Perchance to Dream

Copyright: Christopher C. Doyle, 1987

The sun hangs low on the western horizon as I settle back in my rocking chair. Small wisps of clouds, tinged with a melancholy yellow, flit across the purple emptiness; while the setting rays of the sun glance off a gleaming skyscraper to form a gentle halo on the landscape around it.
And with the creeping darkness, comes a mist within my mind, severing the tenuous bond that keeps me conscious of my existence. I am transported to the past, to my youth, when the fire of ambition within me was stoked by the cumbrous yoke of subjugation.
I hailed from a family of good position and enjoyed the privilege of higher education. I was betrothed to the girl I loved. But somewhere within me was that urge to fight for my motherland.
And fight I did.
What glorious dreams we had dreamt; we would be freed from vassalage, our beautiful country would recapture her lost glory. No amount of repression could still the emotions that raged in our zealous breasts. We would sing songs of love, of glory, of purity and innocence, of the meadows, the hills, the vales of our glorious land; and long for the day we would drink of the happiness that would flow through the land.
A refulgent comet streaks through the black expanse above me, leaving a luminous trail of scattered sparks. Suddenly, I am back in the present. My dreams dissolve around me and melt into the gloomy murk. I glance upwards and watch the stars twinkle, accentuating the obscureness of the void around them.
The land is the same, the air is the same; and yet, there is a perceptible difference. The beauty we dreamt of has remained a prerogative of Nature.
‘Where is the happiness we fought for?” I wonder, as I watch a frail woman drag her half starved, semi clad child through the deserted street, under the glare of the streetlights.
“What were the sacrifices for?” I ponder, and the mist creeps up again, engulfing my weary mind.
There is still a dream.
When I was young, I would gaze up at the firmament and dream of a free country, a land of unending love and joy. Now, I dream of the time when our sacrifices will realise their eventual reward. As the world sleeps, and the stars wink down on a dreaming globe, an ocean of silence engulfs the heavens and my dream unfolds, emerging from a mire of ignorance and chaos.
I see my motherland rise from the ocean of purity and beauty—newly baptised, resplendent in all her beauty and glory. The stars and the breeze echo our song of hope and love for our motherland.
My dream is the dream of all my fellow patriots: ours is an eternal dream.
I see myself now, sitting by the fire, singing with my fellow patriots. The words echo through my mind, the mist grows deeper and my eyes grow moist.
Someday, somewhere, my dream will come true. And that day will be a day of triumph for my motherland.
My thoughts are rudely interrupted by a gentle touch on my shoulder. It is mmy great granddaughter, asking me to come inside, as it is growing cold. I gather my shawl and my walking stick, and look around me, searching for my dream.
The night is fading, the stars have dimmed and a soft glow lights up the eastern horizon. Another day has begun. Another day, another rhope, another dream.

My first post on this blog

This is short introduction to my first post on this blog, which follows immediately. I thought this would be a nice way of starting the posts.

In 1987, on August 15th, our Independence Day, I wrote a short (very short!) piece. Call it a creator's vanity, but I love this piece till this day, 22 years later.

And since August 15th has just gone by, I thought it would be great to resurrect the piece and put it on my blog. I have not changed anything in the piece; this is the way it was originally written 22 years ago.

I hope you like it as much as I do.

Please remember, this piece is copyrighted and if you would like to use it or parts of it, do ensure you check with me first.

Introduction

This is a blog about India Rising. A country that has a glorious history going back over 5000 years; a culture that is as ancient as civilisation itself, with art, crafts and literature that is thousands of years old.

India is a country that is a microcosm of the world we live in. Its diversity never ceases to amaze. And yet, from the time of Chandragupta Maurya, this country has, for the most part, been ruled by a single government. There were times, when dynasties faltered and rulers were weak, that the country broke up into myriad constituents. But those phases never lasted long. Each time, another ruler would come along and re-unite the country. While the political map has changed since 300 BC, the country itself has changed little.

Interestingly, India was prosperous for most of its 5000 years of recorded history. Irrespective of the ideologies or religion of the rulers, the country flourished, with the exception of the rule of the British.

But this blog is not about history (though I will be tempted to throw in nuggets when I think they will interest readers). It is about the fact that a prosperous country, repressed and ravaged under foreign rule, is now finally picking itself up and rising to take its rightful place in the world.

This is not an easy process. There are challenges along the way. There is historical and cultural baggage that we carry. There are dangers to be vanquished and chasms to be crossed along the way.

But something is different. There is a change in the air. And this blog will attempt to understand what is happening in this journey for Ascendant India. The beauty and the warts. And hopefully, we will learn in this journey as well.