Rohit Sharma

The thela was taken care of by two young boys in their 14s and 19s. The younger one was shivering with the fallen temperature of the nearing winter. He is new to the city. He forgot his jacket in his place before coming for work. It was newly bought to him by the elder guy. They both belong to the same village. Unfortunately, the younger one lost both of his parents and was living with his uncle. He was dropped off the school and sent here at Delhi to earn for himself. He kept on a heavy oil on his black hair. He was skinny and wheatish with a refreshing smile that reverberated some kind of gratefulness. At his 14s, he will still gain some height. They were selling one of Bihar's special - liti chokha - a dish made out of flour and roasted and toasted with ghee along with other ingredients to be ready served with aloo baigan bharta! Their thela was situated besides India's one of the most profitable industries - IAS coaching institute preparing the aspirants for one of the buil...

The train was now passing through intermittent green landscapes, thick & dense forests, small & large farmlands, barren plains, countryside's narrow roads, far scattered huts, and aloof brick spaces. It was almost evening when I boarded the train. It was winter. A thin mist was covering the lands. As time passed, the sky through the window of the train appeared in several mixes of colors. In no time it was getting darker. I was having a slow realization that I am moving away from the space I call home. I was drifting away from the people who speak a similar language as I do and who don the cultural appearance as I do. I could still feel how it is to be there.  I am sure I felt a bit envious looking at the people through the window sitting in their farms, strolling in their lands, remaining in their homes. It's bad that people have to travel out of their comfort zones. This breaks the status quo and it does hurt a bit. Inside the train, people were already strange and in...

 Their miseries and pain,  Our slight discussion in sheer vain When we talk and we sympathize, Like some crazy saint looking guys Yet the hypocrisy shine on our forehead, When we snatch their last ounce of dry bread We stretch all borders,  leave no chance whatev We don't laugh, don't you dare say It's not worthwhile, less human they may But hey, look at me here We are giving our kind sympathy my dear It's for free, it's for free And free the abnormal cruelty  "You the slave, we the king" For generations, we continued to sing Thru our swords and God's kind divinity,  We will suck your blood till the eternity  We accumulate resources, betray thier trust Make you a fool, exploit you to your death Hey you, you and your children  Don't you cry, never you question  "Alas, I say", "in clearly defined terms" This is natural, you remain in dark prison.. "Aw, poor.. my poor poor fella.. My poor poor fella... my", hahaha

 सुनो, तुम ये दीपावली में घर ना आना  क्यूँ?   पर साल आये थे तो सारे बम अकेले ही फोड़ डाले थे  फिर तुम घर में भी कहा रहते हो  अपने दोस्तों के साथ इधर उधर फिरते रहते हो घर वालों के लिए समय कहा है तुमको?  और फिर तुम पूजा में भी नहीं बैठते इतनी क्या जल्दी रहती है तुम्हे? मिठाइयो का भोग भी नहीं लग पाता और तुम.. पहले से ही मिठाईया चट करने लगते हो तुमने मेरी पसंद का कुरता भी नहीं पहना था और दूसरे ही दिन रवाना हो लिए.. बड़े आये  तुम मत आना..  पक्का? हां, मत आना  नहीं आओगे तो कोई पहाड़ नहीं टूटेगा बाकी सब लोग तो है ही इधर और तुम्हारे तो इतने दोस्त है उधर  वही उनके साथ मना लेना अपनी दीपावली  हम लोगों का क्या है?  तुम आओगे तो हमारे साथ तो बैठोगे नहीं  हमारे साथ बात करने की फुर्सत कहा है तुम्हें?  तुम वीडियो कॉल कर लेना, आके क्या करोगे? ठीक है... ठीक है? मतलब ठीक है ये? नहीं आओगे? हां, तुम क्यूँ आओगे..  अब बड़े हो गए हो... नये दोस्त बना लिये है  अपने नये घर में रहते हो, नया शहर है तुम्हारा  तुम यहाँ हमारे पास क्यूँ आओग...

It's morning 3'O' clock. He woke up to a deafening silence. It's chilling winter out there somewhere at the end of a North Indian unkind but decoratively foggy November. His feet were cold. He slept unintendedly on his bed after eating the food at night. His throat was dry. He had the reminiscences of a song that he kept playing for several hours the day before. "What day is it?", he thought.. "where is my mobile?".  "Is it Tuesday today?".. "damn, it's cold"... "oh, life.." He lived on the sixth floor of his building. That's the top floor, the farthest he could go to avoid the people on the ground and any human touch. For the longest time he believed in a fake charisma he projected in himself. He kept betraying himself. For his mighty goals and his genuinely unexpected setbacks, oh, he felt terrible and utter shock. He felt shame flowing along with blood in his veins. He looked messy, put on the long rough hairs...

The reddish moon lay low,  Over the orange green farm say so A blue innocence spread across,  Holding the parting eve in a cross Houses scattered far over the hills,  Chattering with air, mist and shy chills What is it that you hide? Whom do you aspire and glide? I hear no whispers, it's so silent,  They not pray, nor play violin  Where are the crickets and the butterflies?  I see not them, where they flying? I am sure, 'm happy and sad together,  Calm so my breath, it longs forever What my age, does it matter? I sit here, waiting for thy chatter... Now come on, I am tired and cold,   Calling this a night, I seek my hut to behold

  Off a rusty forgotten roadway,  Sat a lonely guitarist faraway  All he knew was this wooden shop,  Where he lived, sold and ate chop chop Sunrays peek thru the holes Natural grass glew at core Happy, sad means nothing to him,  Savings for tomorrow, are you kidding?  Wonder why he remain here? Where were his near and dear? He would play all day, all week Played he low and string several squeak  His life pass like a fluid,  And time, never he clued "Old man, why aren't you bored ever?" He strung a chord, oh he is clever! "I am happy, eee, ee.. happy.." He chorused in a sad melody...