Rohit Sharma

Somen Das alias 'Gabbar' is his name that he told me. He belongs to West Bengal of India. His father was in BSF of Indian Army. He drives a rented battery-operated three-wheeler taxi in the streets of Karol Bagh, Delhi. He lives away from his family. His children are studying and he wants them to work hard and be someone.  A year back, the taxi man developed some problem in his appendix. He had no money to take care of himself. Like many Indians who don't possess a bank account and even if they do, in the absence of collateral property, loans aren't available to them easily. They all have to take the third route which is expensive. He borrowed from a private lender in his area. He took Rs. 80,000 from him at an exorbitant interest rate. By now, he has paid him Rs. 1.1 Lakh.  He said confusingly that still some amount is remaining. He said that unless he would pay Rs. 40,000 pending from other lenders as well, he won't return to his native. For the last one year, he

साहस क्या हैं बोलो.. साहस?   हां, साहस. असली वाला. फर्क समझते हो ना?  क्यू नहीं समझता. खूब समझता हूँ.  बताओ फिर..  साहस.. तुम नहीं जानते? साहसी लोग नहीं देखे? वो जो जान की बाजी लगाते हैं..?  वही.. भगत सिंह जो थे.  जो मर गए.  जिन्दा लोग नहीं हो सकते?  ऐसा कौन कहता हैं? बिलकुल होते हैं और?  ऐसे ही लोग होते हैं. ये लोग डरते नहीं हैं.  पता नहीं क्या खाते हैं. कहिऔ भिड़ जाते हैं.  इनसे नहीं जूझना चाहिए.  पिट विट जाओ, कुछ भी हो सकता हैं  और?  यही लोग तो होते हैं. साहसी.  तुम काहे परेशान हो? मैं बस पूछ रहा हूँ.  सीधी बात बताओ यार.  सीधा ही कहा मैंने.  साहसी लोग कौन होते हैं, ये मैं जानना चाहता हूँ  मुझे उनसे मिलना भी हैं. ऐसे ही.  तुम भी तो हो..  मैं?  हाहाहा. हां  हाहा.  हसो मत भाई. हो..  हो. बोल रहा हूँ. नहीं. मैं नहीं.  मैं तो डरने वालों में से हूँ.  किससे डरते हो? हां? पता नहीं. नहीं जानता.  डर तो खूब लगता हैं. हर पल.  नहीं. कभी कभी नहीं लगता.  अरे. ऐसा नहीं हैं. भगवान थोड़ेए हो बे.  डरोगे क्यू नहीं! जो डरते नहीं हैं वो पगले होते हैं सरफिरे. जिनके कुच्छों नहीं समझता  यार.. तुम कंफ्यूज कर रह

सुनो, मेरी साँसे मत खींचो  मुझे सताओ मत  मुझे डराओ मत  सुनो, घबराहट लगती हैं  हाथ काँपते हैं  रोंगटे खड़े हैं  सुनो, मैं जा रहा हूँ  वापस वही पर  एक कमरे के भीतर  सुनो, मेरा हाथ छुओ  आज गरम हैं  अजीब छुअन हैं  सुनो, थोड़ा बैठो  कुछ बातें करेंगे  थोड़े ठहाके भरेंगे  सुनो, कुछ सुनाता हूँ  तुम अच्छे से सुनना  ऐसे ही रहना  सुनो, साहस हैं  जले को सुनने में. 

  It was many years back when the population of humans on Earth is much less in numbers than what it is today. The peninsular land remained surrounded by the Arabian Sea, the Indian Ocean and the Bay of Bengal. Half of its land falls in the tropical zone where the Sun directs its rays at least once in a year at its closest.  Near to the line of the equator, closer to today’s national capital lies the plains of river Yamuna. It originates from the mightiest mountains, the Himalayas, cutting and grinding millions of obstacles and thus bringing with itself the fresh alluvium that would be dispatched over the plains. These form the region of one of the most fertile lands on Earth helping to form the densest forests, more like the present-day Amazon’s.  There was huge diversity including all kinds of birds, mammals and other living beings along with the vivid plant diversity that would provide flowers, fruits, medicines and its shades! The plains would shine like diamonds during the months

