Voices of Freedom:To My Country, With Love

                        A Reflection on the 79th Independence Day of India

Every August 15th, as the tricolour rises against the morning sky and the national anthem echoes across our cities and villages, I feel a quiet lump rise in my throat. This feeling isn’t new. It has walked beside me since I was a child — growing deeper, fuller, and more complex with each passing year. This year, as we mark the 79th anniversary of our hard-earned independence, I find myself remembering not just the fireworks and parades, but also the silences, sacrifices, and stories that have built this nation.

I was born five years before India’s independence, but the heartbeat of a newly awakened nation echoed all around me as I grew up. We lived modestly in the state of Karnataka, or, as it was then, Mysore State. The streets were narrower, the traffic was gentler, and the neighbourhoods felt like extended families. I remember walking to school in neatly ironed uniforms, saluting the flag in morning assembly, and listening to stories from elders who remembered the days of the freedom struggle — tales of satyagraha, salt marches, and quiet resistance. Even in our modest abode, the concept of India remained vibrant — not merely as a nation, but as a vibrant beacon of hope.

Today, as I watch my grandchildren grow up in a world of digital revolutions, metro rides, and global dreams, I wonder if they can feel what we felt. Will they understand what it meant to build a country from the ground up — with borrowed dreams, bruised memories, and an unyielding spirit? And yet, I also feel a surge of pride. For they are growing up in an India that is bold, diverse, and unapologetically itself. They are growing up in an India that engages in arguments, questions, innovates, and, above all, perseveres.

Personal freedom — that sacred invisible thread — is perhaps the most underrated gift of independence. To speak without fear, to worship freely, to dream without limits — these are not small things. I reflect on my mother, who once hesitated to venture outside without a male escort, and juxtapose her with my granddaughter, who confidently rides a scooter to her art class with music playing in her ears. This, too, is freedom.

But with freedom comes responsibility. And on this Independence Day, I find myself reflecting not just on what we’ve gained, but what we must preserve. In a world growing more divided, may we choose unity. In times of loud opinions, may we seek understanding. And in moments of cynicism, may we remember the quiet heroism of those who gave us this day.

I do not write this column as a historian or a politician. I write as a citizen, an Indian who has loved his country in moments of triumph and despair. Who has cheered for cricket wins, lit lamps during blackouts, stood still for the national anthem in cinema halls, and shed tears during times of tragedy.

To my country, with love — may you continue to rise, not just in GDP charts, but in kindness, courage, and compassion. May your young ones not only lead the way in technology but also in fostering tolerance. May your elders find peace in seeing the seeds they sowed grow into forests of change.

This Independence Day, I will do what I always do — stand on my balcony, watch the flags wave on distant rooftops, hum the anthem under my breath, and whisper a thank you to the sky.

Even after 79 years, the freedom to love one’s country—freely and fiercely— remains the most beautiful freedom of all.

*******************Jai Hind.***********************