Unchained: The Many Colours of Freedom

Unchained: The Many Colours of Freedom

Freedom. A word so often spoken, yet so rarely understood in its totality. It is not merely the absence of shackles or the liberty to roam. Freedom, to me, is a state of being—an ever-evolving dialogue between self and society, between duty and desire, between fear and faith.

From the sun-baked lands of ancient Sparta to the battle-scarred plains of Kurukshetra, the quest for freedom has shaped civilisations. Yet, while history records it in wars and treaties, the truest struggles for freedom often go unrecorded—in the quiet corners of the mind, in the silent resistance of the soul.

As a lifelong educator, I have seen how freedom expresses itself differently in a child’s tentative steps on stage, in a teacher’s brave voice against injustice, and in a leader’s quiet refusal to yield to corruption. These moments, though seemingly small, are monumental. They remind us that freedom is as much about expression as it is about restraint.

Freedom from or freedom for?
Therein lies the deeper philosophical question. Are we simply seeking freedom from oppression, fear, expectations, and failure? Or are we seeking freedom for creativity, truth, service, and self-realisation?

One cannot help but think of the Bhagavad Gita, where Krishna urges Arjuna to act—not in blind obedience, but in informed freedom. “Karmanye vadhikaraste ma phaleshu kadachana”—you have the right to act, not to the fruits thereof. This is perhaps the most profound call to inner freedom: the detachment from reward and result.

In the corridors of colonial history, freedom was once a slogan, shouted hoarse on the streets of India, Ireland, and Africa. But today, in a hyperconnected world, our battles are subtler. The chains are invisible—algorithmic manipulation, social validation, consumerist pressure, and even the tyranny of routine. We are often imprisoned by our own choices, habits, and fears. The mind, as sages from Patanjali to Plato have warned, can be both a sanctuary and a prison.

Freedom to me is also the courage to live with difference. The liberty to question, to dissent, to laugh at power and embrace vulnerability. It is not about loud rebellion alone, but about quiet authenticity. To live one’s truth without masquerade.

But freedom, like all precious things, comes with responsibility. As John Stuart Mill rightly asserted, “The worth of a state in the long run is the worth of the individuals composing it.” Our individual freedoms must never encroach upon the dignity of others. Freedom must be tempered with empathy, else it curdles into anarchy.

In my twilight years, freedom has come to mean something more intimate. It is the ability to wake up without bitterness, to think without fear, to speak without flattery, to walk without haste, and to rest without guilt. It is to savour silence as much as sound, solitude as much as society.

And so, as the sun of each new day rises, I remind myself: Freedom is not a destination—it is a journey, often uphill, sometimes lonely, but always worth the climb.

To be free is not just to live—it is to live meaningfully.