Unequal democracy

 

My race embarked as civilization itself began—

without a name,

without a sphere,

 with hymns upon our tongues

and an unwavering bond with the land.

 

 

But now my race is bartered

 in the grimy corridors of Parliament Street.

Beneath the banners of Indian democracy,

vote hunters recline,

clinging to divisive ideologies.

 

 

I was born without memory.

I began with no expectations,

 yet I struggled for a single opportunity.

 Instead, the nation was divided by numbers.

Far behind the scenes, lives a nation of tricks.

 

I have never known equality,

for wisdom was fenced by invisible horizons—

for the pundits of Banaras,

the scholars of Gurukuls.

We have faded into lifeless shadows.

 

Leaving our souls far behind,

while the pundits of Banaras,

the scholars of Gurukuls,

the scientists of IITs and IIMs

raced ever for money and benefits.

 

The finish line sans merit,

shrinking into the distance.

Like a sea eagle snatching its prey,

they grabbed every advantage,

while my race cried like a frightened goat.

 

Behind us, the oceans ran dry.

Clouds folded over barren lands.

Our hands clutched empty bags,

yet we were made to chase

our own glories upon the sand.

 

Names erased by furious tides.

To our despair,

the moguls gathered at lavish suppers,

surrounded by their children,

their grandchildren, and generations yet to come.

 

Was it sorrow, or mockery, or tyranny?

 Meanwhile, we remained in the wildwood,

amid untilled grass,

waiting for a dawn

 that never seemed to arrive.