Bharot

As was Godot, so is this land,

Ever waiting, a fate unplanned.

Just as Pakistan, just as China,

The rhyme dissolves in lost patina.

They said, post demonetisation’s glare,

India rose as Bharot, laid bare.

The name my grandmother softly spoke,

With a Bengali lilt, a memory woke.

She, at eighty, frail yet wise,

Saw beyond her failing eyes.

Knew Bharot’s truth, as war reveals,

In hunter green and cold, hard steel.

In the foothills, lives untold are lost,

Peace a dream, at what a cost.

No settlement, no soothing word,

Silence echoes—nothing heard.

Yet this tale twists, a bitter refrain:

Bharot knows not impotence nor shame.

Empires crumbled, as they must,

And still, we rise from ancient dust.

No hope but the absurd remains,

Politics woven in cynical chains.

Microscopes nor telescopes need we,

To see this India and Bharot thingy.

A monkey shares the chapati’s crust,

India the monkey, Bharot the trust.

From England, they say, came this divide,

A colonial whisper we cannot hide.

Our race carved deep upon our face,

Yet no ear hears the hills’ disgrace.

Through valleys, wails like winds go by,

While hearts stay deaf, blind to the cry.

So tell me now, are you India or Bharot?

And still we wait, as we have, for what?

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A Note on Bharot: Bharot is simply Bharat, a name many believe should replace India as the country’s official name, rather than being limited to an endonym. Let’s ignore the ongoing debates regarding the promotion of Hindutva agenda these days, but cut to the chase, Bengali culture—especially during our grandparents’ generations—heavily influenced the local way of life, leading to the adoption of names like Bimol and not Vimal and Sanjoy instead of Sanjay. This is due to, among other reasons, Bengali phonology and the default inherent vowel, where a often becomes o.