Reflections on India’s Independence
Today one hears little about the national traumas experienced by India and Pakistan at the time they gained independence 75 years ago—a vast wounding of the psyche now buried deep within us. Few who experienced that historical event are alive today, and yet the stories and images will live on.
There is a feeling of awe and pride when I recall that my dad was present among the throng of revelers that greeted the first dawn of freedom. He was there when the crowd hushed to hear the words of India’s first prime minister spoken from the ramparts of Delhi’s Red Fort. Dad was 22 and I imagine his heart must have swelled with hope for the future.
Then came the communal unrest and violence. One thousand miles away in the city of Calcutta, my dad’s aunt, Hema Lata, or Bara Ma as she was affectionately called, showed up at the train station with a group of volunteers everyday to meet trains arriving from Pakistan to assist the wounded and displaced passengers. Many among them who were dead. Riots raged in that city for five days. There were 2000 casualties and thousands more injured in Calcutta alone.
One of dad’s uncles decided to remain in Lahore with his family and remained permanently separated from the larger family because of political tensions and travel restrictions between the new countries.
A New York Times photo article revived these mixed feelings that I will forever associate with India’s had earned independence.
