In a land of turbans, dupattas and ghagra cholis
A steaming kitchen of rasgulas, dosas and puran polis,
There was heard a sweet baby’s cry
In the quite fast dead of night;
Welcomed by a puja, the little child
Grew up sleeping to lories and lullabies,
And as the years flew like the Tiranga in the wind
The child was taught the story behind ‘Jai Hind’;
His mornings began to the bhajiwala’s cry
His evenings beautified by biscuits and chai,
The familiar smell of ghee fills his nose
As the roti cooks on the gas-lit stove;
The child is immersed in unspoken culture
Knowing that aai, maa and amma all mean ‘mother’,
Hearing ‘beta’ is like honey to his ears
Pet-names ending with ‘u’ are formed over the years;
The child grows up playing ‘chor police’ and ‘mumma baby’
Knowing what ‘ddlj’ means, almost naturally,
Ending sentences with ‘accha’ and ‘na’
He cannot explain its meaning to those who ask;
He learns about his inspiring past and rich heritage
Marathas, Mughals, Guptas: The Golden Age,
His familiarity with pani puris, bargaining and IPL season
Are all some of the beauties of being Indian;
Who is this child, you may ask
Well, it is all of us Indians at heart,
Although India is a land of diversity
It is in this diversity that we find unity and identity.
Proud to be Indian
Comments