Some of the better things about our country…

71^st year of Independence ....does that make me more patriotic? Does that make me think a bit more about my country? Does that make me go on an introspection mode? Does it all make me turn on the pages of those books which have always glorified my shelves with so many names, so many events, post colonisation, pre independence, freedom struggle. I ultimately run my hands over that little book; I remove the dust, open my eyes wide and gently press my fingers to turn on the page.

Patriotism has been confined in those little spaces , yes I do spell it for my daughter, I also make her write paragraphs and  I ask her to sing that ‘Anthem'on the special day, we make a flag together, fill those tri colour spaces, colour the chakra with the specific colour and symmetry . ....the rest I tell her “This country is unique” still....

I pick up all the shady attributes, dark analogies, anarchic lingos , deranged slogans, lawless  images, confused emotions, turbulent undertones  from Cows to chaos, potholes to dog poo’s, sadhus to tabooed sex, jet speed carts to noisy honks, anarchic government offices to a tomato starved nation, choti cutter to ‘khule mein shauch’ ....you have it all .....Life, sound, fury....India I still feel alive every time I see you.....diversified, splendid, colourful, utterly unpredictable.

I found yellow, I touched orange, I lived green, I saw red  and wherever my eyes turned I could see all those splendid colours unite together...utterly chaotic yet life peeped from every corner

I saw a dog, a bull, and an elephant on the little by lane, each living in harmony, who said we can’t.

I had no one to talk, I was lonely the last evening, I made a cup of tea for myself and the one who looks after our house, we chatted for a while, she had 4 kids, she also worked the whole day but she still smiled, we shared a joke and she asked me “How was it to travel in an aeroplane”, she never knew the word “spirit” but she had it.

My neighbour makes the best “kheer” she also keeps a bowl  for us, sometimes she gifts me flowers from her maternal house.

I still sniff the oil soaked ‘bhature’ on the roadside dhaba, I still hold on to “tea cups” at the “chai ki dukaan” and talk about my “Nani” with a Stanger. That's my "India"

I wake up every morning and walk on the wet ground, my feet touching the soft mud, the chaos sets in, I get ready for another hectic day and the faraway music, I hear a faint sound coming from the nearby loudspeaker “Sare jaha se accha, Hindustan humara”, I knew with all its vices, I still belonged to this country, my chaotic land.... I was a free being, I felt thankful! 

pic -Google Images

They still carry “Happy Feet and Sing Happy Tunes”

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Happy feet

The coffee maker had turned on the whistle, she yawned, hurried back to her soft satin blanket, eyes could not be generous, frugal, shadowed and then there were the fast forward settings of an urban life stint. The perfect blend of her hand pressed handloom “salwar kameez” went well with her motherly aura, the lunch box smiled - finely tucked mushroom chicken sandwich for the kids, the husband was trained enough to read the alarm signals on time, he had revised his office timing last month, the drop at the bus stop, the maid stood there perfectly in her imperfect style- that’s it, undoubtedly the urban upper middle class women worked hard-a long day but life showered better perks every time she toiled hard.

 But here in my blog I am not counting the perks of those familiar faces rather I would count on the splashes of sweat dropped on hot sunny afternoons by familiar strangers, wet monsoons too cannot deter their smiles-maybe they had worn spirits in their sleeves. We have seen such faces everywhere; around the corner, behind our lane, on the foot path, at my house, on a trip, in the clingy railway station and just on the road. They all had expressions, unique each of them in their own special way.

Walking along the himalayan trail  for a livlihood

 The handloom plant Dharamshala

One monsoon afternoon @India Gate

Sitting around the foot path selling  “hot cakes” every day, I see such faces. 

 She dabs extra lemon juice on the last make. “Makki”  “Challi” “Bhutta” she spends the whole day sprinkling lemon and salt, heating those yellow pearls on golden light. She is happy; she makes a round figure of Rs 300 that was more than enough for the day.

Welcome to another sect – my blog is not about glorification of their struggles through my words but it’s a capture of their invincible spirit. They work hard, harsher sometimes; apathetic conditions of livelihood but colours still flutter from their tattered   sacks, everyday those wrinkled paper notes head on to the market to buy household stuffs. She giggled, the last customer bargained for 5 rupees “Sahib 5 rupaya ki to baat hai, kyun kum de rahein ho?” She had thought he would happily depart with that note, colours ran strong around her.  She straps her basket, leaves her happy trail and catches the next local at 10-45 pm.

Colors @Delhi Haat

She sat there in the busy haat, every night she carved a niche through those artefacts.  “Boutique” “woh kya hota hai?” She knew the harmony of colours and rhythm of designs. She was the sole earning member. She sold her designs in the nearby busy market. Last year “Brinda” had bought a beautiful lamp shade, she designed a new corner in her French villa where she unfolded exquisite artefacts from different corners of the world “Foreign tourists don’t bargain.”

These women galloped their way, everyday to new destinations; they might not have reached pinnacles of glory but who cares about glorious memoirs. They paint a perfect odyssey of life. My salute to the ordinary yet extra ordinary women of India. They leave their own foot prints. Welcome to the “New breed of fire wagons”.