This is India,
The land of the just and free,
Where knowledge is impeccable,
A place where our hearts can be at glee,
A haven where our heads, can rise higher than the mountains,
So if this is what you believe,
Then here is our plea!

Somewhere in India,
In a place rich and empty,
There are a bunch of people trying on clothes that are too lenghty,
And in their search for the best, they spend hours at rest,
And for this noble quest,
A great deal of money is spent with zest.
Well near that place in India,
There is a family of four,
Where the dresses are too short,
And a curtain makes the door,
They live in a slum and dwell,
With a hundred people,
With water coming out from a single well.

And somewhere in India,
A lady tries to decide,
If a book can be helpful,
Or a fairness cream will be wise,
For men like women,
Who are fair and slim,
And this is what we call Society's Hymn.
And in a corner of a room in India,
She sits dazed and empty,
For the bruise on her shoulder,
Reminds her to shut those views which are plenty.

And again,
Somewhere in India,
Two friends Ali and Ram,
Are divided by the differences of Hindu and Islam,
And someplace in India,
A young boy runs crying back home,
Because his peers and friends bullied him,
For his Tourette syndrome.

We are not telling you to stop,
We're just saying, do you WANT to define ALL of who you are,
By this tiny box?

We mean, would you define the sky by a cloud?
How about the ocean by a drop?
Maybe a house by its curtains?

See there is more to all our stories,
Than society's abridged version,
And just as we must never judge a book by its cover,
We must never judge a person by their skin, race or colour.

Because when we use our heritage DNA,
We find amazing chapters,
Hidden within.
Each one co-authored by our ancestors.

We say 'OUR', because humankind is interconnected,
And intertwined like wine springing up from the woods of one tree,
One family tree,
That goes by the name,