What does Independence Day mean to India's Gen Z?

That moment when India attained freedom is not a distant memory for my family. We have lived it several times over through the stories that my grandparents tell me of an undivided Punjab. They had to leave everything in Lahore to start anew in Delhi after Partition. My great grandparents moved to Delhi when my grandfather was a child. Getting to know their stories—not just the oral testimonies but also through letters, diaries and archival photos—helped me understand that moment in time. Though we see that event immortalised in films and books, it acquires deeper meaning when witnessed through your family’s memories.

To me the idea of independence and what this day means has changed over time. As an artist, you practise freedom through your medium. You make something that is truly yours—you own it by being true to yourself and being free of external control. I make gender-neutral figures in scenarios such as weddings imagined through my life experiences. I don’t like labels and tags. When I was in school, my parents would send me to art classes, where the teachers would tell you what to draw. Though I create oils on canvas, the stories I tell are free from the western pedagogy of landscapes, portraits and oil paintings. The narratives come from within me, irrespective of what society or mainstream art ecosystem dictates.

If you are a woman or a queer person, freedom is altered. I come from a lineage of very strong female figures. My grandmother transitioned from a homemaker to a teacher later in life. I saw the strength that she derived from her new role. I have witnessed my mother and grandmother making their voices heard. My own femininity comes from my elder sister. The fact that I paint women stems from the fact that I see the world from their gaze. The freedoms they carved for themselves have inspired me.

Freedom to experiment

ESHAN SHARMA, 26, History researcher and filmmaker, Delhi

I am from Kanpur, and live in Delhi. I’ve been trying to make history available to the public through social media and YouTube by doing lectures with historians. I started a collective called Karwaan Heritage. I’m making a series of films on historians who were born before 1947, who have seen the birth of India. When I’m free, I love listening to vinyl records, like young people may have done in 1947, and collecting old film posters. Freedom means to experiment however I want, without the fear of repercussions. It means to think critically and to question, again without the fear of punishment. It also means equality and rights for all; it also means the freedom to criticise a political party, even if they’re in power. It’s what we want to wear and where we want to go.

To watch films without the censors ruining them. 15 August is the reminder of a promise that was held for India—to check if that promise of justice, equality, humanity, freedom is still valid. It’s a reminder to look back and to see how far along we are in that journey. As a student of history, I feel we’re victims of our times in many ways. We’re not free from caste, from prejudice against minorities.

We’re not free from the consequences of questioning the government, as we saw in the recent protests. There’s no freedom in terms of women’s safety— as Kamla Bhasin famously said “Behenein kya maange— azaadi?” It is almost seditious to ask for our rights. For a long time, I never believed my generation, Gen Z, could do anything, no way they’d ever speak for their future. But 20 July showed the world they can still feel, question, raise slogans. The contract through which the citizen is attached to the state is under threat, and that is why young people have come out on the streets.

Freedom to change the system

ROHAN KORDE, 28, Tech consultant, Mumbai

M y earliest understanding of Independence Day came from school. As kids, it didn’t really strike us what the day meant. It was a holiday and a day to be proud of. We were a free country, a democracy, and everyone was entitled to certain rights, including the freedom to express our opinions. Now with the way those in power operate, freedom feels different. To me, simply put, freedom in a democracy means being able to do what I am lawfully entitled to do. When I cannot freely express myself or question those in power, I feel like my freedom is being suppressed. If I live in a democracy, I should be able to exercise my freedom to seek accountability from those in power.

Sitting in Mumbai and seeing the protests at Jantar Mantar in Delhi, I wanted to do something. I decided to take part in the protests at Shivaji Park. For me, the protests are a reminder of what freedom actually means. It means being able to stand up, speak out and question the people in power. Before I left for the US in 2023 to do my master’s degree, I had almost given up on the idea that anything could change. The system seemed broken, and it felt like a hopeless case. Now that I’m back home, it still feels broken, but the current situation has given me some hope. The shift is positive, and perhaps this generation can bring about constructive change.

