On my way to the Red Fort,
I met a little girl aged six,
Skipping merrily through dusty roads,
her tiny feet, very bare,
Wearing her best dress,
only slightly ripped.
In her hand was a half-eaten sweet,
she found with joy on the dusty street,
``Little girl, little girl,'' said I,
running behind her steady pace,
``Where is your mother?  Where is your father?''
She looked at me with a lively smile,
``Ma and dad, I have none,
they found me on the temple ground,
Crying in a basket, a baby then!
But Ma left me a small note!!''
She put her hand in her best dress,
and with her gentle fingers clenched,
her mother's crumpled note.
``Little girl, little girl,'' said I,
Where are you going, this august day?"
``Today India is free,
there is so much colour, so much to see,
Children from schools, wear uniforms,
sing such nice songs, it thrills my heart,
Look there's the PM, he's so short!!''

Steering me through the crowd,
the little girl went on and on,
``We are so lucky, today it's  breezy!''
I looked at her blistered feet,
on the scorched stony ground,
``Yes it cools the day'' I said,
with a comforting sound.
``No, no silly,'' she said,
``Look at the flag; when there's
a breeze, it flies and flutters,
That's how it should be
for today India is free!''
I looked at her with interest,
``Show me your mother's note,
Maybe it has her name?''
She moved her hand away,
``No, no this note is not for you,
My Ma wrote it for me,
it is something special,
it is only for me!....
But you can have my sweet.''
As we shared our freedom's sweet,
She said, ``India is free,
sooner or later, someone will
teach me how to read.''
I watched the flag flutter
in the gentle breeze.