On Republic Day In Delhi

After blogging, it is my usual practice to stroll for a while in the park opposite, to take in the winter sun. I did the same yesterday, and was smoking a cigarette and thinking of Austrian Business Cycle Theory when my neighbour, a retired colonel, approached. He informed me that our residents’ association was celebrating Republic Day in grand style – and the proceedings were about to begin. I then noticed that indeed one portion of the park had been arranged with chairs, a lectern, and there was even a flagpole with the national flag. As if on cue, patriotic songs started to play on the public address system.

I told the colonel that I did not believe in such patriotism, that there was no point being a “loyal subject” of a regime such as ours. These patriotic songs were all of the 40s and 50s: no one sang these anymore.

He told me that his son had been posted to Siachen. Poor chap. I told the colonel that if we auctioned Siachen, it would not fetch a dime. He said he had only just spoken to his son: the temperature at Siachen was -30 degrees Celsius. It was, in his words, a “constant war against the weather.” I then departed. The park was filling up with people in suits and ties, and I, with my cigarette and pajamas, looked out of place.

I watched the proceedings from within my house. Patriotic speeches. More patriotic songs. Flag unfurled. The colonel salutes. His son is on the battle-ground. The programme ended with one chap shouting “Bharat Mata Ki Jai” repeatedly into the mike. He exhorted the children assembled there to join him in chorus. Some did. And so ended what must be assumed to a spontaneous burst of national pride.

I drove out at about 1730 hrs – and the roads were deserted. The government booze shops were closed, and the usual crowds (and traffic) around them were absent. I returned after 2030 hrs, and Delhi was noticeably dead. There was zero revelry. I wondered what America is like every year on the 4th of July. Perhaps they party there.

Here in Mahatma Gandhi’s republic, the only parties we have are “political parties.” And theirs is a strange culture of their own.

Came home and watched Advani receive an award from UndieTV. Barkha Dutt came on and hailed the bravery of “martyrs” from the police and the security forces who “laid down their lives in the line of duty.”

But that is precisely my point: the small guy gets hit. Like the colonel’s son.

The big guy just got a new heart.

He will live forever.