The thunderous clap of the roaring machine went right over the roof.I rushed out with my tongs to see the aircraft that left a trail of the tricolour in the air.
The kids ,my age, outside were on their bikes with little flags stuck to their handles .
The mithaiwala at the corner had a sea of customers for his special ‘tiranga sweets’.
My eyes filled up with tears as I heard the faint reverberation of “Vande Mataram” from the school that I had to drop out of when I was eight.
Baba came outside from our hut and said,”Be quick about the bangles son. Freedom isn’t for us.”