This Independence Day, I will not be standing in a crowd in Delhi or watching a flag go up at my old school. I will be thousands of miles away, probably explaining to a confused American friend why I care so much about a holiday that is not even on their calendar.
But when the Indian flag shows up on my screen, or a familiar song plays, or I see someone celebrating with the tricolor, I know exactly what it means to me. India is a place I grew up in. A place I still miss. A place that shaped who I am. And a home that, despite the distance, I never really left behind, even if I did leave behind a few too many awkward flag-hoisting-day photos.
When I was a kid, Independence Day was just a day I looked forward to. There were flags, there was music, and a general feeling that the whole country had shown up at the same party. I did not think much about the deeper meaning of it. I mostly thought about which snacks would show up.
I also remember getting dressed up for the day, which every Indian kid knows about and has complained about at least once. Somebody’s mom would wrap you in an orange scarf, stick a paper cap on your head, and tell you to stand still for a photo. You did not get a say in this. You just smiled and wore it.
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The streets looked different that day. Tricolor flags showed up everywhere — on cars, outside shops, on balconies, even tucked into school notebooks. TV channels played patriotic songs on a loop, the kind that get stuck in your head for the rest of the week whether you like it or not. And every year, there was that familiar moment of watching the flag go up.
That was then. Later, when I was thirteen, I moved from India to the United States. That is when I started seeing India differently.
Suddenly, the India I used to wake up in every single day became a place I visited, remembered, and talked about. Festivals, food, language, and even random school memories turned into things I missed without expecting to.
Independence Day feels different now. In India, you could not really miss August 15. Here, I have to go looking for it. I might spot an Indian flag outside a restaurant, scroll past a video of the celebrations in Delhi, or hear a song that drags me back to a school assembly I had honestly forgotten about. None of that is quite the same as being there, but it is enough to make the day feel closer again.
Watching the Independence Day celebrations on TV as a kid has remained one of my clearest memories. I did not understand every speech, but I understood the mood. The flags, the crowds, the ceremony — it all felt bigger than an ordinary day off from school, and for a kid, that is already a pretty high bar to clear.
Now I watch those same celebrations from America. Now I am mostly experiencing India through memory, and occasionally through a friend’s Instagram story
Memory is pretty powerful on its own. A random phrase can bring back an entire conversation. A specific snack can remind me of a family gathering. Even the Indian flag on my phone screen can make me think about the streets I grew up around — and, weirdly, about my grandfather insisting I pose for “just one more photo” at every family event, always claiming it was the last one.
Maybe that is part of what Independence Day means for people like me, who grew up in India and now live somewhere else. Distance does not weaken the connection. Sometimes it just makes you notice it more, usually at random moments, like hearing “Vande Mataram” playing in a grocery store parking lot for no reason.
Living in America has also changed how
I think about independence in general. My generation is inheriting a very different India than the one that existed in 1947 — we grew up with smartphones, social media, and video calls to relatives across the planet. At the same time, we carry forward traditions and stories that existed long before any of us showed up.
That mix is what makes my generation’s connection to India interesting. I can live in America and still feel something when I hear the national anthem. I can celebrate Fourth of July and still look forward to Diwali, Holi, and August 15. Identity just does not fit into one neat box, and trying to force it into one is more trouble than it is worth.
And so, every August, as Independence Day gets closer, I think back to those mornings from my childhood in India.
Devansh Malhotra, 15, is a junior at West Windsor Plainsboro High School South, New Jersey