This Independence Day, let India be the answer the world needs

This land, older than time, stitched together by languages that sing and clash and blend, by customs that contradict and still coexist, by prayers whispered in temples and mosques and churches and gurdwaras alike—this land is not a reminder of freedom, it is its full expression. It is not the echo of liberty, it is its original sound. Here, independence is not emblazoned—it is embodied.

Where America feels angular and audacious, India feels curved and cosmic. If America is the declaration, India is the meditation. One stands with a torch, the other with open arms. One thunders; the other listens. America is the argument. India is the answer. And in that femininity—not weakness, but wisdom; not softness, but strength—I see a power the world has forgotten: the power to absorb without erasing, to lead without loudness, to teach without a single raised voice. The feminine is not fragile—it is forever.

In these years since returning, I have seen how India breathes—hectic and holy, chaotic and calm. A grandmother in Rajasthan still weaving dreams into a shawl; a coder in Bangalore folding intelligence into circuits; a farmer in Bihar coexisting with ancient soil and modern pressures. This is not a land that needs to catch up to the world. This is a land that has never left the front.

And yet, like all great democracies, India is not beyond testing. And it is being tested—not just by global crises, by technological torrents, by ecological urgencies—but by the more delicate battles of the soul: who speaks, who is heard, who belongs, who decides. We have seen democracies falter, even in their self-appointed capitals. We have seen truth dressed in camouflage and facts losing to volume. But India, even in its disarray, does not disappear. It debates. It doubts. It survives. And more crucially—it engages.

Because the soul of democracy does not sit in its symbols. It lives in the citizen. In every person who steps into a voting booth. In every voice that questions power, not to break it down, but to raise it higher. In every act of compassion, inclusion, fairness, thoughtfulness. In every refusal to be seduced by cynicism.

Independence is not an inheritance. It is not static. It is daily. It demands care. And care requires clarity. If we are to rise, it cannot be by repeating slogans but by embodying their spirit. If we are to lead the world, we cannot do it only with GDP or satellites or summits. We must do it with our example—of civility, resilience, unity, decency.

And the world is watching. More importantly, the world is waiting. Not for another superpower in muscle, but for a wise power in mind. As old alliances fracture, as new anxieties rise, as the planet itself pleads for leadership that feels more like stewardship than strategy, India stands steady. Not only because of our billion dreams, but because of the ancient dream that made space for them all.

India has never led by conquering. It has led by convening. It has never imposed. It has invited. From the Upanishads to the Constitution, from Buddha to Ambedkar, from the Silk Route to Silicon Valley, we have always stood at the intersection of past and possibility. We don’t shout our wisdom. We share it. And in that lies our promise to the world—not as a rising force, but as a guiding one.

The richness of our independence lies not in our flags or fireworks, but in the space we make for difference. Our future lies not in choosing sides, but in being the space where sides can meet. When the world grows more binary, more black and white, India remains gloriously plural—multi-hued, multi-toned, often messy, occasionally maddening, but always magnificent.

I have seen it on railway platforms, in wedding halls, in classroom corners, in WhatsApp family groups, in village panchayats and boardrooms alike. This idea of India—imperfect, impatient, but deeply intact. There are days when it falters, yes. But there are more days when it flourishes. Because its foundation is not fear or force—but faith.

To love India is to argue with her, to challenge her, to heal her, to push her. But above all, it is to believe in her. Not because we ignore her flaws, but because we trust in her flow—the steady, unspectacular flow of a people forever finding a way. And to that India, I bow this Independence Day—not with nostalgia, but with resolve.

Let our patriotism not be pride without purpose. Let it be participation with principle. Let it be a politics that allows difference without division, ambition without arrogance. Let it be an invitation—not only to our own people, but to the world—to see in India not a nation looking for status, but a civilisation offering sense.

Let this August 15 not just be a celebration of what was won, but a commitment to what must not be lost. Let it remind us that freedom is not a flag to wave, but a fire to tend. That democracy is not a performance, but a practice. That the nation is not an idea we inherited, but one we must keep creating.

And in a world that burns, that spurns, that churns, may India be what it has always been—steady, soulful, surprising. A mother who makes room. A mind that makes sense. A heart that makes whole.

Let the world look at us—not with suspicion or envy, but with awe. Not for what we possess, but for what we embody. And let us look at ourselves—not with denial or despair, but with dignity and duty.

Jai Hind.