English Poem–This Race has no Winners

Posted on Posted in English Poems

Amidst the morning-hour-Ring-Road-rush of New Delhi, where you get your ironed shirt smudged with sweat, dirt, and a wide variety of perfumes and deodorants while jostling with the co-passenger of a minibus, you come to realize that your higher education hasn’t given you any comfort.

Unlike the race you ran in your school, which looked fare and fun, this race to earn hefty salaries and drive exotic cars, has no winners. Nobody is running; every vehicle has to crawl: be it a hatchback, a sedan, or an SUV.

Whoever takes part in this bumper-to-bumper driving rally of smoke-huffing machinery is perpetually late.

If you have enjoyed the arrival of rains with delicious mangoes, apricot, and black plum; took a splash in the pond of your village, you will realize that no packaged juice can give you the same taste.

If you have sat across makeshift bonfires during some bone-chilling and teeth-chattering nights; sang popular songs with muffled voices, covering yourself with handloom blankets and woolen caps woven by your mother, you will realize that room-heaters and air-conditioning are not as cozy as they promise.

The concept of development is warped at its core, and robs you of simple joys of life, serving you drudgery wrapped in colored cellophane of modern systems and innovative gadgetry.

I don’t hate it, but I have the choice of not liking it.

I like to be folksy, homespun, and dream about a life that is not racing to nowhere.



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