I guess, at one point of time,
We’ve all stared at a blank page,
Concocting ideas to answer a simple question,
And it might be considered a crime,
If the story isn’t one to engage,
With a FARRAGO of fancy words to appeal to a reader’s perception,
(Note:Refer the Tharoouraus :P)
The ‘Appraisal of Thyself’.
So I’ll blithely assuage an obfuscated version of my unexpurgated demeanor towards life.
And why not throw in India, into the mix?
The secular land of 1722 languages and 8 and more religions.
Because why choose from a veritable palette of colours, with malice in strife?
And Oh! If you do, you’re never to jinx,
Those who choose only among the 3 colors, in obligation.
But listen, you patriarchs of religion,
The snollygosters in power,
The councils of forceful enforcement of belief,
We’re the INDIANS OF TODAY,
Not to be put down, by religious fascists in unison.
We’ve even got the strength to obliterate your cover,
The martinets who council in secret when in grief.
So while I reminisce about home,
Don’t make me choose between 3 chutneys to eat my Dosas with.
The orange, the white or the green.
You make me choose, when they’re all metaphorically alike.
Some preach that orange represents sanctity,
Some preach that white represents purity,
Some preach that green represents serenity,
If they’re all the same, why can’t I choose them all in equity?
But Hey, we’re better than you, aren’t we?
There’s green in the leaf,
There’s white in the fruit,
There’s yellow and orange with the tanginess it comes with,
So what do we do?
We’re blending them all in one weave,
Neither by suppression nor by force that’s brute,
We’ll just choose the pineapple in conjecture, whilst laughing in mirth,
We’ll make ourselves a PINEAPPLE CHUTNEY,
And renounce a millennial version of the sepoy mutiny.