The Story Of An Indian Graduate... Poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi

A tall, slim and brown boy from Tamil Nadu,
Sold his ancestral home to go to England,
Pockets of Tamarind rice he didn’t need any more,
Bottles of ancient pickles in his mind,

Having the dreams of viewing a dream land,
Ordered the suits from the town’s craftsmen,
Showing the magazine of trend and fashion,
Traveled by train to reach the airport,

Boarded the plane waving good bye to the loved ones,
And the mother land and landed at the Heathrow,
The following morn, looking at the officers,
At immigration as a frail young chicken,

Photographed, stamped and to the destination,
Studied and worked part time for the pounds,
he studied as the government of England needs it,
he worked as he needed the money to eat,

Not knowing the life style in London,
On every purchase, his mouth aghast,
Working as the cashier at the Grocery store,
Does this land need a post graduate,

To do all the menial job, picking up the apples,
Washing the dishes at the eating outlets,
Waving at the customers with the placards,
Our girls are there, wearing the singlet,

How hard he tried, he had to return empty handed,
He learned a lesson too late after losing the ancestral home,
The mortgaged properties need the repayment,
He is on the run to chase the money he had lost

With the intelligent educational promotion from the Lords,
Of west, thousands of our household lost their peace,
Sending the children to further education overseas,
The motherboard starts to rule the world and the hearts,

They are always the children of their mothers and mother land,
Let us get united not looking at the disparities that we have,
The younger generation is well aware, suffocated with knowledge,
They will change this country livable, likeable and not get abandoned,

By selfish state and self educated brains, they will change the plateau.
Where the rivers are well connected and the solar power to energize,
The cattle may plough the land along with the tractors and harvesters,
Our holy cows are worshipped every morning at Brahma Muhurtham,

The bells and verses can be heard, but these are insignificant,
When we have our land developed with people of ancient culture.