Rohit Sharma

Uma has put on a heavy makeup while she is standing in the mid of a busy street. She is wearing blue jeans and a tight pink T-shirt. She works in the famous red light area of the city. The city is Delhi, our capital city. A flood of men pass before her, some looks at her with a bodily thirst; while some unaware of the area, pass uninterested. What sort of livelihood is this? She caters to the bodily need of men. This means business. People involved in it tend to have no honor. They are the outcast of the so-called civilized and over-proud society. Due to the illegal trafficking of women, including children, there is no line between people who actually want to use sex to earn money and those who are forced into it by the pimps and the third men. It's cloudy today. It may rain. Police station is at a walking distance from where Uma stands. A man has looked at her with a lower gaze. He may be interested in her. He stopped with a shaking leg and asks for the price. "N...

Mansi is anxious. It's her birthday tomorrow. What should she expect off the day? She has been growing up in the age of mass media. All the drama of the unreal world is creating castles of dreams inside her mind. Having no avenues of opportunities as of yet, she has been increasingly believing in her fate and the God and that one day her life would be lifted from the pyres of pain to the kites of laughter. It's evening. She feels special. She is feeling hungry. Her mom has not returned from the work yet. She is eager to discuss her plans for tomorrow. Deep down she knows that it is simply unaffordable for her to think of the sparkles she has been decorating inside her mind, although her instinct is not yet ready to accept this. Sitting by the door, she is watching her younger sister. She is playing in her arms and it makes her happy. She giggles with her, "Is it didi's birthday? Is it! Ha!". By the night, as mother came tiringly, and father a bit later, half drunk...

Morning arrived and so did the Sun's orange rays. It perched on the side of my bedroom window. As usual, the air is smoggy and dispersing the yellow light. The morning is not the beautiful morning. It is impressing confusion. Sun remained silent and brightly hot. The wind is mildly cold. Indeed, these are early hours. The month of april is on its end. There is no smell in the air. The streets are empty. There are isolated voices of pigeons, koyal and eagle off the sky or from somewhere they are overlooking the city from the shade of any building standing around. The city will soon be awake. Soon, there will be vegetable vendors lurching around at the top of their voices. Garbage vehicle would wander around playing on the encouraging social message and campaigning for cleanliness.  Newspapers will keep on carrying the damning news of death and disarray from the deadly virus at the behest of the 'once in a century pandemic', as they call it. We are counting back our days and ...