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There is a specific kind of quiet that only exists in a living room thousands of miles away from India. Its started to hit when August rolled around. Back home, the air would be buzzing with the approach of Independence Day eventually marking the beginning of the festive season — the sight of children practicing their speeches to the wind, entire neighborhoods draped in a sea of fluttering tricolour flags, and the booming, nostalgic echo of patriotic tracks with the neighborhood dance groups perfecting their routines.

Here? It is just another Thursday.

As a civilian who recently moved abroad, this time of year comes with a heavy existential guilt. I look at our news and instagram stories, and see reels of the brave soldiers guarding the borders in freezing temperatures, and the defense forces who give everything for the nation. Then I look at myself, sitting in a puffer jacket typing on a laptop, and I think: “Here I am, contributing absolutely nothing to India, except maybe a little bit of homesickness.”

But as the rainy weather outside my window sets in, I am starting to realize that patriotism doesn’t always require a uniform. Sometimes, it is just about keeping the fire alive in a quiet room far away.

My homesickness usually spikes when the weather turns. Back home, rain is a chaotic event. It is the immediate smell of wet mud, thunder, and the universal cue for children and sometimes even grown ups to let go and run outdoors to jump into the nearest muddy puddles or to just enjoy that downpour imagining themselves in one of those countless bollywood/tollywood rain songs.

Here, the rain is just – SAD. It is a persistent, gloomy drizzle that seems to exist solely to make you buy an umbrella or that super expensive waterproof jacket. I look out my window at the sky and the perfectly neat, empty roads. No children visibly playing with water. No screaming kids drenched to the bone. Just a quiet, damp world.

It makes me miss the beautiful chaos of an Indian monsoon, where a downpour means everything stops, and plans are made to have an impromptu gathering for hot pakoras and some filter coffee or piping hot tea.

While I might feel guilty for not serving on the front lines, the truth is that we the segment of INDIANS staying away from home become accidental ambassadors the moment we cross borders. I might not wear a uniform, but Iam most definitely practicing “micro-patriotism” every single minute of every single day when i say –

“If I were back in India, I would have got this delivered to my doorstep within an hour”

“Back in India, things are just so easy. You don’t have to DIY everything.”

“You know this is available in India for literally fifty rupees? Why am I paying ten pounds for it here?”

“At this hour in India, I could easily get hot biryani sent straight to my room.”

and many more “BACK IN INDIA s atleast 20 times in a day

We tend to think patriotism requires a grand gesture. But everyday influence is real, and civilians are the ones who build it.

Every time you explain the deep history behind our culture, and every time you display that trademark Indian warmth and hospitality in a cold, unfamiliar land, you are serving your country. You do not need to be on the borders to love your country. Every time you long for rainy-day pakoras, and every time you carry the warmth of home into a quiet room, you are keeping India alive

Happy Independence Day, no matter where in the world you are logging in from.