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That’s my India
--- Rudra Mazumder
That’s my India – not the crime and the begging, not the litter
on the ground, but the hot, hot sun glaring down on top of me.
It is the very breeze that ruffles my hair. The blaring, noisy
streets of Kolkata, people jostling, car horns beeping,
the vehicles rushing in all directions.
It is the lush greenness of the slowly disappearing
rainforests. The sight of the endless sea of dark green leaves
on the highest hills, the sun glowing behind them.
It is the sight of colorful houses, with flat roofs, all two or
three story apartments. All of them lining the streets
like soldiers. Windows glinting in the sun, its flash
missing nothing! It is the sweet, sweet aroma of the fumes of
passing cars going by. The feeling of my lurching heart
when I see my cousins. I'm part of that, a little lurch,
a little glow of pride for my home.
I think THIS is where my story starts.