Med White knows that he knows nothing. He is not proud of it. It's a revelation that's still a secret to him. He only feels about it and has made no opinion of it. This is the cause of his silence. He keeps a shut mouth no matter what. But, what can stop you to hear? He is thus an okay listener. All you need is a bit of his mind's attention. If he is not feeling anxious about something that may have recently happened to him, he would have a blank mind and he would stare at you while you are talking. It doesn't matter what you say. You may blabber then. He could listen all of it with a patient ear. Unknowingly, he would relieve you from your stress. You may wonder what this guy is and how he does what he does. You may come to mirror him, his outward calmness, his deep breathes, his unchanging and unmoving posture, his strainless face, his unspoken truth, his universalism & naturism. At times, it shines in the dark, his face. You may not know what lies there. He would

She was grown up in the communism of her small village. It may not have the modern smoke-sending, river-polluting industries but it does have the glory of the kind lap of Mother Nature and its biodiversity. Never traveling out of it, it was all good, her village, the social system there, the people & their lifestyles before she finally encountered a bit of urban luxury. She traveled far and saw a better face of equality, less hindered opportunity, less hindered decision making, more independence; thy culture, traditions & superstitions. Humans have a sharp memory. They set their threshold and build an unknown castle that could mire the realities until unless someone or something breaks it. Humans like to live in illusions like other animals of lesser intellect. Retuning back, her village was not the same as she had left it a few months back. She was used to a different kind of air. She might have tasted a bit of merit-based capitalism, but then she knew that not all people are

The old man has just turned 60. He has retired from his okay-paying government job. He was so proud of it. He worked for 30 long years in the same office, same place, every other day, except the usual sunday and the festival holidays. He had just the same routine for thirty years of his life, exactly half of it. He would wake up early, do his usual morning rituals and prepare to invest the next 9-hours with polished boots and ironed clothes. He would do the same work everyday, share the same people as colleagues, stare at the same wall, same ceiling fan and its crackling sound. "Yes sir, ok sir, please sir..." He would never say No! Now sitting in his verandah and tiredly looking outside the caged gates at the passing people, he would remind himself of the gone days and his youth. He would sit and pray. He would involve himself into spirituality. He would wonder about gods and their cosmic energies. He would contemplate and compare. He would look after his ageing body, scarri

He saw the same place in his dream lately. The place gives him a sense of sacredness. There are tall big trees with large canopies, filled with all kinds of nests of different colored birds, all playing to their tunes, and cooing. There is a thick mist near the bottom and there when he looks, standing at a distance, he finds peace, a deep calm fall through his mind, chilling his heart mildly. It is hypnotising. It pulls him not. It asks for nothing. It gives the peace of life. Its magnanimity is heart touchingly generous. How he remembers the thin silently flowing transparent river at the other side. It shines when the non bullying sun cast its burn over it. As he looks into the riverbed, he finds a deep valley and not a surface... At another time, it was raining with in. There was a slow drizzle, never interrupting the ecosystem, not a bit of chaos, just a plain sound of friction over the river. He knew that he secretly craves for green. His dream gives more than that. Here, living at

The priest in the temple, the one situated at the lonely hill of the dead village, was less of a priest but more of a seeker. He seeked a purpose to live for, not that he wanted one, but he had to. He didn't know a god to worship. I mean, the god was his last resort when he figured out that he had nothing. For too long, his numb mind continued to remain blur and suggested nothing but a laughing  shallowness. How come, except him, everyone is so happy with what they were doing? How come he hadn't found anything to live for? How come he remained ideology-less and aimless? This made him restless. These thoughts and his self. He had to roam and be a wanderer. He had to fight himself. So many days and nights passed. He did everything that came his way and the one that he brought before. He went many extremes and returned, often changing the roads. He was bored quickly. It couldn't keep him passionate for a life that count in years. It started from nothing, the time when he kind

Looking at the same full moon, from the same spot a decade and a bit more years ago, today down the line, in his late twenties, he didn't feel the adrenaline rush of the list of ambitions and no dictates to change the world. He didn't want to reach the shining satellite. He didn't want to be in a spaceship. He didn't want to be an astronaut. H didn't want to fly. He felt numb and desperate. He felt salty, deeply nostalgic and a bit lost. He is more powerless than he was a decade and a bit more years ago. He is tired of running around the circles of the illusion of age and the itchy times. How should he keep on perish and wait for nothing? Aimless is no breath to him. Purposeless means bloodless veins to him. No imagination means blindness to him. He is the joker of his ever non-changing dynamic restless world.. How impossible! Where to? 

