Flagging Spirit

Today is the 26th Jan. And it’s a Friday. Thank god for that, cos no Indian would ever have their long awaited, most cherished long weekend otherwise. Thank God that our revered leaders chose this date to turn republic else what if they’d chosen 25th? How many would have had to sacrifice a Casual Leave in the name of the nation in order to get a long weekend!
Flag hoisting in residential complexes, done by the ones who are not away sun tanning on beaches ‘this’ long weekend, is usually a hilarious affair. There is a statutory notice, full of typo that goes up in the society notice board every January. It speaks about the glory of India, in two lines and then the schedule of ‘cultural’ programs in the next four. Flag hoisting will be at a convenient, 10am when all and sundry including the mongrel dog have had a late lazing morning wake up, farted in peace, yawned at will, consumed two cups of tea and browsed through two newspapers. The flag pole, is rusted, browned and orphaned until this day. At about 9.55am the society secretary makes his way out, the tricolor neatly folded and ensconced in his smelly armpit. He asks the watchman to play monkey, clean the pole and install the tricolor. Between 10am and a quarter to eleven, all uncles of all regions in the country try and master the knot. By that time, they have crumpled the tricolor and accidentally hoisted it thrice already. A gaggle of children who are the only ones who know the national song, have given up on their dads and are now creating a ruckus around the campus. Some wives, who were window spectators, now descend to gossip around the sanctum sanctorum. Its time to hoist the flag and that’s when the octogenarian is summoned. Every society has one and he’s our ‘weakest’ and best link with 1947. Just as the national anthem is being sung, three cell phones go off. The old man who hoisted the flag is asked to give a speech, he can barely breathe. At his decibel level the only ones who can hear him are his own vocal chords, the rest of the crowd does asynchronous nods while the brash ones begin chatting among themselves. Now its time for the kids to render the crows ineffective and this is where every parent wants his ward to be on stage. Sweets are distributed and then conversation veers off into society politics, water shortages, maintenance money and how property rates are zooming. A lonely tricolor on a rusted pole stands mute spectator to all this.