तुम भारत माता हो, या हिंदुत्व राष्ट्र (रावण)!!

The dream of nation-building with the nurturing spirit of Mother's Day — combining themes of care, sacrifice, and hope:

The Dream, The Nation, and a Mother’s Heart


This Mother's Day, I reflect on a different kind of mother —
Not just the one who raised us,
But the one we all belong to — our Motherland.

"Saw a dream… and so began the chain,
Now the horizon is lined with flames again."

Our founding leaders once dreamt of an India that would care for all her children —
With dignity, with love, with justice.
Their dream was not of power, but of protection.
Not of control, but compassion.

Like a mother, the Constitution was meant to nourish,
Like a mother’s lap, the land was meant to shelter,
And like a mother’s words, truth was meant to heal.

But today, that dream flickers:
In classrooms that echo with silence,
In fields where hunger grows louder,
In streets where identities divide.

Still — mothers don’t abandon their children,
And a true dream doesn’t die.
It survives in the quiet sacrifices,
In the single mother who skips meals for her child,
In the woman reading the Constitution to understand her rights,
In the soil that still lets us sow hope.

This is not just a tribute to mothers —
It’s a reminder that nation-building, too,
Needs a mother’s heart — to care, to hold, and to never give up.

On this Mother’s Day, let’s ask:
Are we caring for the dream she birthed?

 

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Post Title:
The Dream That Burned Bright — and Dimmed Too Soon

Post Body:

We once dreamt of a nation —
A dream so powerful, it lit fires across generations.

"Saw a dream… and so began the chain,
Now the horizon is lined with flames again."

The dream of freedom with dignity, of truth and reason,
Of justice without fear, and unity without division.
A dream echoed in Gandhi’s non-violence,
Nehru’s scientific spirit,
Ambedkar’s constitutional justice,
And Patel’s unflinching unity.

But somewhere in the noise of the present —
That dream flickers.

What was once a promise of books in every child’s hand,
Is now buried under hunger lines.
What once united villages in light and labor,
Now sees farmers burning in despair.
What was meant to dissolve caste and creed,
Now resurfaces through algorithms and markets.

And yet —
Dreams never truly die.
They pause.
And quietly return in the questions of a child,
In the hands of a farmer who still sows seeds of hope,
In the voice of a woman reading the Constitution aloud.

This post is a reflection — not on despair,
But on remembering the purpose behind the promise.

What part of that original dream still lives in you?