Saade Pind

[Ni: a gender-specific vocative used to address a woman directly], it isn't found in our village

This drink that you’ve poured into your glass

You spend your weekends partying, fair maiden

While our entire hard-earned income goes into basic survival

Though my thinking is grand, leave aside my circumstances

Our elders prefer a hearty tadka over your fancy pizzas

The amount of dowry usually given to a daughter at her wedding

Is just the price of your designer handbag, fair maiden

Your life is governed by law, ours is a chaotic mess

I don’t know where "Sleepwell" is, I only know the [Manja: a traditional hand-woven wooden cot]

Your family business is passed down through generations

But here, we wear our bones to dust, fair maiden

Only then does a car eventually reach our doorstep

[Ni: a gender-specific vocative used to address a woman directly], it isn't found in our village

This drink that you’ve poured into your glass

Cars and physical blows are what we know

The only gifts we received were from swindling governments

You stand alone, but we have our brotherhood

And out of four brothers, three are sitting in jail cell number twelve

Which way should we turn?

There is a well in front of us, [Rakane: a term of endearment for a graceful woman], and a cliff behind

Halfway from the well, the farmhand came to deliver news

That our turn for the irrigation water has finally arrived today

[Ni: a gender-specific vocative used to address a woman directly], it isn't found in our village

This drink that you’ve poured into your glass

The entire system is in your hands, my lady

While we can't even find a foothold to stand

These rights and agendas you celebrate daily

To us, they feel like slow-acting poison

We don't even have electricity, while your chandeliers keep glowing

You are known by your surnames, we are known by our [Lana: extended family lineage/clan]

Our circles will only meet in the dust, there is a massive difference

Your "maths" calls my interest a "crude lust"

You watch the IPL and cheer for Chennai

While my younger brother is a [Kabaddi: a traditional contact sport of Punjab] player

You are educated in London

While mine was a government school education in the village

Your status is high like a crane, fair maiden

Like the rising dust from the wheels of a heavy cart

[Ni: a gender-specific vocative used to address a woman directly], it isn't found in our village

This drink that you’ve poured into your glass

That is your high status, my beloved

And for us, there is only the "reserved quota"

You are a diamond to your parents

But this [Jatt: a member of the land-owning agricultural community] is like a counterfeit coin

Whatever else happens, let's hope for the best

My grandparents have already departed from this world

On top of that, the Prime Minister backed out

Our clothes are tattered because of the [MSP: Minimum Support Price for crops] issue

You own mills and your business is worth millions

While our household survives solely on our buffaloes

This fact might have zero value to you

But we barely managed to cook our meal yesterday

Leave these talks of mine, you won't be able to grasp them

You get your greens from the vegetable stores

What would be left of the cities, fair maiden

If the villages stopped their supply?

Those who endure hunger themselves, fair maiden

Are the ones who feed the entire world

[Ni: a gender-specific vocative used to address a woman directly], it isn't found in our village

This drink that you’ve poured into your glass

The true old-school ways would leave you stunned, girl

With your fragile gait, you wouldn't even be able to walk our path

I've just written my feelings, don't take it as just a song

My father won't even let me eat in peace, he's a strict old soul

The wheat harvest is here, and the corn is calling out next

In this season, don't even talk to me about love

The scorching heat of [Bhadon: the humid lunar month of August/September] tans our skin

While a button press cools the seat of your car

Starbucks and Taco Bell are your daily haunts

How would you know the pain of the debt rising over the village?

You’ve been raised on pizzas, [Rakane: graceful woman]

You’ve become soft like a sponge quilt

In a few days, it will all fly away, fair maiden

This "butterfly" romance of ours on the internet

[Ni: a gender-specific vocative used to address a woman directly], it isn't found in our village

This drink that you’ve poured into your glass