Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
By narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee
Into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.
- Rabindranath Tagore, Gitanjali, 1912
Any piece on Independence Day is bound to carry these lines. Every year journalists, bloggers and anyone worth their salt who think they can wield a pen, come up with articles lamenting the sacrifices of the men and women committed to one goal: Freedom.
But this is no dirge. This is a celebration of their lives.
These are the people who shaped independent India. In life they were mortal. But in death, they are immortal.
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
By narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee
Into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.
- Rabindranath Tagore, Gitanjali, 1912
Any piece on Independence Day is bound to carry these lines. Every year journalists, bloggers and anyone worth their salt who think they can wield a pen, come up with articles lamenting the sacrifices of the men and women committed to one goal: Freedom.
But this is no dirge. This is a celebration of their lives.
These are the people who shaped independent India. In life they were mortal. But in death, they are immortal.