Rohit Sharma

It's a clear day at Jalna. Unclouded blue sky is radiating yellowish sun-rays all around. I stand at the public bus station waiting for a person to pick me up. I arrived a while ago. It's nearing 1'O clock in the afternoon. With temperature calming to 42 degree celcius, I feel confused & little sweaty. Over my formals, I am wearing a cotton Gamchha across my neck and intermittently over the head. It helped me to protect from the heat.  I rushed outside and found a shadowy spot by the shop of a tea seller. There are customers at the shop. It's around the corner of the station. A series of buses passed before me raising dust & black carbon into the air. Unaffected, not too many except me covered their noses to not inhale the soot. Jalna is part of the 'Marathwada' region. It recently got famous because of the high number of farmer's suicide news in the media. To put it in right context, If it doesn't rain enough for a year, there is go...

Met Mr. Don Khan at Aurangabad. Folding his hands, he was standing straight near his auto rickshaw. I found him quiet and immersed in his own thoughts as I approached him from a distance. Tall and neatly dressed, he spoke most sublimely the rates of the destination to drop me off. I couldn't have bargained it, as it was so nicely spoken. He was a calm man. I agreed and hopped on the three Wheeler. That's when I noticed his hair style and something very identical in his dressing sense. Couldn't be more curious & as I asked to understand that Mr. Don is a fan of Bachchan Sahab! That's when everything fall into place. I met a real Bachchan Sahab fan! It's a pleasure to meet people who are passionate about something, who we see are in love with a style and an identity! Touted as the angry man of the 80s, Mr Bachchan is no less than an ideology in India. Don Sahab kept open the first two buttons of his sky-blue wrinkle-free shirt & there kept hanging ...

Portraying an aged security guard on the day-duty of the parking compound. He is there when employees enter the compound, and as well, when they fast leave it. He sits under a blue shed by the iron gate, over a broken plastic chair. At a distance, aroma of garbage collected in the green cylindrical plastic boxes is blushing the air. Unlike modern day security guards, he doesn't don a blue khaki. Uncle Guard brings his own tiffin from somewhere he is staying along with a group of other people. He is a native from the central India, living far away from his family. His family stays back at home. He keeps the gate half closed and has tied a string at it to maneuver it. When a vehicle arrives, he directs the gate. The stories of the migrant workers in India is wide, diverse and touching on vivid levels. While skilled labor force do enjoy a piece of cake, there are many who are fitting at the bottom of the pyramid and are dependent on unintellectual works for their survival....

It's afternoon. At least 14 hours have passed since the train started a night before from Pune, Maharashtra. The station of Khandwa has probably passed. Passengers are a bit tired. It's jam-packed inside. It's also a marriage season. It's some kind of penance to travel like this. Ask anyone and they will tell how important it is for them to reach their destination. I asked a guy hanging by a cloth tied between the luggage rack and the upper seat, and he replied that her mother is in deathbed. He just has to travel. There is no other option.  From the window, warm air is coming inside. It's a little humid now. I am sitting at a spot in the upper seat alongwith three other guys. Last night we played ludo and made friends! With time, bonhomie between people increases naturally. People would start talking with eachother, and also make jokes. General coach of the train is one of the most happening & most eye-opening places. I feel that it tests us & w...

We stopped by a roadside tea stall set up by a grey-haired man. He was sitting comfortably in a chair. There was no customer at the moment. Two of us were wandering near a village at the outskirts of the city of Maihar. As we reached the shop and asked for the tea, uncle got up and moved to start the stove to heat it. The stove-cylinder setup is probably just for making the tea. There were no other utensils to cook Maggi etc. He was holding a lighted bidi on another hand. Soon he served us tea in glasses. It is 7'O clock in the evening. The day was long and the temperature touched 45 degrees a few hours ago. People do not come out of their houses during the day. It would seem like an abandoned place. Roads would be empty, houses closed. The black tar road in the front is now releasing the trapped heat into the air. Across the road, there are kachcha houses and village people are sitting in the front of their verandah. This may be the best part of the day to socialize. S...