By Ananya S Guha
My first memories of Independence Day go back to childhood in school but they are blurred. I however, remember some exciting events such as the flag hoisting and the Principal addressing us on what we were told is a most propitious moment. Yes, we understood it. We understood it better when the school celebrated the year-long birth centenary of Mahatma Gandhi. In school I-Day was also marked by a festivity and a general air of celebration.
At home things were quite the same. In fact, the day before we waited animatedly to hoist the tri-color. Our house was what was known as an ‘Assam Type House’, something akin to a large cottage. The flag had to be hoisted against the tin roof or against the arches of the house. That in itself was an exciting moment. The day before the flag had to be washed and ironed. After Independence Day the flag was relegated to the store room, to be forgotten till the ensuing August 15th of the next year.
My mind ripples with memories when I think of Independence Day celebration as a child, here in Shillong my home town. This dates back to the sixties or seventies. I vaguely recall my father being invited to the Governor’s House for “tea” in the day time. We were in awe at his being invited to a hallowed precinct. I vaguely something similar happening at the Shillong Club where my parents would be visitors. What exactly happened at these venues was something my imagination could not unravel, but what I remember is my parents ostentatiously preparing themselves for the occasion and coming back home beaming with smiles. “What happened?” I would ask. But my infantile curiosity would always remain in a state of animated suspension because only vague replies were mumbled.. Some names of Shillong’s elite were mentioned. Someone like Brigadier Baruah! However, what I was more interested to know was exactly happened, what was the food like and apart from the Governor who else were the Chief impresarios.
The turn of the 1980s however, saw something which I generally would not like to recall. The signifier then was bandhs called by groups who themselves wanted Independence! So, there was a call to boycott the other Independence Day on August 15th. Very few flags fluttered and the roads were deserted. It meant a sort of solitary confinement with family. Some of my bureaucrat friends would of course say that they went to the Governor’s House and met the upper strata of society. I listen to such narration only wistfully. Not being a person in the echelons of power I can only imagine what took place there, thinking from the confines of my home. Independence Day now has been manacled. What I read of it is from the newspapers, and what I see of it is a distant flag unfurling itself in the vistas of my memory. The last few years have been more active though, and despite bandh calls people have been coming out in hordes in a gesture of intrepidity. Children too are walking their ways to school.
However, memories of Independence Day in my childhood still surface