What it means to be Indian

Four hundred year old temples
Four thousand year old civilization
I tell myself that this country of snake charmers just isn’t meant for me.
But when I look back at this country so full of grace,
There’s clearly something I fail to ace.
You see, the fact that I’m the daughter of a Punjabi in a family that worships saraswati, makes me more than what meets the eye.
It makes me the miniature version of a larger paradox,
That is what it means to be Indian.
It means that I grew up memorizing the freshness of Assamese tea gardens and learning to be fearless of the snow white heights that lay in the north.
It means that the cool breath of oceans apart fail to disappoint as I drown my sorrows in the overwhelming gush of wind they bring.
It means that every street corner turns into a golgappa competition sooner or later.
Or maybe perhaps, the birthplace of yoga had a different story to tell.
The soft cradle of the Arabian and the lush green grasslands that lay far and beyond are the only solace that I have ever known,
And so this country of snake charmers in all it’s chaotic silence; ranges from being the fastest growing economy to the huts and farms we all so cautiously admire.
It means that the elegance of a peacock and the pride of a tiger, have been my teachers since birth,
And saffron, white and green hold more meaning that mere colours on a piece of cloth.

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