Freedom

Ameya was preparing for his speech for the independence-day celebration. He had been exempted to attend last two class periods so that he could mug-up the typical my-country-is-great stuff. He had to sit away from his class-mates, in the practice sheds next to the school play ground. For that he had to walk across the school playground in scorching sun. Although the rainy season had hit Mumbai, yet some days were horribly humid. Those were few of those days.

Ameya never liked all this speech business, but it gave him a good excuse to bunk the boring classes. And these practice sessions were not that boring either. There were different groups of students preparing for different functions. One group of students was rehearsing for a short play on Jaliyawala-Bagh, other bunch was reciting Vande-Matram again and again, and there were bunch of kids dancing on different odd tunes, ranging from ‘Yeh Desh hai Veer Jawano Ka’  to ‘It happens only in India’. Music was generally not allowed in school, but on few of those occasions, exceptions were observed, and Ameya, like all other kids, waited for all those exceptions.

As the independence-day was approaching, the practice sessions were becoming intense and rigorous. Ameya was not sure of his speech, but he had memorized dialogues of General Dyer by that time. A group of teachers were invigilating the efforts. One teacher approached Ameya and asked him to deliver his speech without looking into his sheet. Ameya went pale, it was like running in the scorching sun, running across the playground, his throat became sour and sweat flooded across his face. He wasn’t sure about his speech yet. There were many difficult words in that. Yet he started blabbering. He was half way through, and the school bell struck. The school bell came as a rescue signal, as it always appeared to him. He promised the teacher to learn the speech by heart the next day, and fled outside.

The school bell had rescued almost every other kid from one trouble or another. All were wildly happy and rushing outside. The silence of typical mid-day was being ransacked by excited kids; everyone else was just a mute spectator. The watchman, the teachers and the sun, the excitement of kids had shadowed everyone else. And then rung another bell, it was not as loud as the school bell, but it gave another wave of impulse to already excited children. It was the ice-cream vendor.

As it turned out, it was not the normal milk-ice-cream vendor, it was burf-ka-gola waala. Like all other kids, Baraf ka gola was Ameya’s all time favorite. He had a big sweet tooth for the crushed ice with different flavors of sweet as well as colorful sherbet. He always waited for local ice-cream vendor daily after school days. Few kids were already standing on the side-railing of the vendor's cart and staring at the ice-cream crushing zestfully while other kids were vigorously attempting to have a gaze of the whole procedure. The vendor, pleased with his enthusiastic audience, was performing the whole process with full devotion and concentration. He first broke an ice-bar into smaller chunks and started grinding a chunk with his crusher, a small manually operated machine that looked very similar to the one used for crushing sugar-canes. The kids were watching the entire procedure in awestruck admiration keeping an eye on colorful bottles of sherbet. Red one would be every one's favorite; hence there were generally two red bottles, one at each side of the crusher. Green and yellow were other sherbets. After shaping the crushed ice into a sphere on a thin piece of stick, the vendor poured colorful nectar, forming jig-jag shapes. Finally a pinch of spice or coconut powder consummated the process. Every kid would know these steps by heart and love to watch them again and again, reminding the vendor to put some extra red sherbet or coconut powder. Even Ameya would have done it, but that day Ameya just watched him. He was given strict instructions to avoid eating any cold stuff. He was asked to keep his throat perfect for his speech. He counted the remaining days and walked past the vendor.

The day finally arrived. The morning was the most colorful morning one could expect in a school, and Ameya’s school was not an exemption. It was decorated well. The chief guest was about to arrive. Kids, who were going to present exercise, were standing in queues. Every teacher was supervising the assigned tasks. From stage management to seating arrangement, everything was under control. Patriotic songs were being played on loud speaker. Kids, who were not performing in any function, were being seated and hushed again and again by the staff. The kids under the practice sheds were the most nervous. They were repeating their steps/roles. Ameya was still not sure about his speech. His speech was just after flag-hoisting.

The chief guest, a prominent political figure, arrived in time and delivered a fabulous speech after flag hoisting. He narrated the whole concept of nationality with such zeal and enthusiasm that a wave of patriotism went past everyone. Everyone felt proud of being Indian. He re-iterated sacrifices of freedom fighters. He narrated the dreams of our great leaders and envisaged the dreams of progressive nation. Everyone had already listened to these speeches many times in past, but every time the same words instigated a different vigor in them. The whole atmosphere became patriotic and the chief guest concluded his speech with a round of heavy applause.

Ameya’s speech was next. He almost had a panic attack once he reached the stage. He never expected every single student to turn up for the day. To make the matter worse, everyone was staring at him. He started anyways, and after a few blabbering, he gained his pace. He suddenly realized that he could have Burf-Ka-Gola, that day onwards. The thought itself amused him, and gave new life to his words. He recited every single word he learned earlier. The greatness of country, the dreams, the progress, the equality, the bond, the diversity, the unity… everything came out smoothly. The crowd enjoyed it and his burden of the much awaited moment was relieved from him. The overall celebration went fine and chocolates were distributed among children.

Ameya, was waiting for his ice-cream treat. He had waited for burf-ka-gola for last two weeks. That day he truly achieved freedom, like the nation. He felt happy and rushed outside. But there was no ice-cream vendor. Other kids were also waiting for him. All of them waited for their familiar ice-cream vendor for long time, but he never turned up.

Kids got disappointed for next couple of days. The ice-cream vendor had suddenly disappeared, disappointing his restless fan-following. Every single kid missed his presence.

It was later became known that the ice-cream vendor, a Sharma-ji from UP, was beaten up to death by the followers of the same politician who was the chief-guest of the function. According to the party policies, Mumbai belongs to local guys; there is no notation of nation, when it comes to working in Mumbai. Like other petty workers from other states, the ice-cream vendor faced the fury of politically disillusioned mob. He was penalized to work in his own country, unfortunately on the same day the country was celebrating its freedom.