A Letter From Our Forefathers

 

Sitting in his post office, he stares at the piled towers of envelopes.
A little flag sits on his tabletop, ceremoniously marking the occasion at
hand.

A parchment of paper sits vacant, a letter to his son.

He wonders what his message shall be today. A family tradition passed down like a baton in his arms.

As the pen touches the paper, the words flow out with vigour and grace.

The words come to him, at a fleeting pace.

“I remember a time when, your great-grandfather, delivered messages by land.
Every letter is a story for we, the messenger, must understand.

These are filled with words of love and care, sometimes they carry the weight of sadness and despair.

Treading kilometres on horseback to wherever his destination lay.

The India you knew was a lot different
back then.

From horseback came the telegraph and rail.

The Raj brought innovation, but at a cost too grave to let be and let live.
The plunder and looting were too much for those who opened their eyes to see.
As the cracks began to show, the people stood up and hailed to break free.

A unified front of struggle began and slowly built in size and scale.
A seed was sown, and the roots were beginning to take shape.
Your grandfather soon took on the role, when Gandhi turned salt from sandy grain.

He saw a federation of 565 kingdoms unite at the midnight hour, when the world slept and India awakened.
At that moment, a nation was born, and the cheers of joy passed across the land.

As the sapling emerged from the ground, the work of our founding fathers had just begun.

You are from the country that houses the wonders of the world.

From the frigid peaks of the north to the peninsular sweltering south, the hilly east to the temperate west.
The terrain is wonderful in broad variety and beauty.

Not a single god can rule over us, for our divine idols are innumerable.
Not a single cuisine can define us, for we harbour countless hidden treasures of relish.
 

There is not a single language, that can take place of the 121.

The surviving 88 tribes of the North East and Abrogenies of the Andamans remind us of how far we have truly come.

A vibrant land of many facets, yet bound by a single flag.
What it means to be an Indian, is to be coexistent and tolerant, not just taking a stand.

In an age of emails, you might ask who needs letters any more?
Yet again, I’m a stubborn old man stuck in his ways.

You either live with it or grumble and frown.

The nation has turned 75 years old today, yet it has a civilisation that dates back thousands of years.
Our story is incomparable to any other democracy around.
The old will often clash with the new.

These are trying times, testing our determination and resolve.

As the story turns a page through a new century, we must retain that unyielding spirit.
For this foundation was built on the backs of those who never backed down.
This is the letter from our forefathers. To the future of our country and our leaders of tomorrow, now.”

The pen lifted off the paper and met the hands, for the messenger left the room with the letter of a call in his hands.

By Amaan Ojha