When we were in school, national festivals brought unbridled pleasure. Three weeks before August 15 and January 26, our music teacher would call the ten-member school choir for practice sessions during lunch hour. Not one grumbled even if it meant an unfinished lunch or staying back after school hours. Miss Doctor was a perfectionist. So our Aye Mere Watan Ke Logon could never sound a shade less stirring than Lata’s.On the national festival, the school ground turned into a sea of white. Flag-hoisting was always at sunrise. Over 2,000 voices united for the national anthem, even the loose-limbed saluted smartly, the march past was exemplary and the patriotic song beyond this world. With eyes trained on the fluttering Tricolour, ten voices cleaved the air to fill it with the sound of music. That was two decades ago.My child does not know what is flag-hoisting because his school wants only the senior classes to attend the function. He knows of the national festivals because two lines in his social studies book say they are important and he sings the anthem because it was taught at home.A few years ago, I was aghast at some youngsters memorising the anthem before the function. They had to steal looks at the written copy to sing it. I shuddered at the thought that my child could grow up like them. This Republic Day, we made a trip to the local municipal school. The students, some as young as five, arrived half an hour ahead of the function slated for 7.30 am, and stood in neat rows. Their clothes needed a wash and many were barefoot. They tucked their hands under their chins to brave the chill. The few who had sweaters wore them with big holes at the elbows. But there was full attendance.Outside the dusty ground, passers-by stopped to take a peek. The autorickshaw driver looking for passengers turned off the ignition and walked to the gate. A daily-wage labourer leaned his cycle against the wall and joined him. Some elderly women sacrificed their walk to increase the numbers. At the appointed hour, the local corporator unfurled the Tricolour and we all sang Jana Gana Mana. For two minutes, something coursed through everyone. It was visible in the smiles that spread around, as people quickly got back to their routines. My child said nothing but squeezed my hand.As we sped towards the countryside for a picnic at Mahabaleshwar, we saw village schools hoisting the flag. On arrival at a popular spot, the first sight was that of a massive Tricolour tossing in the wind. For me, it was yesterday once more.
