The sights... the sounds... the unheard voices... the bloodshed... the victory... the satisfaction... the smiles... the blessed feeling...
All we can do, perhaps, is empathize. Empathizing may seem pretty far-fetched. I don't how far we can really imagine as to what went in the minds of people who witnessed the fight for independance.
For some it hardly mattered. Bond-labourers attached to a particular landlord for generations wouldn't have literally cared for it. They still remain under a particular thakur. What would their thoughts be when somebody tells them that the country is free henceforth? Maybe they could not have celebrated the much-needed sense of belonging. There could have been no reason for them to.
What could connect us is, probably, literature. I think that reading something will touch me more than i seeing the same on television or even hearing it from others'..
Amongst the very few authors that i've read, i remember Gulzar's Ravi Paar vividly. It is partition time, this family is on their way from Pakistan to India. They cross the river Ravi in an overloaded boat. The lady has a small infant in her arms. Amidst the scuffling, the young one stops breathing. The boatmen find it hard to keep the drowning boat afloat. Noticing that the baby has stopped breathing, they assume it be dead.
In order to keep the boat steady, they drop the child into the swirling waters of the the Ravi. On it's way to death, the baby emits a howl. The parents freeze.