India is the result,

The defunct,

The mulch,

The people,

The Delhi perch,

The Udaipuri thali,

The Kashmiri birds,

The Gujarati fafda,

The Jaipuri baati,

The Mumbai net-worth.


India is the solvent,

The inevitable advent,

The slow descent,

The blend of scents,

Spices, silks, spinsters,

The worst of the worst,

The best of the best,

The epiphany,

The misery,

The harmony,

The chaos.


India is the destiny

Of the conquered,

Of the mutilated,

Of the marbled,

Of the venerated,

Of the thoughtful,

Of the animated,

Of the darkness,

Of the dedicated,

And of life.


India is me,

In my spontaneous moments of glee,

In my ostentatious approach to life,

In my conformity,

In my grief,

In my dancing through the tough times,

In my secret retreats,

And in my search for reprieve.

India just is.




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