Independence Juxtaposed

When I was nine or ten, I went through a phase where I was obsessed with learning 'big' words. Whether I was finishing schoolwork or playing outside in the garden, my mind lived inside my tiny Oxford Dictionary—my most prized possession. I would either look up a word I’d come across in a book or comic, or I’d dive into the dictionary, fishing for the next 'big' word. Over time, I developed a few favorites, and one that stood out to me was juxtaposition. I was fascinated by its size, sound, and meaning. I made several ill-fated attempts to show it off in my language classes, but my essays often came back marked with red circles, clearly indicating that I had forced the word into places it didn’t belong.

I've certainly improved its usage over the years, but today—nearly three and a half decades later—I believe I’m finally about to use it most effectively. So, critics, save your red circles, and read on.

Today, we celebrate India's 78th Independence Day. Yet, today also marks another dark chapter for our country. A young doctor, serving on duty, was brutally raped, and murdered in broad daylight. The juxtaposition of celebrating freedom while confronting the horrific realities of violence and injustice against women reveals a dissonance too raw, too real, too painful to ignore. India is personified as 'Mata,' or 'Mother,' a symbol of nurturing, sacrifice, and unconditional love. The chant of "Bharat Mata ki Jai" (“Hail Mother India”) that brings goosebumps to billions becomes hollow when juxtaposed with the persistent and brutal violence against women in our country. How can we glorify our nation as a mother when the daughters, and sisters, of this land are subjected to such inhumanity? 

The contradiction is glaring and painful. We raise slogans and worship the nation to the status of a deity, yet we so freely allow violation of a woman’s body and her soul. Each act of rape, each instance of abuse, is an attack on what we hold sacred. The confidence with which these heinous acts are carried out, unabashedly, reflects a societal failure. It reveals a disturbing normalization of violence, where the act is carried out without fear of consequence, without shame, and with a chilling sense of entitlement. 

On one hand, freedom from colonial rule is a historical achievement. On the other hand, every barbaric incident of rape and sexual abuse in India (most go unrecorded), highlights freedom as a mindset which is far less tangible and so fragile. This juxtaposition is evident in the contrast. True independence cannot exist in a society where half the population lives in fear, where women’s rights to safety and dignity are continually compromised. 

My love for India is deep. My connection to Indian culture is deeper, reflecting an admiration for its history, traditions, and ancient wisdom. Yet, I won’t be celebrating today. I’ll keep writing and raising my voice to the day when my vision of an independent India is realized.

I’ll celebrate the day when a parent can rest peacefully, knowing that their child, regardless of gender, will return home safely. 

I’ll celebrate the day when we would no longer subject our daughters, sisters, and mothers to scrutiny over their clothing choices. The size of a skirt or the depth of a neckline would no longer be a measure of their worth or character. 

I’ll celebrate the day when we bury the notion that a woman’s body is a vessel for a family's 'pride’, and start seeing them as individuals deserving of equal rights and respect.

I’ll celebrate the day when we can challenge the toxic masculinity (& mentality) that tells our boys they must be a 'mard' or alpha males who are entitled to aggression or control, and instead, raise boys to be compassionate, and understanding individuals.

My mind is in juxtaposition. My choice not to celebrate independence today is not unpatriotic. My keeping quiet would be.

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Where the Mind is Without Fear Rabindranath Tagore

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high

Where knowledge is free

Where the world has not been broken up into fragments

By narrow domestic walls

Where words come out from the depth of truth

Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection

Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way

Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit

Where the mind is led forward by thee Into ever-widening thought and action

Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.