I will not describe my culture,

With romantic language, 

Showcasing the beauty of our brides,

Adorned in striking crimson,

Or the spiritual resting places,

That spread themselves accross the lands,

Our temples drowned in flowers of unmatched vibrance,

And celebrations of love, colour, and peace,

But is that all I come from,

What about the culture I know,

The culture where a state's difference,

May as well be the difference of a race,

Where beauty is defined by the whiteness of your skin,

If you do not marry,

It is because no one wishes to marry you,

If you do not study,

All day, every day,

You may as well be worthless,

Are you a doctor,

Or a lawyer,

How about an engineer,

Stay at home wife then?

No?

The obviously you've failed in life,

Haven't you,

But no, I have not failed,

Because I prefer words to numbers,

Literature to arithmetics,

Poetry to chemical formulas,

I have not failed in who I am,

And I have not failed in what I will do,

And I can still be proud of where I come from,

I will wear my punjabi dress as if that is what I was born to do,

I will speak Hindi in the company of those who will never need to learn another language for their futures,

I will adorn myself in Mendhi in spite of those who will make me cry as if it only serves to make me more foreign, to make me other,

But I will not worry,

If my skin darkens in the sun,

If I can't find the time to be married,

If I become my own person,

Not to be defined by the standards,

Of my colour,

Or my country.