One step I take forward they come and ask my caste
Two steps backward I run
And reach to the skirt of a beautiful village
With all the curiosities in their eyes men and women
Like a platoon of army they surround me
And inquire the sect along with my religion
Disheartened I walk
And unintentionally cross into a district
There I meet on a down town street
A wave of crowd, a pack of wolves
A gang of touts and a hive of bees
Before I take my breath in
I am grilled and asked quite fast the place of my origin
Bitterly I tell them what sweet sound holds my real name
They suspect and I have no doubt
The colour of my eye balls gives them goose bums
So I quietly tell them the root of my clan
They appear and I see clearly
The hint they give is clear that they are not glad
Disgusted I feel and before I decide to move
I yell I shout
And tell you to tell them
I am also from the same race of you, man!