RAIN - SWEAT OR BLOOD..?

This evening, as I sat in the balcony, the rain began to fall — not just drops of water, but to me, each drop felt like a whisper from the souls of our freedom fighters. The rain carried a sense of release, of peace — the kind they fought for, the kind they never got to fully enjoy, but gave to us instead.

A few days ago, the National Film Awards recognized some lesser-known yet powerful films. This made me think — the India of the future must be an India that remembers. Remembers not the invaders, not the traitors, not those who sent our own brothers to die in distant trenches during World War I for a cause that wasn’t ours. No — we must remember those who faced the gallows, the bullets, the dungeons, so that the chains on our wrists could be broken forever.

When I read about our freedom fighters — men and women who turned their youth into torches of resistance — it shakes me. I recently revisited the life of Bhagat Singh. He was only 24 years old. The world had just begun to open before him, yet he walked into the darkness of death for us. He left his home when his grandmother wished to see him married; but his mind was already wedded to one dream — the dream of India’s freedom. In his letters from prison, he didn’t just write about independence; he wrote about the kind of India we should build after it — an India of dignity, justice, and self-respect.

Bhagat Singh was not alone. Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose, who raised an army against the British Empire. Udham Singh, who crossed oceans to avenge the Jallianwala Bagh massacre. These were not just names in history books — these were storms in human form, who would rather burn out than bow down.

Recently, I watched Kesari [Chapter 2], which portrayed the Jallianwala Bagh massacre — no, let us call it what it was — a slaughter. Innocent men, women, and children fell to British bullets, trapped in a garden with no escape. The courage of Sir Shankaran Nair, a judge of the Supreme Court of Madras, who openly challenged the British narrative, stands as a reminder that resistance came in many forms — on battlefields, in courtrooms, and in the streets.

Films like Kesari, Sardar Udham, and Sam Bahadur are not just entertainment. They are living memorials, cinematic gravestones etched with courage and sacrifice. Every frame tells us — freedom was not gifted to us; it was earned in blood, in sweat, in tears, and in the unbreakable will of those who refused to kneel.

As the rain poured tonight, I realized — it is the rain of their sacrifice that we feel on our skin. It cools us, refreshes us, but it is also a reminder: freedom is fragile if we forget its price. We must speak their names, read their words, watch their stories, and live in a way that makes their sacrifice worthwhile.

Because if we forget them, we do not just lose our history — we lose the very soul of our nation.