From Kashmir to Kanyakumari,

From Kacchh to Arunachal,

They melt into a five hundred acre pot,

A pot boiling with dreams, patient not.

In the languages myriad, and one,

In the beliefs diverse, and united,

In the cultures foreign, and domestic,

They dissolve deep and hypnotic.

Dreams gleaming loud in their eyes,

They fancy the animals, the hill and the lake,

Looking at the better days ahead,

Slowly leaving behind the familiar home-bed.

A lot of paperwork involved,

Where they are gradually oriented,

To this new world they are about to tone,

A world, still unknown to the known.

All took tests to prove their ‘worth’,

To join the elite – the crème de la crème,

Expectations high at home, they rehabilitate,

Telling tales to moms, of how little they ate.

With curious eyes, they stare and approach,

The myriad strangers they encounter every day,

A little anxious and yet hopeful,

Until they find themselves at ease, unusual.

Right away, they get to work – like ‘Chatur’

It’s very different here, they realize.

Except a few ‘Ranchordas’ grades elude most,

They learn the tricks of the trade, a little lost.

Academics with other vitals – they try to balance,

They learn things of real value, things that matter,

 With friends, they sit and actualize,

How quickly things change, so little they realize.




17 thoughts on “Immigrant Land

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