Write a short letter to our mother India.
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Dear India:
I have now meandered through your untidy lanes, made way for your sacred cows, gazed on the exquisite opulence of your forts and palaces, stunned by your exquisite craftsmanship – florets, teardrops, mandala designs – incorporated into your palanquins, swords, mirror inlays, delicious fabrics.
I have gazed with delight at the golden sun as it sets gently on your desert valleys. Breathed in your dust as the lonely camel and stray dog wander by. I have listened to the strange call of the peacock and the haunting laugh of the jackal in the early dawn hours.
I have climbed up sacred Hanuman Rock at sunset and gazed out onto the reddening desert-scape. I have stood inside the walls of a shepherd hamlet as the toothless medicine healer has invited me quietly into her ancient world.
I have eaten freshly made chapatis and vegetables sitting on the concrete floor of a traditional weavers’ home, a family who embraced me with their open hearted welcome: “come as a guest, leave as a family member.” I have greeted the morning sun as it has gently arisen between two distant neem trees, chanting Om invocations on a rooftop.
I have now meandered through your untidy lanes, made way for your sacred cows, gazed on the exquisite opulence of your forts and palaces, stunned by your exquisite craftsmanship – florets, teardrops, mandala designs – incorporated into your palanquins, swords, mirror inlays, delicious fabrics.
I have gazed with delight at the golden sun as it sets gently on your desert valleys. Breathed in your dust as the lonely camel and stray dog wander by. I have listened to the strange call of the peacock and the haunting laugh of the jackal in the early dawn hours.
I have climbed up sacred Hanuman Rock at sunset and gazed out onto the reddening desert-scape. I have stood inside the walls of a shepherd hamlet as the toothless medicine healer has invited me quietly into her ancient world.
I have eaten freshly made chapatis and vegetables sitting on the concrete floor of a traditional weavers’ home, a family who embraced me with their open hearted welcome: “come as a guest, leave as a family member.” I have greeted the morning sun as it has gently arisen between two distant neem trees, chanting Om invocations on a rooftop.
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