My country is beautiful,
For people have hope in their eyes.
They glisten in the toil of the day,
Wrap up in a cold blanket at night.
Mother dancing on her child's wedding,
Dad dropping the child to school in scooter.
The small TV set which airs cricket,
The brave cycle which bears the potholes.
My country is beautiful,
For hands here have a tale to tell.
The potter's work on a ganesha idol,
The mason's work in building a highway.
Every parent cheering wildly for their child,
Showing to the neighbours their small success.
My country is beautiful,
For the relish with which people eat.
Maccher jhol to khamam-dhokla nothing is left,
Butter chicken to payasam,everything is met.
The entrance exams to get a seat,
To study in the college of your dreams.
Borrowing a friend's tie for your job interview,
Convincing the employer by your technical skills.
My country is beautiful,
For the way it has evolved over the years.
The multitude of temples where people seek refuge,
From the world of jealousy and sometimes death.
The way politics is discussed and digressed,
The way faces yawn on the election day.
In doctors and teachers,hope still lies,
A soldier is often given pittance for the death he died.
My country is beautiful,
I feel it in the myriad people I meet.
Sometimes a dew,sometimes a frost,
Sometimes an unwanted guest,sometimes a wanted host.
