Brown Man's Burden?

I visited London recently, my first time.
I went to all the pamphlet favorites - the edifices and experiences that one has grown up reading about and dreaming up. They lived up to and sometimes surpassed all those dreams. London is one of the rare cases where the hype does not dissapoint.
But i did not set out to play "Lonely Planet" here. I wanted to share my stream of consciousness while seeing some of the city.
A stark difference between the medium-sized American city life i am used to and London, is the choice of commutation. So, as opposed to driving to any place further than the mailbox, the average Londoner prefers a brisk walk even to public transport for any given distance.

On one such short-as-per-interpretation walk that started at Piccadilly circus, i sauntered along the glitz of London's shopping and theatre enclaves toward Trafalgar Square. The vast, open space, with a flight of stairs that seemed to lead to the sky, gave Trafalgar Square a vibrant look. Lord Nelson's statue stood tall, gazing down on two strategically placed fountains whose waters have promptly been used to quench young lovers' thirst for romance. Bronzed lions guarded the periphery of the expanse.
Against the backdrop of the inky London sky, with flocks of gurgling pigeons, the Square pulsed with the sound of...freedom. Freedom. Trafalgar Square seemed to be a monument to the feeling of freedom. It symbolized spontaenity, forthrightness, openness, abandon- all that is associated with freedom. There was no sense of awe or insignificance one feels while seeing historical monuments, nor the curiosity for knowing its legend. This was, simply put, where the heart leapt.

As i savoured this rare sensation, an imposing statue to the south of the arena beckoned my attention. This was of Sir Henry Havelock, a stalwart general of the East India Company. The inscription on his statue lauds his efforts and bravado in restraining the Sepoy mutiny of 1857. Havelock, comandeering an army comprising the Sikh regiment, had systematically routed the Indian soldiers from Cawnpore (Kanpur) on a rampage that ended (ironically) on 15th Aug, 1857. The statue piqued a sudden surge of nationalist sentiment in me, that is typically caused by history books. Except, this time, the poignancy struck me like a bolt. Here, at London's focal point, that Dickens calls "the finest site in Europe", alongside Lord Nelson, arguably one of Britain's brightest stars, was a tribute to the man who destroyed Nana Sahib. A tribute to exploitation, plunder and savagery. To the man who is known to have said "His skin was black and did not that suffice?" when questioned about the savage execution of 54 men in 2 days in Kanpur. The statue spoke of how a "grateful country" would not forget the mercenary army's valor. Valor, shown toward a working class uprising against economic, physical and religious opression on their own soil. What Indian history textbooks call the freedom struggle. Freedom. 100 metres back, i had sensed this in my bones.

Suddenly, i felt like my ocean of freedom was choked with thick oil. I stopped to think if this was jingoism. A flood of images crossed my mind- of the wretched visions of poverty i had seen in India, of our staggering debt statistics, of the current global perception of India, of servility that now comes so naturally to us, of the brown man's burden...
I realised then that there was something stronger than nationalism, or resentment or even anger that i felt. I felt suffocated by something no one could change-history. The history that had, profoundly, definitely, permanently, effected the way i and all my future generations would feel, when at the Trafalgar Square. This was, simply put, where the heart plunged.