August 15, 1947. Sixty-six years have elapsed since then, but the memories of that misty morning are fresh even today. India had won independence from foreign yoke after a long and sustained struggle. The shackles of 200 years of bondage had been snapped at midnight.
What a relief it was! We were breathing fresh air in free India.
Like other boys, I also reported to school on the dot to participate in a special programme organised to celebrate the big day. After all, it was the dawn of a new era in the lives of millions of Indians. That day, instead of assembling in the hall, we were lined up on the big playground.
Placed on a beautifully decorated dais was a garlanded life-size portrait of Mahatma Gandhi, known as Father of the Nation, who beckoned us with his typical smile. And seated near his feet were our headmaster and a couple of other teachers.
The Tricolour, India’s national flag, which had replaced the Union Jack only a few hours earlier at a historic moment in Delhi, fluttered majestically from a pole pitched in the front.
Thanks to my short stature, I was positioned at the vanguard of the smartly uniformed contingent of boys. Thus, I was closest to the flag. Our teachers and others seemed to have dug out their best wear for the special day.
The morning sun played hide-and-seek behind the monsoon clouds. Our starched uniforms and the polished buckles of our belts sparkled. Our headmaster delivered a moving speech on the importance of independence. He and other speakers had to strain their vocal cords because all the loudspeakers in the city had been booked in advance.
Some of my schoolmates were too young to understand what freedom meant to a nation and its people. Fortunately, I belonged to a politically-conscious family. The very feeling of being free gave me goosebumps.
Flying high
We were used to seeing the Union Jack flying on government and other buildings. That morning it was the Tricolour flying high everywhere.
The school did not have a choir so some half a dozen girls led us in singing Vijaya vishwa tiranga pyara, jhanda ooncha rahe hamara (patriotic song celebrating the Tricolour). The chorus left an indelible imprint on my mind.
Finally, came the momentous moment. A command was given by our physical education teacher and the entire assembly of hundreds of boys thrice raised a full-throated slogan Jai Hind (Glory to India). We saluted our national flag as a free people.
Such was the fascination for the flag that even after we were commanded by our teacher to disperse (his voice seems to resound even today), many of us felt like staying on. But the gathering melted when told to go and fly the Tricolour on the top of our houses. Like other schoolmates, I collected a packet of sweets and a flag from the big stockpile provided by the school.
Within minutes, I was climbing the stairs and fixing a flag on the highest part of the roof of my house. My family members joined me in saluting the flag. For them, specially the women, it was an exciting experience. As far as I could see, hundreds of flags were flying high on almost every rooftop — a spectacle that thrilled all of us.
The evening saw streets and buildings illuminated splendidly — another first for many. It was very different from what we see today. More than six decades ago, there were no ‘series’ of tiny bulbs and the use of high-wattage bulbs was beyond the reach of the common man.
The popular mode was lighting cotton wicks soaked in mustard oil in earthen diyas (lamps). Interestingly, mustard oil was cheaper than electricity and was available in plenty those days.
That was why no nook and corner in the city was left unlit. People spent lavishly on illumination and fireworks. Rows and rows of diyas gave the city the look of a heavily bejewelled lady revisiting after 200 years.
There being no visual media, our only means of getting information were All India Radio and newspapers that, however, were delivered the next morning with still photographs of the transfer of power.
It was another long, long wait.
Lalit Raizada is a journalist based in India.
