“In her saffron beauty, majestic colours, in the hills laid my birth while, my bloodline flowed every state. Forgetting the traditions that divide and the politics that mar us, in the beauty of her colours, adorned in a picture, I remember; Do you? That here is my Mother, the land that fed me, who loved me even before I knew thee.Before greed and jealousy, hate and malice invaded me, She was with me. Before the rogues and the tyrants robbed her, before “we” forsook her. Before embarrassment didn’t creep our bones, before loving our birth was not a right. She still remained. The tribes or the castes, there was no distinction. She was India, I was her’s. We are her’s. Now, staring at a picture, in honor of her, my land, my mother, I HOPE for her.”



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