Freedom to imagine

PUSHPA KUMARI, 25, Artist, Vadodara, Gujarat

Independence Day is not just a celebration for me but a commemoration of the fact that these freedoms that we experience did not come by easily. To me, this day is about recognising the freedom to make choices for ourselves and to live on our own terms. It is a reminder about just how critical it is to continue to have the freedom to imagine and to create without fear. And I try to distil this value into my artwork. As a woman, your experience of the world is informed differently from men. I often paint women figures exercising their agency to coexist and occupy spaces, sharing a moment or gestures. This existence itself is threatened in so many ways. In my works, female figures have the freedom to be at leisure or sharing a quiet moment together. That is part of the larger freedom to exist, imagine and create on one’s own terms.

I come from a small township in Jharkhand. There wasn’t much awareness that visual art could be a serious field of study or profession. The school curriculum had sketching and painting, but I was not aware of the possibility of pursuing them as a career or a vocation. That awareness came much later, and the discovery was enlightening. I had the ability to make a choice for myself and then follow that path. The fact that I had the agency to choose has become a very important part of what freedom means to me. Today, whenever I come across a young person who is genuinely interested in art, I try to tell them about its potential as a field of study and as a career. I think I would have appreciated having someone tell me that when I was younger.

Freedom from fear

SRISHTY ROY, 22, Master’s student in New Delhi

When I think about independence, I don’t immediately think of flags, speeches or holidays. I think about something much simpler like the freedom to travel without constantly being alert. I was born and brought up in Ranchi, Jharkhand, but moving to Delhi for my bachelor’s degree gave me a different understanding of what independence means. I still remember the first time I boarded the Delhi Metro to college. I found myself looking for the women’s coach. As a young woman, the daily routine comes with a mental checklist: Which coach should I board? Should I share my live location? Am I being followed? Why is someone staring?

What surprises me most is how normal these thoughts have become. I have adapted to them. I have learnt to be cautious, to stay alert, to instinctively assess every situation. But should caution really be the price of independence? My parents often remind me that my generation enjoys freedoms they never did. And in many ways, they are right. I can study anywhere, work anywhere and dream bigger than they could at my age. But freedom isn’t just about having choices. It’s about being able to live those choices without constantly looking over your shoulder. To me, independence means feeling that I belong in every space I have worked so hard to reach, not merely entering it, but inhabiting it without fear. A truly independent society is one where public transport, streets and public institutions inspire confidence rather than caution. For me, independence will truly mean the day I can step out of my home carrying only my dreams, not my fear.

Freedom to hold an unpopular opinion

SHREEHITH RAM PALA, 21, Student, Hyderabad

Growing up in Hyderabad, with my dad in politics, independence was never an abstract word in our home. He believed that only those who don’t have independence will truly appreciate the freedom to voice their opinion, work at what they like, or make a decision without seeking approval. I observed the problems he engaged with, involving people who would otherwise remain sidelined. I came to realise that freedom isn’t just about flags and anthems. It’s about whether a common person’s voice has a chance to actually reach someone.

Even that took a hit when I reached Delhi University for my bachelor’s degree. Being around people from different parts of the country, understanding the different arguments and views that didn’t always align with mine, taught me that real independence is intellectual before anything else. It’s the capacity to hold an opinion that’s unpopular and voice it openly. In India, we’re content celebrating freedom of speech as an abstraction, but we’re uncomfortable with the very essence of it. Saying something that opposes the mainstream often causes more criticism than conversation. I believe we will truly mature as a nation when unpopular opinions are met with debate instead of distrust. The strength of a democracy lies not in unanimous agreement but in its ability to accommodate disagreement with respect. Progress begins when we stop treating dissent as disloyalty and start engaging with it through conversation.

I have taken a substantial bank loan to pursue a master’s in London because it is an investment in the career I hope to build. For me, studying abroad is not an abandonment of what India has given me; it is a continuation of it. The education, opportunities and values I have received here have shaped my ambitions. Now, I want to build on that foundation. So, when I think about what independence means to me, I don’t think first of a nation’s past—I think of my own future. Independence is the freedom to speak without fearing judgement, to choose an unconventional path without apology, and to pursue opportunities wherever they may lead. And perhaps, one day, to return to an India that is a little more accepting of disagreement, a little more encouraging of ambition, and a little more confident in the many different ways its young people choose to build their futures.

