When I was younger, there was a ruined building at the bottom of our street. All the kids of the suburb kept away from it as the rumor was that the building was haunted. The concrete walls of the two story building were cracking and crumbling. The windows were broken and shard of glass lay all over the floor. One evening as a test of courage, me and my best friend dedicated to probe that creepy place. We climbed through a window at the back of the building. The entire place was dirty and there was a layer of mud on the wooden floor. As we dusted ourselves off, we looked up and were shocked to see that someone had written the words “I AM DEAD” on the wall near the ceiling. "Probably just some teenagers trying to scare kids." said I. "Yeah! probably!" replied my chap. we explored more of the rooms on the ground floor. In a room that appeared once to b a kitchen, we found more writings on wall. I read " I'm in a room upstairs." We walked up the creaking stairs to the second floor. i led the way and my friend followed close behind. i was'nt scared but he was begining 

For everything, there is a season, it has been foretold. When I was young and green, securely clinging to the branches of my family Sugar Maple tree, I thought it was the best I would ever be. But  here, now,  in the Autumn season of my life , rich with vibrant color that represents the wisdom of my age, I see what then,  I did not know.   Green to yellow to orange to red, I have graced this landscape with the glory of my aging, and have brought pleasure and beauty to my Mother Earth.  I release my grip from the branch on which I was raised, and flutter slowly to the ground with grace, knowing that returning to the earth from whence I came is my destiny in the cycle of life, and I will return, in season.

I love the silent hour of night,
For blissful dreams may then arise,
Revealing to my charmed sight
What may not bless my waking eyes

I love the silent hour of night,
For blissful dreams may then arise,
Revealing to my charmed sight
What may not bless my waking eyes

Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne'er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple Host
Who took the Flag today
Can tell the definition
So clear of Victory

As he defeated-dying
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Burst agonized and clear!

 

August 15th 1947 was the day the tri colour was first raised and independent India was born. The tri colour was raised by the leaders of a nation who were bursting with eagerness to lead a life of complete freedom from their colonial masters. Today, almost 69 years later, celebrating Independence Day evokes a similar sense of patriotism. However, beyond the excitement, one has to think deeper on whether we have really achieved what our forefathers set out to do. Are we independent as a state and more importantly as individuals, are we independent in terms of our identity? Lets take this day as an opportunity to reflect on our daily lives and carve an unique identity for ourselves. Lets get independence from the mind that is so socially enslaved by the West and lets embrace the Indianess in all of ourselves.
 
Wish you a very Happy Independence Day!!