Bhagat Singh Is Not Just History to Me
Imagine lots of people live for 80s, 90s, but they just become dust of time. Who cares for them? After some years, even their names disappear.
But once in a while, we see a real hero like Bhagat Singh.
He was just 23 when he laid down his life.
Yet he remains immortal. And even today, his life helps to light up many struggling candles. That is the difference between an ordinary life and a shorter but fully lived life.
Bhagat Singh.
Whenever I speak out his name, my heart gets filled with pride — and somewhere, an urge to be like him.
The name is not just a name to me.
It is a symbol of surrender to the highest in life.
He taught me that if freedom asks for everything, then give everything. Don’t think twice. And if, for freedom, it asks for your life — then give your life.
His life stories give me goosebumps whenever I hear or read them.
There is this story of little Bhagat Singh planting sticks in his father’s land as if he were planting guns. When he was asked, “What are you doing, Bhagat?”
His answer was not merely the innocence of a child playing.
He said he was sowing guns so that when they grew, they could be used to get rid of the British.
And a real younger Bhagat Singh, look at his love for reading.
He was a voracious reader. At my age, he was so well-read. He had no time to waste. And this is something that really touches me.
People remember him as an atheist because of his Book,
“Why I Am an Atheist.”
But in my understanding, he was a truly a religious person.
I say this because real religiousness, for me, is not merely about believing in God or following rituals.
It is about living a right life.
It is about becoming devoted to the right battle.
That itself is Dharma.
A devoted life towards the highest can only come from some clarity about oneself.
Knowing oneself gives clarity.
And that clarity tells you what is actually worth living for — and what is worth giving your whole life to.
There is another story that always stays with me.
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When his mother asked him to get married, his reply was worth listening to by every young person in India.
He said he was already married.
His mother was shocked.
“When?”
“And what is her name?”
His reply: “Azadi, Azadi meri dulhan hai.”
“Freedom is my bride.”
There was no vacancy for another.
What kind of love is this?
What kind of occupation is this?
A man who has already given his heart to something so completely that there is no space left for anything smaller.
This man truly remains a guiding light for millions.
And I genuinely feel that if the youth of India take some time to read his life, his struggles, his writings, and actually try to understand the person behind the name, something inside them may begin to move.
Because his life was not long.
But it was intense.
It was not comfortable.
But it was meaningful.
And look at how occupied he was with what he loved.
Accounts tell us that even in his final hours, he was reading. He was reading Lenin before he was taken to the gallows.
Think about that.
Death is standing right there.
And he is still reading.
Still with his beloved.
Still doing something he considers important.
There is no time for self-pity.
No time for inner misery.
No waiting for the perfect time.
Just:
I have something important to do.
And perhaps this is what I actually learnt from him.
Don’t wait for the right time.
Don’t wait for God to come and fix everything.
No.
Try. Don’t think too much about the result. The attempt is sufficient.
Make it a heartfelt, honest attempt in love. Love the right battle and give your whole to it.
Because that’s real love.
Give all your inner space to something that is truly beautiful for you.
Something that is worth your time.
Something that is worth your life.
