It was 14th August 1947, 15 minutes to midnight. At an industrial town built and maintained by a British Oil Company, a group of Indian professionals and their families gathered around a flagpole. Their faces glowed in excitement and the hot summer wind felt unusually soothing. Nobody complained. Among the group, was a young couple. The husband beamed in anticipation. The young wife stood close to her husband, as if in a daze. A two-year-old baby boy was blissfully asleep on the man’s shoulder.
The senior most man in the group was assigned the honour of hoisting a tri-coloured flag tied strategically at the lower end of the pole.
All were rather quiet awaiting to experience an event they never thought would be possible in their lifetime.
Suddenly, sound of conch-shells from a few houses nearby, signaled the arrival of the historic moment. The senior most man pulled the string. His fingers trembled and eyes went moist as the tri-colour went up and started to flutter in the hot August air.
Everyone burst out in spontaneous cheers and then went quiet, unsure of what to do next. Suddenly, a lone female voice chanting “Vande Mataram” resonated the air, followed by a roar in unison from the rest. It was an extemporaneous act; an act which could have landed them in jail a few weeks earlier.
At that very moment, the young man woke up the baby on his shoulder and lifted him high to draw his attention to the flag. The baby was known to break into deafening wails if woken up prematurely from his slumber. But, that precise moment, he looked around him, squinted at the flag and went back to sleep again.
That baby was me. Yes, I was a witness to that great moment but I have no recollection.
Jai Hind.
Happy Independence Day.
The senior most man in the group was assigned the honour of hoisting a tri-coloured flag tied strategically at the lower end of the pole.
All were rather quiet awaiting to experience an event they never thought would be possible in their lifetime.
Suddenly, sound of conch-shells from a few houses nearby, signaled the arrival of the historic moment. The senior most man pulled the string. His fingers trembled and eyes went moist as the tri-colour went up and started to flutter in the hot August air.
Everyone burst out in spontaneous cheers and then went quiet, unsure of what to do next. Suddenly, a lone female voice chanting “Vande Mataram” resonated the air, followed by a roar in unison from the rest. It was an extemporaneous act; an act which could have landed them in jail a few weeks earlier.
At that very moment, the young man woke up the baby on his shoulder and lifted him high to draw his attention to the flag. The baby was known to break into deafening wails if woken up prematurely from his slumber. But, that precise moment, he looked around him, squinted at the flag and went back to sleep again.
That baby was me. Yes, I was a witness to that great moment but I have no recollection.
Jai Hind.
Happy Independence Day.
