Of petals, pride, and a pinch of salt

It is no surprise that the pleasant memories of the bygone Independence Days still linger in our minds. Many writers often revisit such moments, weaving them into nostalgic reflections. I find myself recalling, for more than one reason, an indelible Independence Day, held just four years ago.

It was the night of August 14, 2022, around 10 pm, when the doorbell rang at my room at a resort. At the threshold, stood a tall, well-built man, unmistakably carrying the bearing of a retired military officer. Introducing himself as the hotel manager, he came straight to the point: He wished to invite me to hoist the national flag the next morning in celebration of the 76th Independence Day. The invitation caught me with pleasant surprise. I gladly accepted that, as it was the first occasion for me to have the honour of hoisting our national flag. Trying to contain my excitement, I asked him what made him choose me and his response was pragmatic:

“Sir, you are the senior-most guest at our resort tonight”.

He added suggesting, that I might share my memories of the first Independence Day of 1947 with the audience. His words relieved me of the quandary of finding a right topic, for my speech, on the next day morning.

The next day I got up early, filled with pride and anticipation. The function began with an invocation to Bharath Mata, followed by Subramanya Bharathi’s rousing patriotic anthem, ‘Viduthalai, Viduthalai!'. Then came my turn. Straightening my shirt and steadying my gait-concealing a few wobbles of age, I approached the flag-post with deliberate composure. With all reverence, I untied the cord, ready to raise the tricolour.

The flag rose gracefully – until destiny conspired to add its twist. The knot securing the flag, stuffed with flowers, refused to budge to my frail strength. Sensing my struggle, the Security Sergeant beside stepped forward swiftly, snatched the rope from my hands, and gave a firm tug - and instantly; petals rained down beautifully on the surrounding crowd.

The applause that followed was warm and generous; yet behind the fluttering flag, my sense of dignity suffered an invisible dent.

Later, back in my room, I browsed through the photographs that filled my WhatsApp feed. To my shock, I discovered that the security Sergeant appeared to be hoisting the flag while I was standing beside - clapping my hands, enthusiastically.

It was, in every sense, a patriotic moment –shared, spontaneous, and humbling!

Perhaps, that is how fame should be:- brief, heartfelt, humorous, and at times tinged with a pinch of salt.