The summer night in New Delhi, the humid evening breeze carrying the "scent" of the Ganges River, blew across the thronging crowd in India Gate Square.
The live broadcast signal from the national television had already entered thousands of households, the light from the office windows filtered through the blinds, casting dappled shadows on the lawn.
At eight o'clock sharp in the evening, Narasimha stood at the podium of Capitol Hill, a giant tricolor flag behind him.
He was not wearing a tie as usual, the collar of his white kurta shirt slightly open, with a rare heaviness in his eyes, as the red light of the camera turned on, he raised his hand to press his earphone, his fingertips paused on the cool metal surface for two seconds.
"At midnight sixty years ago, when we raised this flag at the Red Fort."
