Kishore Singh: If this is independence...

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When they were young, we hoped to imbue a feeling of pride in the country among our children. Therefore, we'd dress them in traditional clothes for Diwali (before they became old enough to laugh at what they jeered were "costumes", and exchanged them for low-slung jeans), sing patriotic songs on our national days, and teach about the country's multi-cultural diversity.

I was hoping this spirit had seeped through when my son called from Pune to say he was planning to celebrate Independence Day in the company of his college friends. "That is a very good thing," I said, "and I feel proud that you're not treating this as just any other holiday." "Oh no, not at all," my son said, "we're trying hard to make it a memorable occasion." "You must dress appropriately," added my wife. "We've insisted on a dress code," my son assured her, "nothing less will do."

So I was disappointed when I discovered, quite by chance, that my son and his friends were hoping to commemorate the country's sixtieth independence anniversary in a disc where smart casuals were the preferred dress code. Not quite what I had in mind, but what could I expect when, back in Delhi, our daughter and her friends had gone shopping the previous evening to buy identical dresses to wear on the holiday. All this so they could be excused from their studies, and so they could spend the day at a friend's studio and have their pictures taken to paste on Facebook or Orkut or some other chat site.

"I suppose it is not fair to expect the children to be sensitive about such occasions," my wife said by way of consoling me, "but at least we must make sure to mark it differently." "I think you are right," I agreed, "so tell me what you want to do."

What my wife wanted was for me to bring down the linen from the loft, and to pack old clothes in cartons to store away, and to polish the brass, and dust the carpet, and rearrange the pictures on the walls, and air out the cupboards, and shine the window panes, and shift stuff around in the box beds, and run to the market for groceries, and if there was a little time left over, to wax the furniture.

It was an intimidating list, and it didn't seem to have anything to do with Independence Day, but since it seemed unkind to point this out, instead I said, "Between the two of us, we shall have it all done in a jiffy!" "Oh no," protested my wife, "you know my mother is visiting, and if I do not sit and chat with her, she will feel she is not welcome, so you must do these things alone."

She had the cook make her a hot cup of coffee while I separated the winter clothes from the summer clothes. She switched on the TV as I sunned duvets and quilts before wrapping them in plastic sheets for stowing away. She giggled and gossiped over the phone while I blew the dust away from the bookshelves. When I wanted to take a break for a bath, she said where was the point since I still had to clean the soot from the fans, which was bound to be messy work.

Finally, when I had done with serving tea and snacks to her friends who had dropped by for a chat, and had stored her shoes in the order in which she hoped to wear them in the coming week, she turned to me and said, "I am so glad you were able to stay home and do something meaningful instead of frittering the day away in some superficial celebration like everybody else."