By RK Lakhi Kant
The little girl called her brother who,
barely begun to walk, is at play;
“Come son, come. We’ll go back home now,” –
placing him close to her chest.
I heard words like these
first among the Manipuri people
when times were better in Manipur
and I was visiting the place.
Coming forth from a
poverty-stricken little girl
in New Delhi’s village neighborhood
it was not so much of a surprise for me.
I never looked down on the
Indian poor ’cause I was sure
they are capable of something better;
something with verve, meaning to life.
Respect, where adoration would
have done ordinarily, attracted my mind;
Sigh! Long since I heard
loving culture-intrinsic words like these.
How forth does the cultural transformation come!
Where from do these sweet words occur!
Freedom means to listen to such likeable words!
