,” said Ajoba, then pointed, “as big as that microwave oven. Maybe bigger.” He paused to check on the omelette and then continued…

“All the neighbours had cooed and oohed as if there was a new baby in the house,” he chuckled at the memory. “We gathered to listen. Nobody talked about me missing my bedtime. I was delighted.”

The omelette was flipped and divided for the two girls. When they settled to eat it, Ajoba continued, “I do not remember much of the speech, except the words tryst with destiny. I kept wondering what it meant. But there was not too much time to think, as all the neighbours began clapping, cheering and crying, after listening to the speech. Then they poured onto the streets and were distributing laddoos.”

He was quiet for a few seconds watching the girls eat.

“I felt I was riding a wave. There were twinkling lights, diyas and flags. Soon my Aai, who under ordinary circumstances would never step out after dark, had come outside too. I ran out behind her. She hugged me and we held hands and began to cheer: ‘Bharat Mata ki Jai’, ‘Vande Mataram’, ‘India is free’.

“I wasn’t sure what was going on. But it felt momentous, and that I was part of something big. And then it happened… Aai let go of my hand for just a second. I had turned around to take a laddoo from someone and, the next second, I could not see her.”

The girls were wolfing down the omelette and hanging on to every word. “Then? What happened? Were you scared?”

“Haha. I wasn’t sure whether to search for Aai or eat my laddoo. I stuffed it in my mouth and ran behind a lady. But it wasn’t her.”

“Oh no,” said Aai, for dramatic effect.

Ajoba smiled. “Just as I was going to panic, something happened. Everyone began to sing Saare Jahaan se Accha. I joined along. I had learned the song in school. For the first time, I had the feeling of freedom; little me was feeling like a grown-up singing along with the crowd. Just as the song ended, I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was mother and father was standing beside her.”

“I cannot imagine getting lost,” cried Preeti.

“I cannot imagine you so little,” shrieked Parul.

Ajoba said, “I cannot imagine not being scolded by my Aai and Baba. But both were smiling. Baba put me on his shoulders so I wouldn’t get lost again and we walked around a bit more. It was mesmerising seeing the city and people that night.”

It was dusk. The omelette was long polished off. Aai’s tea was also done. There were firecrackers going off in the sky nearby. They stood in the balcony. “It is my favourite story of yours and my favourite Independence Day story,” said Aai.

“Now, it our favourite story too,” added the girls.

Ajoba hummed: Saare Jaahan Se Achchha, Hindustan Hamaraa, Hum Bulbule hain iski, Ye Gulsitaan Hamaraa. (Our Hindustan is better than the entire world. We are its nightingales; this is our garden) Aai and the girls joined in too.

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