A short story
The alarm in his mobile blurted sharply and he came to his senses. He heard the muezzin clearly in the silence. He looked at the watch and knew that it was 5.00 am. He got up and made his way to the bathroom. Before starting to mosque for his morning prayer, he throw a glance on his sleeping wife and the two little angles, who had their legs crossed over their mother. He smiled on that overlapped heap of the breathing bundles of joys in the dull blue light and came out. As usual few were there in the mosque. He gestured to one and nodded to other. After prayer, he stepped out and a cool rush of air caressed his face with a whisper. It was daybreak and the sun was yawning to come out nimbly. He said loudly in his mind that it was just another day and instantly remembered that it was 15th of August and he need not go to work today. He strolled to the nearest hotel to have his morning tea amidst some local monotonous news.
The mercilessly scattered newspaper was waiting for his touch impatiently at his doorstep when he returned. He bent slightly and picked them up with care and entered. Silence prevailed inside the home blending smoothly with buzz of the ceiling fan. He dropped on the sofa and browsed the paper. It was filled with greetings, good wishes and messages of 67th Independence Day from the political stalwarts and industrial legends. The heading in the page no 30 under Citylife (Deccan Chronicle) caught his attention. It read “Fulfilling unspoken wishes - three forgotten freedom fighters will get a nation’s appreciation in a ‘e-way’”. It was about two students from IIT, Delhi who gave their promising day jobs and set up a gift recommendation engine called ‘wishpicker.com’ and they have identified three freedom fighters (all are in their nineties) who were imprisoned by the British for setting a railway station on fire. And the engine wants to give them their due respect.
He sighed and remembered the 1857 revolt with pain, when his forefathers died for the freedom of the country, thousands of them in fact, including the Ulamas who were the main targets of the British oppression. Of the 200,000 people martyred during the revolt 51200 were ulamas. Edwards Timus himself admitted that in Delhi alone 500 ulamas were hanged.
He felt sad when he remembered the speeches by various people on I-day functions last year when only Nehru, Gandhi and other few selected personalities were remembered and the names of the likes of Tipu Sultan did not figure in their speeches.
He picked up the tricolor, bought fondly last night by his kids and looked aimlessly. If he wore the tricolor, some of his own country men would gossip behind him about his attempt to show off the fake love for his country and if he didn't, they would very conveniently label him the compassionate of the neighbor country. He was looked suspiciously in his office whenever some blast took place. He was mocked ruthlessly when he wore cap and sported beard. He was considered just one unit out of their vote bank. If he appreciated a fine and artistic sixer by the cricketer of the neighbour country, his loyalty to the country was awfully questioned.
He took one and religiously pinned up in the shirt near his heart with utmost respect. He opened his laptop and got connected and logged into Facebook. The newsfeed showed all the posts and comments related to I-day. Eventually he updated his status with a message of Independence Day paying a tribute to the martyrs. Immediately a comment appeared sarcastically below his post, “Ae Ram, @#$%*%$#+!…..” . And this was from one of his colleague. He frowned for a while. His mouse pointer hovered in the right corner of the comment to see the option “Remove” and he clicked the button calmly.
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