This is How I learn To Love

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Heavily pre-occupied faces
rush in and rush out
of varied cemented structures,
holding inked papers,
that demand answers for  curious questions
and one among these interrogative lines is
your, Nationality. 



A  doctor  delicately
places the sheet on the wall, 
and holds the pen like an injection 
and writes 'I'
“I know for a fact that
lying beneath you, are a million morals,
habits, legends, myths and miracles
that you have been fed with
by your native society, 
after all you were an Indian child”
he says to himself and smiles as he writes
the very first letter of his nationality.



 An artist  blooms colourfully,
and holds the pen like a paint brush
to write 'N'
“Now that you are already grown up
and you have seen Muslims, Hindus
and Christians mingle, 
you are sure that beyond conflicts,
your country still upholds
unity in diversity” she whispers
as she paints the second letter.



 On an old desk,
an excited hand of a 65 year old
man fills a visa application to meet
his daughter in America, 
his hand shivers as he writes 'D'
“ Dusting few of your old memories, 
you realise that you like calling 
your relatives by chacha, chachi, mama and mami, 
instead of aunty and uncle.” 
he thought to himself,
wondering whether his daughter will call him  “Pa”
or “dad”.



Hovering around with her
inquisitive eyes, she desperately
looks at her college as she fills
in her application form and 
writes  'I'
“In fact I wither a little,
every time I see those humongous hills
and vivacious valleys”,  she thought,
looking at her college,
that was adorned by nature.
She felt sorry for every one
who thought India was dirty!



Already agitated by the queue
a young woman, held her form
firmly and scribbled,
‘A’
“A woman wasn't treated all that bad,
there is always someone who’ll
gift you with hope”  she thought, as a man
gave her, his pen, observing
that hers had stopped working.
He walked away slowly, as she yelled back
"Thanks Bhai!" She was an Indian,
and calling strangers, brother or sister,
wasn't that strange.



Shaking his head vigorously,
he quickly clicked  his online
application and typed in 'N'
“Not that often, do we understand
how important our country has
been, in carving every cell
in our body and mind, not that often
do we understand that India has
more beauty than problems” he said
out loud as his daughter complained
about a congested train.



And that's what being Indian means to me,
to admire  the beauty and charm of the soil
instead of mourning about its challenges.

                                            (c) Vasanthi