There is that idea I subscribe to –
every once in a while.
That which defines me now-
more so, than ever before.
An idea, they say –
abstract and evolving,
inclusive and ambiguous –
Brilliant, encompassing all.
But never mind the wordplay!
It only matters to those-
Those who are unlike me.
I am the right kind of Indian you see.
I am fair while some are not –
I speak a tongue which they do not.
My eyes are wide, but blind.
I stereotype and I mock.
And then I, of the weaker will,
I hurt them all – them of the fairer sex,
them of religions and castes, unlike mine.
I am entitled, more than all.
I cannot fathom who I need to be;
I was defined by men greater than me.
I draw my boundaries
and gloat within – the kind of Indian I am –
Is the only one that could be.
My yardstick is small, my mind shallow.
Relativity I apply, abundantly.
Parameters I vary, suitably.
I am the frog in the well,
you have heard of.
I refuse to recognize my fallacy.
I will hurt you, until I am bereft of –
my own humanity –
all because – you are unlike me.
Be glad, you are unlike me!