The Land Of Contradictions

By Sneha Manna

One morning, I woke up,

flipping through the pages of a newspaper, 

A great deal of chaos going on every news channel. 

In the great halls of Parliament,

Where we expect logical debates,

Instead witness shameless dramas —

chairs flying, mics silenced. 

Democracy, once our proud tree

now lays there with it's bark damaged

and we still argue if termites exist at all? 

Outside, protests rise and fall

asking for jobs, fair wages, equality—

ignored by those too busy campaigning.

“Unity in diversity,”

a line from every school text book.

But how united are we, really?

Communal riots, 

fighting in the name of religion

occur on a daily basis, 

weaponized by those in power. 

Skyscrapers develop in cities,

whereas farmlands shrink into abyss. 

The farmer constantly toils in silence,

But for whom? 

for feeding a system

that barely feeds him back.

“We are modernizing and developing,” 

they say,

and there, bulldozers flatten villages

to make way for malls and highways.

Unemployment knocks on every door, 

Degrees hang on walls,

while dreams hang by a thread.

Millions sit quietly in a corner,

scrolling through job rejections,

wondering if his worth is measured

by the weight of his wallet.

A woman walks home at night,

her keys clenched in her fist.

Every shadow behind her feels like a threat.

The law promises her safety,

but promises are nothing, 

but a hollow hope which never protects her.

Justice drags its feet, 

while monsters roam free. 

But it is not just her story,

Men too carry their own burdens. 

"I never touched her," he pleads,

but who listens to him?

No proper laws,

to make him feel safe. 

guilty by accusation,

a life destroyed without proof.

Election season comes like a festival.

Leaders make promises so sweet, 

But do the words hold any value, 

once they come in power? 

Votes are sold for dreams,

or sometimes, for cash and liquor.

Leaders roar from stages,

And we, the people,

cheer for rallies,

forgetting that slogans don’t build schools,

and speeches don’t fill stomach.

Inflation, a silent misery

robs us of day to day necessities. 

The taxman feasts while hunger grows,

Taxes rise, pockets drain, but roads still crack.

The rich hoard loopholes and the poor hoard bills.

And yet, amidst this chaos,

there lies hope.

Protests rise for justice,

understanding voices demand change.

The farmer still sows,

the student still studies,

the worker still dreams.

India, the great paradox—

a land of questions,

a land of contradictions,

a land still searching for its answers.

By Sneha Manna