Where is our patriotism?

Back in the days when our British mates were around to drill us from behind, it was easy to define patriotism. One had to either stand up in processions, stage hunger strikes or plan bombings in state assemblies. If one dared to stand up with a firm voice and steady head, one sure had the germs. If he/she felt those germs kicking from within, and could find an apt vent for the same, patriotism was identified. Men and women thriving on the vast motherland of India had been gradually encaged in an ever shrinking virtual jail. The suffocating ambience bred those germs and the germs clearly knew what the motto of their being was- to eat away the confining walls. Of course some wombs nurtured these germs better than others, and they went on to be known as the Gandhis and Shastris and Bhagat-Singhs And Chandrashekhars.

The challenge facing the generation of the sons-of-soil was massive, the oppression sickening and hence turbulence was a given; the gravel of vengeance churned the tummies and men and women hurled. The epic of attempting to digest tough weed gave way to histrionic tales of shoving fingers down the throats and smiting the enemy with what was a poisonous gluten of their disregard and our discontent.

Times were tough. Times were impregnating.
Six decades have passed since we earned our political autonomy.
There are no visible daunting walls. If at all there are cages, they are silver coated.

Our generation has too much to think about; nothing to worry about. There are careers to plan, movies to go to, sports events to follow on TV, globalization to debate, tourism to venture,economic showers to bathe in; and on the other hand, corruption to loathe, terrorism to detest, growing materialism to mock with pseudo spirituality, global warning to warn each other about. But nothing really is seizing us by the neck. If we gaze at the horizons, there are dark clouds looming. But far and scattered. We are't yet scared enough to jump out of our seats.

With smirk or smile, one witty soul aptly pointed put:
"We humans are like rockets. We don't work unless our asses are on fire."
So perhaps the need is for some fire to set, some clouds to burst. We don't lack patriotism. It's lying dormant.

I am an average Joe. I am not out on streets cleaning the clutter but I don't like clutter and I talk about it. On my part, I try not to contribute to the clutter. I get goosebumps as most Indians do, I believe, on hearing the national anthem being played out by military bands. I like to watch 'Border', 'Bhagat Singh', 'Lagaan' once in a while. I am not one to suit up with the rising sun every 15th August and 26th January. But I take pride in standing upright in reverent silence when Tagore's poem of salutation is recited. I am not one with markedly boiling blood, but I like to meet people with boiling blood. I hold such people in awe.

Today, after many years, I suited up in blue jeans and a long white kurta at 6 am sharp to attend the Independence-Day parade. With only 3 hours of sleep, my body was not at its agile best. But the excitement kept me up. I was not to march before the waving tri-color but what stopped me from walking with long strides! So, I walked with long strides. When the meticulous squads of state police and CRPF jawans walked past us on the beat, with the rousing melody of military band flowing, I was awed by the display of discipline and by the tales of vitality of various battalions narrated by the Hindi and Urdu commentators in turn. I was smiling. When the school students marched by in their squads with added fervor, my smile grew. When the students' pipe bands played and marched past us, my smile grew to where it could not grow further and it held on. Right after the parade, a 500-odd strong student group drilled in vibrant colors to the tune of ever enchanting A.R Rahman's 'Vande Mataram' and my whole self was filled with joy.

Am I patriotic?
Did my love for the country fill me up with joy and pride or was it the same high one receives from an Arnold Schwarzenegger film?
This thought infested me as I drove back home after the ceremony. I thought 'may be it's a mix of both-some truth in my patriotism and some in my love for highs'.

Now I have this insatiable desire to share with people my joy whenever and wherever I find it; people whom I love, people I revere, people who inspire me, people who soothe me. If I've watched a brilliant movie, I have to talk about it with friends who have fine taste in movies. If I've discovered a new soul crunching track, I have to share it with friends I spent nights with, raising toasts to the Kobains and Scott-Stapps. When I feel a stream of patriotic blood gushing inside me, I have to talk to my friend Rahul Azad, who without any marked heroics taught me a few lessons in patriotism.

When I read his post (http://www.facebook.com/notes/rahul-azad/im-sorry/106321289424434), my excitement deflated; although what he wrote was not surprising. My post is dedicated to this friend and attempts to deliver a pragmatic answer to the questions he has indignantly asked in his post. Incidentally, our dear friend Deepak Sharma too had a question to ask a couple of days back, which is very pertinent in this context. I am hoping for a few more posts from him, from Rahul Azad and from more 'average-Joes' who might have felt excited, exhilarated, indignant or even ashamed at various instants when the son-of-soil in them felt summoned, mocked or challenged.