HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY

Independence day just passed by, like an aeroplane in the sky, coming with a loud establishment of impact. We waved at it and then when it hid itself in the leaves of the calendar, life again resorted to back to normalcy. 15 August has had its significance since it designated a spot for itself in the list of national holidays in the calendar. Unfortunately, the essence is just on the calendar, not in real life. We fly kites with friends the whole day, or probably, if feeling patriotic, watch the parade. But, is it just limited to that? Does flying kites really convey the essence of the word? Forget about celebration. Are we independent yet? Even if we are, then for whom? For our own selves or the world out there? Do we have the freedom to be who we are? Do we have the freedom to express ourselves clearly? Do we have the freedom to rise above a set of social norms society has established for us? Everything is on the page,numbered, segregated, but what’s out in the open? Guilt, fear , anxiety, depression, bondage, burden, the vague ideas of morality and what not? Independence is still an abstract idea that comes alive once every year in the form kites and fake patriotism and pride. Ask Yourself. Are you independent for your own sake and being?

 

It’s been seventy years, ten hours and eleven minutes. 

I am writing this with my deception reaching its highest point.

HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY. 

Yes , you are independent to be who you are. 

HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY. 

Yes , you can love whosoever you want to.

Yes , you don’t need to be accepted by anyone.You only need to be accepted by yourself. 

HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY..

Yes, your dad will no longer beat you.

Your mom won’t cry now.

They won’t throw you out of the house. 

HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY…

They are not going to tease you or humiliate you in school.

Yes, You can reveal your long old Crush you had on him and he won’t break the same long old friendship.

They are not going to call you with different names anymore.

HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY….

Yeah, you can proudly admit who you are. 

You don’t need to be closeted anymore.

HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY…..

NO, 

You are not independent. 

you will sit along with your dad, 

in front of the TV, 

watching the parade, thinking, 

This is the day I will come out.

This is the day I will be born again.

This is the day I will be independent. 

“Dad, I think I am—-.”

“Hey , see the Tricolor being hoisted. I feel so proud of my country. Yeah , you were saying something? “

“Nothing dad.See the tricolor being hoisted.”

They will still tease you in school.

When your friend will come to you and say , “I think I have a crush on that girl who lives across your street. She’s so hot. “

You will end up saying ,”yeah,Totally.”

No, You are not independent yet.

The day will end up and before going to bed, 

you will look at the mirror, 

you won’t be able to look at the image, 

eye to eye.

Just like other days, you will curse yourself and go to bed, pretending to sleep, staying awake for hours. 

You won’t realise when you closed your eyes and slept.

The alarm will wake you up. You will go to the basin, wash away the stains of tears from your face, whitening your red eyes .

It’s been seventy years, ten hours and forty minutes.

I am writing this with as much truth as I can put.

No, You are not independent yet. 

Just then, your neighbour will say, 

” HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY……. “

You will reply, 

” HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY……… “

                    -AMAN SINHA. 

English Hons. ( First  year)

 

Here’s the letter I wrote to my sister

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Earlier this month, my sister moved to New York City for the next five years and that has been the hardest thing I’ve had to cope with till date. We have lived in the same city, under the same roof and in each other’s constant company for nineteen whole years.

Our brains have a way of being in denial of future certainties that feel alien. My sister, her boyfriend and I were at lunch. I was told to pay the bill from her wallet. Among a folded stack of grey notes, I take out a 100. But it wasn’t 100 rupees but 100 dollars. A grey note with Benjamin Franklin’s face and not Gandhi’s. That’s when it hit me, she won’t be a tangible presence anymore, her reality won’t be the same as mine anymore. This is a letter where I attempt to pen my thoughts.

Dear Kitty,

Truth is a dangerous thing and should be treated carefully. And I have come face to face with it. If truth was tangible it would be a ball of fury, ablaze with tangerine flares darting at me, like scalding tongues looking for a taste.

But it can be calmed with a neon ‘DO NOT PRE-EMPT SUFFERING’ sign. Alas, I am not a citizen of the rational human beings nation. I thrive in self-inflicted hurt or better still, premature hurt. Pessimism should be my middle name.

Days go by and I do not realize. Countless days of monotony, excruciating monotony. My jeans are getting tighter and my mind’s getting foggier. It’s all up to me. I can just pick myself out of this funk or as dear Virginia Woolf says – cast off the crumpled skin of the day.

Do I bring you down? Do I leave a bad taste in your mouth? It’s not like I’m unaware of your overly cheery tone or your painfully obvious methods of consolation. I’m sorry. I just wish you were here. Surprisingly, it’s the elevator ride up to our home that kills me. It’s like someone is wringing out the blood from my heart.

I hope your new life treats you well. Counting down the days, well maybe years is a more appropriate unit. Zero down, five to go. My fear of change is building like boiling water in a kettle. My ability to cope with solitude is diminishing with every passing day.

Why? Why did you have to be so overbearing? Nineteen years under your shadow, under your influence, under your spell. Everything I am is because of you, I am you!

And now the truth is that I have to carry on this facade you’ve built. This responsibility you’ve left behind. Something I feel ill-equipped to do.

There was a fork in my life’s road but you created a blind spot. You made me believe that this is what I wanted and that everything I desired, I got. But how does one desire without sight?

The trail you’ve left behind is matted with painfully happy memories like poison ivy.

Debashree S. Unni

Political Science (Hons) 2nd Year