Long live the Republic
SANDEEP SINHA
Two weeks back, I was in Delhi for some work. Early in the morning, on way to the railway station, the sight of men in uniform filing past in neat queues, greeted me. It was still dark and the policemen in reflective jackets and LED light batons were trying to keep the sparse traffic away. There was the beat of the drums and then it dawned on me that the rehearsals for the Republic Day parade were on. It was a delight to watch the parade by the men in uniform in that early morning winter chill. Enthused, I returned an hour later to the Rajpath to watch the rehearsals. In biting cold, along with the other tourists, I watched the march past, the formations breaking up, squatting on lawns, listening to instructions from seniors.
It brought back memories of two decades back, when I had trudged to Connaught Place on foot from the trans-Yamuna area, unable to find a public transport because of the severe security measures in place. It was customary in those days for people with houses falling on the parade route to place chairs outside for the spectators and I had ensconced myself in one and watched the march past. My joy knew no bounds. The newly acquired Sukhoi fighter plane launched into a vertical sortie right above CP, and there was amazement and a sense of wonder among the crowd. As the last of the tableaux made its way, we followed them up till the Red Fort, and then watched them disperse, shorn of adornments.
The fascination for the great festivals of democracy prompted me once to stay all night at the India Gate to watch AR Rahman perform “Maa Tujhe Salaam” on 15th August, and as the programme ended, along with a delirious crowd, in no mood to miss the celebrations, I climbed on to the stage.
For some reasons, the ceremonial aspect of Republic Day parade on 26th January and the ceremony at Red Fort on 15th August have had me in a spell. As a child, it probably had to do with the toffees, laddoos and jalebis that we got on those days. In the hostel as a college student, I would invariably be the one who would belt out the National Anthem. The commentary on radio, notably by Jasdev Singh, and the live telecast on TV added to the charm.
At the Parade Ground in Sector 17 in Chandigarh, as I stood at its gate on a cloudy wind-swept morning on Tuesday, the sentiment was reinforced. The floodlights of the Sector-16 stadium rose in the horizon and the buzz at the Sector-17 bus stand melted with the cacophony of the busy traffic, a pointer to the vibrant quality of our democracy. In the sky, a pair of eagles flew in low loops, and on the ground, the rehearsal was in full swing. Policemen marched past, their rifles, muzzle pointing skywards, held vertically in right hand, as their left hand, in white gloves, rose in a steady crest and trough. There were light moments, with group leaders sharing jokes with those marching right behind. The police band, Scouts and Guides and students from sundry schools were all there, the stomping of the feet keeping them warm in the chill.
A democracy is guided as much by its Constitution as by its conventions. The Republic Day parade — wherever it takes place, at Rajpath in New Delhi, in the state capitals, in district headquarters, in schools and colleges or government offices—is one such convention. It might be a long-drawn affair, but evokes collective pride, reminding that the country has lived to see the day after throwing off the British yoke.
It is a day when we, “redeem our pledge, not wholly or substantially, but in full measure”, as Jawaharlal Nehru put it. It is a day for introspection and to look forward to. Above all, it is about “we, the people”, the milling multitudes, the united colours of republic.
Viva la Republic!
