Misplaced Pride

Proud you should be of being an Indian,

Or so I hear them tell me,

Again and again and everyday,

I listen intently to their undying spree

A feeling encapsulates my heart,

Makes me jump with happiness and joy,

God has dealt fairly with me,

To be born an Indian, I must be a lucky boy

As I grow and learn some more,

A realisation dawns upon me,

Why couldn’t I have been born an American,

Even an Englishman I might have been

They have healthcare and free education,

And they gave the world steam engine,

Even the quality of lives there, most say,

Is better than I could ever imagine

As I grow further I see,

My friends leaving to the west for brighter futures,

I wonder did they not hear, when young,

That my country is the greatest

A sensation of losing out engenders,

I sit nervously gnawing at my nails,

Have I been fooled or am I that naive,

Or am I just unlucky and even I should bail

Then I study further,

On what had been,

The wealth of my country,

The white man wiped clean

To be proud of the past,

Is a fool’s game at best,

To be proud without involvement,

Is not the wisest

For my country is a work in progress,

An opportunity, my friends, awaits,

To work towards its success and glory,

Such that our descendants are impressed