A true nationalist today does not merely wave the Tricolour twice a year and then rush to malls for buying imported perfumes and Italian shoes. Nationalism now demands sacrifice — we are expected to curb shopping, foreign travel and occasionally even tea made on an LPG stove. Inspired by the Prime Minister’s austerity drive, I have transformed myself into a model patriot. To begin with, I have stopped buying gold altogether. This is not because prices have become so frighteningly high that a bank loan is needed to purchase a nose pin. Luckily, there is no wedding in the family. Otherwise, patriotism might have receded into the background before the glitter of jewellery. Besides, I was never gifted with the spunk of Bappi Lahiri, who wore enough gold to outshine the arc lights. Retirement has helped my nationalist mission. Since I no longer go to the office, I save a lot of fuel. I remain stationed either at home or on the golf course. Golf, by the way, is no longer a luxury sport. It contributes to the nation’s green cover and physical fitness regime. Every missed putt strengthens my humility and weakens foreign influence. Gas consumption in my house has fallen dramatically. Why burn imported fuel when the sun provides abundant energy? Our solar heater performs so efficiently that at times even tea is made using hot water from the tap. Traditionalists may say that such tea lacks flavour, but patriots are not supposed to bother about trifles. Foreign travel has been postponed indefinitely. This is largely due to the steep airfares that resemble property prices. Instead, I invite foreign friends and relatives to spend their dollars in India. “Come here,” I tell them proudly, “we offer spirituality, spices and unlimited advice from retired people.” My fuel use is over as I own an electric vehicle. The car moves so silently that cows often fail to notice it approaching. Earlier, loud engines symbolised power. Today, patriotism hums gently while searching for a charging point. My wardrobe, too, has become gloriously self-reliant. I wear kurta-pyjamas handed down from my father. Therefore, no Old Navy, no Marks & Spencer, no Levi’s, no Nike. Only ancestral cotton, hawaii chappals and desi juttis. Even my viewing habits are now indigenous. I avoid foreign channels and remain loyal to Doordarshan and All India Radio, where the news still moves at the majestic speed of a government file. And if the PM again asks us to light diyas, clang thalis or ring bells, I shall obey wholeheartedly. After all, symbolism is our national strength. I shall stand proudly on my balcony with a brass plate and spoon, contributing acoustically to nation-building while neighbours wonder whether dinner has been announced. Thus I continue my patriotic journey — dressed in inherited kurta-pyjamas, sipping “solar” tea, driving silently and marching in chappals. Surely, the nation must feel proud. The writer is a retired IPS officer of the Haryana cadre