India, June 22 -- O Hindu,

We are told We must not dream Of becoming: A Reader, Bent over bright margins Where new worlds germinate;

A Scholar, Turning pages until dawn Burns its questions into our eyes;

An Intellectual, Weaving arguments Like constellations over a darkened earth;

An Artist, Whose hands remember colours No flag has yet permitted;

A Poet, Turning wounds into syllables, Syllables into wings;

A Writer, Patient as a seed Waiting for its one good rain;

A Scientist, Listening for the quiet grammar Of stars and cells;

A Theorist, Who rearranges history The way a river rearranges stones;

A Philosopher Of a new world In which no one is born Pre-written.

We are commanded instead To rehearse a narrower alphabet:

We are f...