Adriti Jain 8B

The British came to steal spice,
Like sneaky little mice.
The British took our lives,
until Mahatma Gandhi came to rise.

The British stole our wealth,
And damaged our health.
They forced us to grow indigo,
But we did not let anyone go.

But we did not loose hope,
And did not slip of the rope.
For justice and liberty,
Let us celebrate joy and honesty.

And then one fine day,
The British went away.
We remember this day,
As Independence day.

 

THE EVOLUTION OF INCREDIBLE INDIA,

IN 1947, THE EVENTFUL YEAR,
WE CELEBRATED INDEPENDENCE WITH GREAT CHEER.
BUT SOON PARTITION TOOK PLACE,
CREATING A RIVALRY BETWEEN THE HINDU-MUSLIM RACE.
WHERE MINDS ARE WITHOUT FEAR,
AND ARE HEADS ARE HELD HIGH.
WE SALUTE THE FREEDOM FIGHTERS WHO TRIED,

CREATING THE CONSTITUTION AND LAW,
WAS HARD, AS WE HAD TO DO IT WITHOUT ANY FLAW.
THE GOVERNMENT WAS MADE,
INTO THE HEAVEN OF FREEDOM,
MY FATHER LED THE WAY.
OUR FLAG IS HELD HIGH IN THE SKY,
WHERE ARE FUTURES HOPEFULLY LIE.
THE FATHER OF THE NATION TAUGHT US THE WAY,
AND NOW TO COMMEMORATE HIS EFFORT WE CELEBRATE HIS
BIRTHDAY.

WE RESPECT ALL RELIGIONS,
AND HAVE OUR OWN VISIONS.
WE HAVE THE RIGHT OF SPEECH,
AND THIS RESPONSIBILITY WE WILL NOT BREACH.
ELECTIONS GIVE US THE RIGHT TO VOTE,
AND WE WILL DO THIS ON A POSITIVE NOTE.
THUS, WE LOVE OUR NATION,
AND WE WILL CARRY ON THIS TRADITION!

BY KHRISH JAIN, MINAKSHI CHOUHAN, RAEMANA RASHNA
PANDA, VANSH RAJ SEN AND ADVIKA CHOUDHARY

Shrishti 8B

The India of my Dreams

I lost my eyes a few years ago.
Not unexpectedly, the South Delhi aunties pitied me for my 'abnormality'
And my relatives purged bitter, acidic advice.
"It's God's wish. He's shilded her from the world"
"Achha hai ki voh isse duniya se bacha rahe hain."
I stay as bewildered today as I was then.
For even without my eyes, I believe, I see more than them.
And I know more than them.

I still remember seeing the Indian flag;
The tricolour:
Saffron for courage and sacrifice,
White for peace and purity,
Green for life and faith,
And Blue for Dharma and duty.
But do people still see three distinct colours in the flag today?
Or has it been stained the way a few saffron strands stain a pot of milk?
The flag in my memory and the flag of my dreams stands tall and proud.
It celebrates the equal proportions of all colours: Green, Saffron, and White.

I remember being able to freely walk outside
with streets being like a blank canvas to be impressioned by my footprints.
I remember the jovial faces of my female companions
Who celebrated their independence from their caged past.
Though I can't see them anymore, I can hear them.
I can hear the terror in the voices when they speak about their 'independence'.
I can hear the journalists incessantly questioning India's superficial upholding of respect.
The India in my memory and the India of my dreams stands tall and proud,
But bends its knee and lowers its eyes in the name of honour and civility.

Lastly, I remember sitting in a classroom with people whom I thought to be friends.
I remember looking at faces and associating them with 'Angads' and 'Seemas',
Not Sikhs and Hindus, nor Rich and Poor.
I remember reading the verse in our assembly prayer book,
Which said that, 'We're all born by His grace and will all die at His mercy'
And that 'Everyone was born with the right to be free'.
I cannot see now,
But the India in my memory and the India of my dreams is held strongly together
by fiercely interlocked locked fingers of all who reside in it.

-Arshya Gaur