To the end of the queue
You middle-class phoren aspiring Indian.
About the endless lines in your nation
Your forefathers held for landlines and ration.
With a sincere belief to mould social echelons
You liberal English-speaking phoren aspiring Indian.
The comforts of your roots
Your progeny begets better future.
About the dead-end job
You mediocre middle-class phoren aspiring Indian.
With the sweat on your brow
Your dollar-dreams on the brink to crystallise.
The countless piles of your existence
Your kismet is signed for a price of a bar-coded paper.
You liberal, mediocre, middle-class phoren aspiring Indian
To the end of the queue.
*(Written whilst waiting patiently in the corridors of Visa offices.)
25 May 2018