अपना90s
90s India, still on air
Eight in the morning, everybody in white, house wise in straight lines. The flag goes up, the marigold falls out of it, and the anthem holds a whole ground still. Then a speech, a debate, a boy dressed as Gandhi, and two laddoos in a brown envelope. This is that morning, with the songs that were on every set in the country playing over the ground.
90s India, still on air
Eight in the morning, a dusty school ground, and everybody in white. The flag goes up, the marigold falls out of it, and for about four seconds nobody moves.
You were told to come in full white uniform, washed, with shoes that had been whitened the night before. You lined up house wise, in your colour, in rows that the drill teacher had spent a week straightening. Somebody was always slightly out of line and it was usually the same person.
The flag went up and the marigold petals that had been folded inside came out with it. Then the anthem, and fifty two seconds where a whole ground of children stood completely still, which was the only time all year that happened.
Then came the programme. Somebody from the senior section gave a speech about freedom that had been written by a teacher and learned by heart, and you could tell exactly which line they had forgotten by the length of the pause. There was usually a debate, or an elocution, and the same three children won it every year.
A small boy from the junior section was dressed as Gandhi in a dhoti and round glasses, holding a stick, and he was the most photographed person on the ground. Somebody sang. A group danced to Mere Desh Ki Dharti with saffron, white and green ribbons on their wrists, and the practice for it had been a legitimate reason to miss two weeks of afternoon classes.
At the end you queued up and got sweets. Usually two laddoos in a small brown envelope, sometimes a toffee, and every single person compared theirs to the person next to them. Then school was over by half past ten, which no one ever complained about.
You went home with a tricolour badge pinned to your shirt, another one on the handlebar of your cycle, and orange dust on your white shoes.
At home the set was already on. The address from the Red Fort, the parade, and then the songs, which is the part everyone remembers. Mile Sur Mera Tumhara went out for the first time on the fifteenth of August 1988, straight after the Prime Minister finished speaking, and Desh Raag followed the year after. They played them again every year until the tune belonged to everybody.
That is what is playing here. Not a parade, just the songs that were on in every house in the country on the same morning.
