My earliest memory of the Republic Day Parade in Delhi is as a teenager watching the repeat telecast of it a few days later in someone’s house in our colony—one of the few that had a TV. In the mid 1970s, we didn’t have a live telecast of the parade on Doordarshan in Hyderabad.
We sat on the floor in rapt attention hardly battling our eyelids, our ears tuned to every word of the commentator. First, the cameras focused on the prime minister, accompanied by the three Service chiefs, laying a floral wreath at the Amar Jawan Jyoti at India Gate followed by a two-minute silence. After the solemn moment, the more regal sight was the arrival of the president in his horse-drawn carriage accompanied by mounted guards with the clock sounds of the hooves of the horses. In the chill winter of Delhi, some of the equines would empty their bladders right on the Rajpath much to the viewers’ amusement and officials’ embarrassment. Then as the president unfurled the tricolour, which was followed by the National Anthem and the booming 21-gun salute, we kids too would salute in a fit of national pride. The significance of the presentation of the Chakra awards to the brave soldiers was something I didn’t understand then. We were more excited by the various contingents marching past in perfect synchrony followed by daredevil motorcycle riding and a fly-past by the IAF jets and helicopters. Little did I know then that two years later, I would be near the India Gate seeing the tanks in close quarters, touching and even climbing on them, and shaking hands with the soldiers on my way back to home from school.
A few years later, our family and friends were glued to the TV at home in Delhi waiting for the NCC Air Wing contingent march-past, trying to spot my younger brother. When I did, I shouted, “There is Seenu! Second row fourth. See, see”. By the time my granny and my parents could spot him, the contingent went out of the frame. My mother said that she did see him— clean shaven, crew cut under cap in full uniform. So many mothers, fathers and relatives would savour ‘their only’ proud moment when their children, a few among the many, marched on that royal path. Fewer among those few walked further and joined the armed forces. And my brother was among them.
Such solemn moments remind me of the evocative line, “When you go home, tell them of us and say, for your tomorrow, we gave our today”. Every time I say “Long live the Republic”, I add, “Lest we forget”.