boojum; or freedom isn't free

Don't have the time for a more leisurely or better thought-out post on this, sadly, but need to note nonetheless. Independence Day greetings this year were, with some exceptions, met with uniform scorn.

Snark being the order of the day, wasn't surprised. But the question remains: granted that inherited soft-core jingoism may rightly be deemed naive, but how less naive is inherited contempt?

Undeniable that the country - and dare I add, each one of us? - has a long and ugly way to walk still before we can have guilt-free celebrations. One would have to be gloriously imbecilic or living under a toadstool to not see why. But still, what is particularly objectionable to commemorating a day to freedom? It is something we cling to viciously, is it not?

Whether it be A. R. Rehman's music or stories of presently unimaginable sacrifice that have worked itself into unconscious; whether it be merely gladness to be alive or to have even this, this ability to question and scoff - Independence Day can mean more than just habit and school-child hangover. History cannot be pretended away. This doesn't necessarily mean one ought to feel anger or bitterness over injustices committed, but there really is nothing commendable about having no memory of it either.

Am sorely tempted to smirk and throw blistering sarcasm right back at these responses. But I think what I'd prefer - if anyone's asking :) - is just ensuring that one has thought out one's reasons and is not merely repeating what immediate social pond seems to agree upon.

Just ties in with larger realisation that time only makes firmer in head. While I would still claim that such a dichotomy does not truly exist and must be resisted at all costs - if it ever comes down to picking between the talkers and the doers, I can safely say I've decided which camp I'd like to be on.

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Easy: tucking flower in hair, making three cups of tea after midnight, walking the dog, saying I love you, taking an hour-long bath, laughing.

Not easy: waiting for morning, making it meaningful, drawing it like you see it, saying I love you, wishing you didn't wish you were dead.

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Simple can strike like very little else.

Stop woefully fingering stringy grated cheese that was heart, this rainful morning, when phone buzzes to life. It is an ancient friend. Friend so ancient, in fact, that last name eludes me still as I answer at last chime of The Adventures of Tintin opening sequence, with a barely suppressed groan.

How was I, ancient friend wants to know, and knowing now, wants to let know in turn that friend was doing very well. Was in fact, in line for a pretty great promotion, given excellent track record of last two years. Another opportunity waited across seas, were friend to choose to accept it. Already so struck at such unfamiliar sweet and straightforward hubris, that there is not much else to do except congratulate as sincerely as freshly grated heart would allow.

Tu kya job kar rahi hai, asks ancient voice, and I fake mirth and confess to complete and inexcusable hibernation. Ancient voice sweeps aside and only booms out affirmation of how they always knew I'd be one of those big ones, Tu dekh lena.

Conversation ends in another few newsy minutes and before hanging up, friend finds two more generous, string-free things to say, overlooks broken Hindi and ego, and extracts promise to meet this time, pakka. Grateful heart now again one, toasty, molten pile of cheese - if such tedious analogies are to be forgiven - how but to not be humbled completely? Wherefore smug, sullen superiority? What use of beguiling linguistics? Come as you are, with sword naked and ready to plunge into gut.

Once done pulling head out of own behind, take a moment to go down on knees for the existence of peanut butter cups. Of hair that has never been longer. Of this sky right here with clouds rolling in, unstoppable.

hold applause till end

Illuminating friend who has changed much about life and perception often points out the redundancy of, and even harm in, too much and too easily-given approbation.

True, approval is a beautiful and affirming thing - who's above wanting a pat on the overworked back? - but perhaps the recognition is only incidental to the work done to deserve it.

The need to achieve is perhaps not so much a necessity because a source of pride and joy of friends, siblings, parents, lovers, pets, self - but because in it lies the key to our less-small selves. We are made more by what we do because for a moment there is revealed in us the propensity to act instead of not, to take the less lazy route. And every such step is but a step that the flood of feelgood feedback might sometimes cause to overlook.

While thoughts as this might be sponsored by show of extravagant congratulations on news feeds - which in themselves are worthy of apathy - the lesson is not unimportant for ravenous little heart such as that belongs to this writer.

The idea is to turn that twinge of jealousy into something more useful. To not find corner to sulk in and wish to be the centre of such unbridled showers of blessing oneself, but to rein in such futile and destructive longing. To remember never to make desire for recognition the end in itself. For one is unfortunately wont to do so. =)

Timely reminder that must move on not in the hope of that Hollywood Ending where everyone with tears in eyes is all apology, exuding hearty, hearty love - but because this is what we must do, all that we must do, whether or not there is a participation certificate at the end.