I've been sleeping a lot of lately and it might have culminated into a century, which is why I ask this. Have we, Indians, reached that stage of development where we can shrug at the basic amenities and start delving into the aesthetics? Have we reached that stage where a state ought to be named Paschimbanga (read: Poschimbonga) for its relevance to the culture it embodies than worry about the pathetic standard of life there? Or a phase in our lives where statues of a chief minister could be erected and venerated than ruminate over the illiteracy and rural-ism in that state? Forgive me, if I am wrong, for I really seem to have overslept a century or two. And I'll probably talk about an Indian dream that I knew of when I was last awake.
That was an India that had lived 64 independent years. Freedom was still more than just Independence. It was a state of mind. They said India was a growing superpower, the fastest growing economy, an IT giant, and such epithets which did appear incredible. Yes, the problems were enormous too. Of ignorance and corruption, social evils and vices, of crimes against women and infanticides, of reservations and the-joy-of-being-born-a-backward biases. But at least this was what we talked about! There was this Anna Hazare in those days who took up a cause and fought a Freed-aissance, as they said. Though I never went to those youth rallies for the sake of my own convictions, I did feel happy that this country acted like a free nation, and people were neither forced to join those rallies nor were their voices plugged. India was not a golden bird anymore but it definitely was a free bird that had caught the eyes of many with its plumage.
In those years, changing Bangalore to Bengaluru, or Bhopal to Bhojpal was immaterial. For the need of that hour was development, in sports, education, nutrition et al. We adored Shakespeare for his What-lies-in-a-name? [a lie!] quote. We had gotten up from a mighty Blighty assault and were running fast and furious. Kolkata? or Calcutta? Who cared? Eradicating communism from the state was a bigger achievement and getting West Bengal back on the road to development, the immediate goal. A statue? Of some dimwit Maya-wit? Oh for Christ's, there were roads to be tarred and lights to be erected - which was the real beautification of a city, than some ugly Mayawati-pillar - before one could move on to ostentation. There were Rajas to be sentenced and Kasabs to be hanged. There were Vadras to be identified who were eating Sonia-filtered money of the country. Who had time for renames and statues? We didn't! We hadn't reached that stage where we could opt between maroon and magenta for we still had a long way to go before we could paint the town red. We were living an Indian dream where every child could wake up to a day full of possibilities and contemplations. Where dreams found grounds if not sustenance. Where the road to development had potholes aplenty but there were people fighting for it, freely, if not successfully. And where the only name that mattered was India, which kept us together, inseparably.
That was an India that had lived 64 independent years. Freedom was still more than just Independence. It was a state of mind. They said India was a growing superpower, the fastest growing economy, an IT giant, and such epithets which did appear incredible. Yes, the problems were enormous too. Of ignorance and corruption, social evils and vices, of crimes against women and infanticides, of reservations and the-joy-of-being-born-a-backward biases. But at least this was what we talked about! There was this Anna Hazare in those days who took up a cause and fought a Freed-aissance, as they said. Though I never went to those youth rallies for the sake of my own convictions, I did feel happy that this country acted like a free nation, and people were neither forced to join those rallies nor were their voices plugged. India was not a golden bird anymore but it definitely was a free bird that had caught the eyes of many with its plumage.
In those years, changing Bangalore to Bengaluru, or Bhopal to Bhojpal was immaterial. For the need of that hour was development, in sports, education, nutrition et al. We adored Shakespeare for his What-lies-in-a-name? [a lie!] quote. We had gotten up from a mighty Blighty assault and were running fast and furious. Kolkata? or Calcutta? Who cared? Eradicating communism from the state was a bigger achievement and getting West Bengal back on the road to development, the immediate goal. A statue? Of some dimwit Maya-wit? Oh for Christ's, there were roads to be tarred and lights to be erected - which was the real beautification of a city, than some ugly Mayawati-pillar - before one could move on to ostentation. There were Rajas to be sentenced and Kasabs to be hanged. There were Vadras to be identified who were eating Sonia-filtered money of the country. Who had time for renames and statues? We didn't! We hadn't reached that stage where we could opt between maroon and magenta for we still had a long way to go before we could paint the town red. We were living an Indian dream where every child could wake up to a day full of possibilities and contemplations. Where dreams found grounds if not sustenance. Where the road to development had potholes aplenty but there were people fighting for it, freely, if not successfully. And where the only name that mattered was India, which kept us together, inseparably.
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