5 months and 11 days – that was the last time I felt a surge of patriotism, took a good look at what my country was and is. And what it will be. As the clock hands inched towards midnight and yet another Indian anniversary of independence, I wrote these lines. That day drew to a close. Sadly, the all-consuming, overwhelming love I felt for this land, too. Don’t get me wrong: I love my country. Every single day. All its idiosyncracies with all my heart and soul. But it takes the designated Independence Day or the more recent Republic Day (January 26) for this love to reign over my work-weary being. To remind of this freedom I am bestowed with. Yesterday, it did. And this love left paw prints all over my heart and I sorely missed a friend of mine in the uniform. Made me love my country more. Be thankful, too.

Republic Day marks India’s transition into a pure democracy – “of the people, by the people, for the people”. The flagship event of the day is the parade that is held in the capital of New Delhi – a flamboyant display of colors, daredevilry, military prowess, diplomatic ties, and a spirit that sees one half of the country brave the winter (no, no snow) to reach the venue. And the other -including me – warm the couch in front of the television.

So we sat down to watch the parade. In the company of fleeting memories of a childhood glued to a black-and-white television broadcasting a single channel that replayed the parade for a week. We – the two-year-old German Shepherd master of the house who responds to ‘Theo’ and ‘Rascal’ with equal gusto, and I. Now, this year’s parade was special: the French army contingent became the first-ever foreign military group to march in the parade, the Army dog squad returned to the parade after 26 years. Theo and I watched it for the fur heroes, to be honest.

We watched 36 Labradors and German Shepherds go through the drill with their handlers: heeling, jumping, marching – even their tails were aligned at one point in time. Theo raised his eyes when he saw them walking on two legs (how dare they!), turned up his nose in disgust (I presume) when they jumped through rings of fire. But we also saw the dedication, the hours spent in training, and the respect man and animal had for each other.

Both wore uniforms – a sign of their service, a symbol of them belonging to the country. FOR and OF the people.

And the stripes, the medals of honor, and the uniforms reminded of a friend in the Army. Of hundreds like her who choose country first. Who stay awake at fences and in trenches that their countrymen may sleep undisturbed. Who live by stolen lines in letters, by static-ridden phone calls that come if the weather relents. Them who leave families behind to adopt an entire nation of people. Not just people, but their dreams too. For whom no suffering is great, no tear unreasonable. Them who embody selflessness, courage, sacrifice, and consuming, overwhelming love.

I pen this a day later, a day after the country’s patriotic fervor has ebbed. Not to see if I feel any different about this land a day later, but to remind (myself) that there’s no designated day for gratitude.

To my kinsmen in uniform and the ones who’ve gone before, to paw power – salute!