While watching the Independence day/Republic day celebrations, I unknowingly end up time travelling

back to my deep rooted memories of the past and reach my childhood village…Phoolpur ( naam toh
definitely nahi suna hoga! )

I’m probably 8-9 years old and got selected for my school’s Independence Day marching band which was
scheduled to parade through the village on 15 th Aug and 26th Jan.

Being in the parade and playing big brass cymbals called Manjiras meant a lot of practice and mastering
co-ordination with the rest of the music band members, it meant staying after school. Back then, I was
scrawny and thin which didn’t help either. Being the only Manjira player in the band also meant I could
never take off from any of the practice sessions. To make matters worse the weather would always end
up being extreme on both the parade occasions. Many times, more than I’d like to admit, being a part of
it all felt like a punishment but I never imagined that I’d look back at these memories with a certain
pride and fondness.

On parade day, music band members would be called early usually, while we’d still practice for hours
before departing from the school. In the parade formation, I would be the 4th from the front (the grand
marshal then two rows of drummers and one big Dhol player before me), I’d be alone in the row in
order to have enough space for playing my gigantic Manjiras.

The parade would go on for about 2-3 km, during which people would bestow flowers, cheer for us and
some would even offer refreshments. The amount of attention we’d attract was no less than a religious
procession. My mother would also witness the parade and also actively participate in the general
fervour but I’d be too engrossed in playing the Manjiras to search for her.

I would return from the parade by 1-1:30 PM, but by then I would’ve missed my chance to watch the
Republic Day procession on the TV which always left me sad. I’d never be able to watch it before and so
now I never miss any chance to watch it.😊

Jai Hind!