राशी पलंग से गिर गयी थी और बिलख बिलख के रो रही थी. उसकी आवाज़ सुनकर अम्मा कमरे में भागी भागी आयी और उसे ज़मीन में औंधे मुँह लेटा पाया. उसकी गहरी किलकारीयों को सुनकर अम्मा घबरा गयी और ज़ोरो से उन्होंने बाबूजी को पुकार लगाई. बाबूजी बस नहा कर के ही बाथरूम से साफ सुथरे निकले थे. वो राम नाम का जाप कर रहे थे. अम्मा की तेज़ बोली सुनके वो भड़भड़ा गए और राम नाम छोड़ कमरे की तरफ भागे.  अम्मा ने राशी को फर्श से उठाकर सीने से चिपका लिया था. राशी की आवाज़ बहुत तेज़ थी जिससे अम्मा और बाबूजी भयभीत हो गए थे. बाबूजी इधर से उधर दौड़ दौड़ कर और गोहार मारकर जाने किस डर से रोने लगे. उनकी आवाज़ किचन की खिड़की से दौड़ती, चीड़ती-फाड़ती घर के दूसरे तरफ पहुंची जहाँ पर शिव जी के अभिषेक की तैयारी की जा रही थी. वही पर सभी लोग जमा थे. उन्हें पता पड़ने पर शिव जी को अकेला छोड़ सभी राशी के पास भागे.  सूरज आधा आसमान लांघ चुका था और चमचमा रहा था. कमरे में उमस और गर्मी थोड़ी बढ़ गयी थी. सबने रोती चिल्लाती राशी को घेर लिया और परेशानी से अधमुहे देखने लगे.  राशी अभी बस चार महीने की हुई थी. वो जब खेलती हसती हैं तो उसके गालों में दो छोटे से समुन

एक ऐसा दिन नही जाता जब तुम्हारा सपना नही आता बिन बुलाये भागी भागी चली आती हो सपने में इतनी मिलनसार क्यू हो जाती हो तुम बिना मेकअप के चली आती हो कुछ बताना हैँ की कुछ बात छुपाती हो? आधी रात से भली सुबह मंद अंतरतम के छंद रहे आते हैँ सुबह रूहानी हो जाती हैँ तुम्हारी स्तुति स्वरित होकर गाती हैँ तुम आकर कुछ बोलती नही हो देखती हो, पलके झपकाती हो करीब आती हो फिर हवा बन जाती हो न पाके तुम्हे कही सोचो क्या हाल उसका होता होगा सूरज की लौ आग बन जाती होगी झनकार शोर बन जाती होगी ऐसे ही बस ऐसे ही नही यु ही गुज़रता जाए जीवन बेजान, अशांत

उनके आँखों के नक्से  धधकती आग और चस्के  फफकता जुनून और कायलता गिरेबान का रौब और राग आगजनी पे तरारा घृणा से मुहब्बत सरफ़रोशी के इरादे  और मुकामों के पहाड़  क्या उम्र हरा पायी? क्या समय मार पाया? क्या हवा बहा पायी? भगत, ओ भगत!  कितने जिन्दा हो जी.. तेईस साल का भगत, कभी इतने ख्यालों में डाल देता हैं की शरीर शिथिल पड़ जाता हैं. ये किस तरह की मर मिटने की आरज़ू थी की जीवन को ठुकराते हुए आये और गए. ना किसीकी जात पूछी, ना किसीका मज़हब जाना, ना कोई पद की कामना. जिए तो धमाल किये. मरे तो मिसाल बने. मिट्टी से इतना लगाओ!