Borrowed Courage

Every generation borrows its courage from somewhere.

For mine, it came wrapped in some books, songs and films.

Some stories entertain us. Others quietly move into our lives and rearrange the furniture. Rang De Basanti did that for an entire generation. It wasn't just a film. It was a conversation about friendship, citizenship and the uncomfortable truth that loving your country sometimes means asking it difficult questions.

Its soundtrack became part of that conversation.

Most people remember Roobaroo as the anthem. I loved it too. But the song that stayed with me was Khalbali.

Maybe because it never tried to resolve anything.

It sat with the discomfort. The unease. The nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right. It understood that before change comes clarity, there is restlessness.

Back then, I didn't have a name for that feeling.

Today, I do.

Borrowed courage.

The courage to question. To care. To believe that your voice matters, even if you're not sure anyone is listening.

Life, of course, has a way of softening certainty.

The years that followed felt like a political blur. Headlines came and went. Outrage became routine. Conversations became arguments. Somewhere along the way, I stopped feeling patriotic. Not because I loved my country any less, but because I no longer recognised the version of patriotism that seemed to dominate every conversation.

And yet, every time Khalbali found its way back onto a playlist, it stirred something I couldn't quite explain.

Perhaps that restlessness never left.

It was only waiting.

Then I watched thousands of students gather peacefully. Young people choosing questions over silence. Conviction over cynicism. Not because they knew they would win, but because they believed their voices deserved to be heard.

Watching them, I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time.

Hope.

Not hope born from governments or institutions. Those will always have moments when they inspire us and moments when they disappoint us.

This hope came from somewhere else.

It came from watching a generation refuse to surrender its curiosity, its compassion or its courage.

For the first time in years, I found myself feeling patriotic again.

Not because everything is as it should be.

But because there are still young people willing to imagine that it can be better.

That's the patriotism Rang De Basanti left behind.

Not slogans.

Not certainty.

Not choosing sides.

Just ordinary people who care enough to ask difficult questions and brave enough to keep asking them peacefully.

Maybe that's what stories are meant to do.

We borrow courage from them for a while. We carry it until life weighs it down. And then, when we least expect it, someone else reminds us where we left it.

The soundtrack hasn't changed.

Neither has the film.

Perhaps the only thing that changed was me.

And perhaps that's why Khalbali still feels less like a song and more like a heartbeat.

A quiet reminder that patriotism isn't the absence of restlessness.

Sometimes, it's the reason for it.