Seventy-eight years after independence, the symbols of freedom still stand tall, yet the substance often slips away in the smallest of moments. Flags rise, anthems play, speeches ring out, but away from the podiums, citizens quietly hand over pieces of their identity for a little convenience, a minor discount, or to keep a queue moving.Freedom was meant to ensure control over one’s choices. Independence was meant to protect dignity and autonomy. Yet in an age of instant billing, QR scanning and OTP verification, fragments of that autonomy are traded so routinely that the loss barely registers.Number Please!Dawn stretches over a mustard field in eastern Punjab. Raghunath, a wiry farmer in a faded kurta, pedals his rusting bicycle along a dusty road to the village bank, a file of papers tied with fraying red string balanced on his carrier. It’s subsidy payout day.
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