lirik lagu jungle emcee - mind state masala
“doctor, he says it’s all in my head…
but how can pain be fiction when i’m bleeding in bed?”
[verse 1]
mind~state masala, spice blend of trauma
curry of chaos in karma, stacked like a dharma drama
silent stigma, no saga, just pills in a bottle
swallowed by sorrow, tomorrow just throttle the throttle
aunty say, “beta, pray, don’t display the drama,”
but gods can’t erase the grey etched deep in my mantra
brains fried like samosas, battered in pressure
society’s metrics measure pain with no treasure
schoolboys depressed, sip stress like chai with ginger
burnt out at fifteen, failure’s a lingering zinger
dad said “don’t cry, be tough, you a man,”
but mantras don’t work when the soul hits a jam
[hook]
in the land where the soul meets the smog
we hide scars like logs lost deep in the fog
mental health ain’t wealth, just stealth and shame
but how can we heal if we don’t name the flame?
in the land where the soul meets the smog
we hide scars like logs lost deep in the fog
mental health ain’t wealth, just stealth and shame
but how can we heal if we don’t name the flame?
how can we heal if we don’t name the flame?
[verse 2]
colonial minds, still colonized silence
mental asylum’s a myth—just spiritual guidance
“do yoga, breathe deep,” they say with a grin
but yoga can’t fix the war within my skin
therapy’s taboo, psychiatrist viewed
like a ghostbuster sent to exorcise moods
meanwhile the slums breed panic and grief
trauma passed down like ancestral belief
gurus get glam, while the kids get blamed
“possessed by a demon,” when it’s ptsd unnamed
women suppressed, no rest, gaslit and stressed
their minds scream loud, but it’s tucked in their dress
[hook]
in the land where the soul meets the smog
we hide scars like logs lost deep in the fog
mental health ain’t wealth, just stealth and shame
but how can we heal if we don’t name the flame?
[bridge]
rural towns got no counselors, no helpline rings
just whispers in temples and bells that swing
city shrink fees higher than dreams can afford
so we self~medicate or just pray to the lord
lost in translation—“depressed” becomes “lazy”
or “possessed by spirits,”—man, this whole ride’s crazy
[verse 3]
still, the seeds bloom in monsoon monologues
young poets pen pain in coded dialogues
movements arise from campuses, truth spittin’
voices in vernacular, trauma’s now written
silence ain’t sacred, now it’s breaking in waves
from kerala to kashmir, voices escaping graves
rap cyphers and theatre, resistance in frames
mental health in the mix—not ashamed of names
helplines hum low, but they grow like roots
from whatsapp support to truth in grassroots
speak, don’t shrink—feelings ain’t flaws
they’re battles we fight in a land with no pause
“name the pain, frame the flame
heal the mind, not just the name.”
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