Freedom from friction

SIRI GOWRI, 25 Artist, Prague

Growing up in Bengaluru, 15 August was the highlight of my year. Because my birthday falls on the same day, the whole country’s celebrations felt tied up with my own. Beyond that, studying in an Army Public School gave me a very specific, unironic love for the day. Listening to patriotic songs in the morning assembly was literally our jam—we’d all stand together irrespective of religion or region screaming out tracks from Border or singing Hum Honge Kaamyab. Over time, that pure enthusiasm died down.

By 2014, I started realising that my home environment was turning increasingly ideological. In Indian households, political ideology is usually passed down through generations— there is no real freedom to choose your own information. Until I actually started questioning things, I just absorbed my family’s beliefs by default. But as I grew older, holding my own opinions meant constant friction. Eventually, I moved to Prague to pursue fine arts and build an independent life, finding a level of safety and public freedom that I couldn’t get back home. Seeing the recent student rebellion back home gave me a spark of hope—I’d been reading literature on historical student protests, and seeing Indian youth step up made me feel a sudden, deep sense of belonging just when I thought I’d lost it.

Freedom from backlash

SHOIAB AHMED, 26, Filmmaker and studio owner, Bengaluru

Independence Day was never much more than a holiday to me, growing up in Tumkur, Karnataka. Outside of school functions, my father would bring home paper flags and enamel pins to mark the day. It felt distant from real life. It was only when I went to cover a recent student protest in Bengaluru with my camera that my idea of what independence should actually feel like shifted. I’d recently quit my job to start my own studio, and I went to the protest mostly to observe and shoot in my usual vox-pop style. For the first time, I saw a space where people weren’t afraid to shout out their fears with posters and slogans. That collective energy made everyone feel safe to speak openly. That’s what independence should feel like everywhere, not just inside a protest ground. I could have never shot a video like this back home in Tumkur, but in Bengaluru I have the freedom to.

I’m lucky to have a circle of friends that give me the room to talk about politics and question things freely. When I sat down to edit the video, the limits of that freedom hit me hard. I had to play it safe and cut out a lot of the best footage—creative anti-establishment slogans and posters about political prisoners just to protect myself from backlash. I realised I don’t actually have individual freedom in the public sphere. These days, 15 August feels like a checklist people make on social media, tracking how far our freedom index or press freedom has dropped. But being surrounded by friends who hope for change keeps me going. Seeing people like Dakhni rapper Pasha Bhai making deeply political music gives me a real sense of hope. When I see someone like him putting his thoughts out there, I see an expression of freedom. To me, that’s what freedom means at a base level, being able to express yourself and speak openly without needing anyone’s permission or living in fear.

Freedom from feeling compromised

ROHAN RAJPUT, 22, Hairstylist, Mumbai

I grew up in the Dooars, in a small town near the Bhutan border, where my family still lives. I studied until class XII but decided not to go to college. Given the state of the education system back home, I found it quite demotivating. Why would people move to another state if there was a future for them back home? That is why I decided to take up a course in hair styling and moved to Mumbai a few months ago to work at a salon. But some day, I want to move out of India because I feel there are better opportunities out there.

For me, freedom, or azadi, has very little meaning. It feels like our country is still not truly independent. Our politicians and the police are corrupt, our education system is broken. Look at children in government schools who are struggling to build a future. If freedom means being able to speak your mind or do what is right without hesitation, then we are not really free. You shouldn’t have to be afraid to speak up or stand up for what you believe is right. We are always scared of something, while those in power seem more concerned with their own interests. Yes, Saare Jahan Se Achha Hindustan Hamara—that sentiment is deeply ingrained in me—but the reality around us is very different. And politicians? They care about us when they need our votes. The moment the elections are over, they disappear. They talk about women’s safety, but crimes against women continue to happen. If we were truly free, we wouldn’t feel so compromised.

Freedom from judgement

SIMRAN SOUGRAKPAM, 29, Beautician, Mumbai

My father moved from Manipur in the 1990s and made Mumbai his home. I was born and raised here, but I have always felt a strong connection to Manipur. My home state feels neglected; at the same time, growing up in the “mainland” came with its own set of challenges. Since we are a minority, there is a feeling that we don’t have enough of a say. To me, being born in a free country should mean being able to walk around freely and wear whatever I want without being judged.