I can scarcely think of Independence Day without having the words of the Preamble roll off my tongue unbidden. Embodied in these very words perhaps, is my first grasp of Indian freedom, and the significance of August 15. Even before that, the images of the Independence Day cultural programmes in school — dressed in the vibrant costumes of our nation’s states, unknowingly enacting a diversity I was yet to comprehend.
These memories, these words are the seeds from which my understanding of independence began. It slowly became quite clear that those who fought mountains of atrocities for the freedom of our nation, wanted to gift their people a country representing love and kindness, inclusivity and acceptance. Yet, on the 78th anniversary of India’s Independence, I must ask: Do these rituals and recitations alone capture the essence of freedom?
Or, are they merely comforting illusions, shielding us from the raw reality of what independence demands of us?
What is true freedom if not a constant challenge to our perceptions?
Does it not require us to question our beliefs, our traditions, our prejudices, our very identities?
What is Independence Day if not a day to ask myself some questions: How much do I care about others? We, the people of India.
How selfish am I?
How much do I care about our children, the future and the country and world that I will leave behind?
Tenderness and generosity can only come from love. Mercy, too. And till there is enough love, there is no change, no reforms, no freedom and no independence.
Is freedom then, in essence, love?
Seeking answers, on a recent trip back home to meet my family, I turned to my 94-year-old grandmother. Perhaps, having been witness to the first Independence Day, then only 17 years old, she would be able to offer me insights into the last 76 years that I lacked myself. On a balmy monsoon afternoon in Kolkata, lying beside Didan, her frail palm in mine, we explored it together.
What differs most from then, I asked, anticipating some hesitation to my vague question. Her response was immediate, piercing. “People weren’t consumed by desire and desperation. They were not trying to fill themselves up with all kinds of pleasures, religion and comparison; they cared about each other.”
In that moment, I felt deeply sad. An aching sense of loss, for something I had never even owned. Or had I? In her tired but kind eyes, I found those decades that I hadn’t witnessed myself. She touched my cheek then and explained that the only road to any progress is to understand oneself completely.
“Because I understand myself, I can understand you.”
If this is the foundation of true relationships, can the foundation of a society be any different? Can there be genuine freedom, genuine independence, without this understanding? Or are we merely chasing shadows, caught in the illusion that we are separate? Amidst the somewhat sombre introspections, some light emerges. Her grandfather, she tells me, was a British supporter, her father a Congress Party supporter, and his brother a Communist. When she shares a little about the frequent quarrels at home between the three, her cheeky glint clearly betrays that she thoroughly enjoyed it. While she jumps from one story to another, my mind marvels at the astonishing diversity within just one home.
My Independence Day is the day I stop and look at the sheer range that is India. The number of different languages, the number of different ways of speaking the same language, the kinds and kinds of food, an expected lack of relatability between two regions, but the undeniable relatability that comes through nonetheless. My Independence Day is the day I want to stop and look. Pause.
In the clarity that accompanies this pause, it becomes simple to transcend the divisions, and to recognise our shared humanity. It feels shameful then, that we who have in abundance, grab at more while others continue to lack.
She tells me when I ask her to describe the first day of Independence, that it was an indescribable collective celebration of joy. “Like when India wins a cricket match?”
“Exactly!” she beams.
I am about to point out Vinesh Phogat’s recent triumph, but she does it herself. How bewildering that we still falter in unity despite countless moments of collective pride, that we repeatedly retreat into separateness once the euphoria fades. These fleeting experiences of oneness are glimpses into our true nature — our interconnectedness. What would our country look like if we lived each day with the same sense of shared purpose? I wonder.
My Independence Day is feeling part of a greater whole, like one team. It’s achieving personal success, yet knowing that it belongs to all. It’s recognising that my accomplishment is merely receiving on behalf of countless talented others, acknowledging their unseen contributions.
As evening approaches, it is time for tea. I am reluctant to interrupt this conversation, but my grandmother looks a bit tired. I seek one last piece of wisdom to carry forward.
Her response again is immediate: “Know yourself so deeply that you can care as profoundly for others as for yourself.”
Is this the essence of true freedom? To know oneself so completely that love naturally extends beyond the self? Is Independence Day a renewal of our commitment to the Constitution? To choose compassion over indifference, understanding over judgement, and unity over division. A willingness to see ourselves in others and them in us. A day of true freedom.
And what is freedom, if not love?
The writer is an actor and winner of the Best Actress award in the Un Certain Regard segment of the Cannes Film Festival, 2024
