As a mind boggling conglomeration of diverse people, inhabiting an ancient land of continental dimensions, we are as pompous, and prolific, in celebrating festivals, as we are in devising ways and means of squabbling over issues, mundane as well as well serious- which cover a wide spectrum of subjects, including religion , region , natural resources and language- to name just a few. 

However, over the years, some festivals- Diwali, Dusshera, Christmas, Holi, and GuruPurab– have managed to escape the clutches of self-anointed custodians- or so called thekedars– of religion, who had straitjacketed them into silos for ages, and are now celebrated more or less by everyone, on a pan India basis, although the fervor of festivities exhibited by members of the community who are its main adherents, does stand out. For long, I have witnessed this unbridled excitement and enthusiasm amongst the faithful in my beloved Saadi Dilli during festivals. Thus, while the moonless sky gets rejuvenated by mesmerizing fireworks as the entire city is bedecked with lights on Diwali night, huge effigies of Ravan going up in flames on Dusshera is something to behold, as is the view of faithful trudging in droves in muted excitement and reverence to the Idgahs for offering namaz on the pious occasion of Eid. The huge processions winding their way lazily through the streets of the city to mark Gurupurab inspire awe and devotion, while the special midnight Mass organized in Churches and cathedrals across the city on Christmas are symbols of solemnity .

However, the absence of a festival that the whole country can claim as its own, years after India became a Republic, is indeed heartbreaking.  A nation teeming with more than a billion Indians, and bereft of a unique identity seemed bizarre to me. 

To be honest with my readers, I did not get the idea of a missing national celebration on my own, till I chanced on an advertisement placed by the Delhi Government in leading National dailies, a day before the Republic Day in 2004, exhorting citizens to light-up their homes (presumably as they would have done on their respective festivals).  Straightaway, I was enamored with the idea of the entire city getting lit up (and not only homes belonging to any particular community), as it seemed the ideal occasion for collective festivities, for all countrymen to participate as one. I was suitably charged, and started hunting for the fairy lights in the attic, with which to decorate the exterior of my house, and which come out only during Diwali season. After a long search, I found them in the storehouse, dusted them, and by 25^th evening I had completed the installation and testing in my Kalkaji apartment, located in South Delhi (where I used to stay then, with my family). Suitably satisfied with my labor of patriotism, and what I considered my duty towards the nation, I retired for the night.

Finally, the   Republic Day dawned, bright and sunny, though windswept and chilly.

I got ready quite early, and settled before the television screen in the comfort of my living room, eagerly waiting for the parade and other ceremonies to commence on the majestic Rajpath, with childlike enthusiasm, something I had been doing for years on end. Thereafter, I watched the entire parade and every time President Dr. APJ Abdul Kalam got up from the podium to take the ceremonial salute from the marching contingents of the armed forces, with their fighting prowess on full display, my chest swelled with pride, and an occasional tear rolled down my cheek. The fly-past by the roaring jets, rattling the Delhi sky, was the icing on the cake.

After that, I waited eagerly for the evening bonanza, even skipping my post postprandial power nap, which is mandatory for me on any holiday, and with childlike excitement waited for the Sun to set on the crimson Western horizon, with scattered clouds wafting in the sky, and a gentle mist beginning to come down. And just after dusk, I rushed to the terrace to switch on the lights, anticipating that the entire skyline would be brightly lit up.  But my spirit, soaring like an eagle till now, was abruptly dampened, as I witnessed a scenario which was hardly inspiring. In the entire neighborhood, there were only a handful of houses that were illuminated.  The icy winds sweeping Delhi hit me hard, adding to the already prevalent gloom. Silently, I pondered on the dark silhouettes, eerie testimonials to so many of us just being loud talking, drawing room hypocrites, paying lip service to patriotism.

Silently, I lit up my house, and with a hand on my heart, sang the national anthem, saluted our President and came down.  

Long live the Republic.