India, my India, I thought you were in bloom,
It’s a sad menace, you’re in deep gloom.
My India, I thought your culture a timeless stream,
So much as I thought, it remained a rosy dream.

“Fight for socialism” I read a slogan often,
I could see it now in a sophisticated coffin;
Is socialism in the bowl of begging?
Or wriggling in the polls of rigging?

Oh independent India, you’re now fifty,
No sources’re vast yet we’re not thrifty;
As a boy, I heard the tales of nation makers
As a youngster, I hear the multi-scam matters.

Oh India, dear India, where’s my mother?
Gaily without tears, tell me who’s my brother?
My neighbour’s my rival, my friend’s woe bringer,
My verse pines for fraternity, I’m a mute singer.

Youth’s being exploited here, there, in your lap,
Is progress real, fair and frank sans a gap?
India, mother India, I thought you’re in bloom,
It’s a sad menace you’re in deep gloom.