Rohit Sharma

A man sit crouched by the busy street, hawking for the possible customers who may happen to stop for a general enquiry and bargain!  What is he selling? Some random utensils.  He carries a red bag, which contains all his stock and acts as flexible storehouse too! Everyday he packs up and moves his warehouse back to his living space. How does he travel? He is also carrying a water bottle. A workspace necessity, you know. Meanwhile, what is the capital involvement? What is his day selling target? How much should he sell to maintain a limited living standard of himself and his family? What is the margin? Does he save enough to volumify his business? Neatly setting his hair apart, he himself come dressed in a stark blue shirt. Over a thin cotton cloth lying on the tarred road, he decorates his products arranged in a rectangular fashion.. The wait has begin. Is it morning time? It is. The day has only started. Today is Sunday. Along with him, there are other sellers who...

21 year old raggu sat besides me overlooking the quiet ocean from a little known corner. What engulfs him? He poses a straight expressionless face. This is the part of Mumbai where colaba ends, and somewhere an edge of Marine drive starts. I happened to find it when I realized a windy outlet over a road end. I jumped across the stagnant fishing boats, stepping over the fishing nets and crouched myself in, in no time. It was a little luck which brought me here. I felt happier and unstrained. It is post noon time. The sun was overhead. Summer is almost there. Although as usual there isn't much winter in Mumbai, summer didn't take time to hop in. I had been walking for some time since morning. The traffic had started and I felt torn by it. Raggu was sitting along with another mate who wanted to know the depth of the ocean at the edge. He was asking Raggu's permission, if he can dive in. He couldn't gather the courage to do so. Raggu was not supportive. They wer...

Met this old man at the Mumbai local train. He is Mr Kanhaiya Lal. He was sitting besides the adjacent seat, just like me, over the edge. He got happy when I asked the co-passenger to slide & make a little space for me! We became instant friends and started talking. Hailing from the town of Jaunpur UP, he came to Mumbai some forty years back. Kanhaiya ji starts at Eleven everyday from his chawl at Malad. 75 years old, he doesn't interest himself sitting at home. There are reasons for it. He said that his wife would demand several stuffs and that's expensive! He said that if he remains back, there might also be fight. In his own words, ".. at old age, we lose memory and gets angry every now and then. What if I beat her down? It's bad. This is not a good thing. I ask her to not fight. What will neighbours say! They will make stories & laugh at us. We should maintain harmony.." He asked me, "what biraadari(caste) you belong to?". He show...

It's a big city, is it. He is lost. Not alone, but in his full presence and the companionship of the deep sense of silence that engulf the open wounds of the city. Englossed with glittery lights, smoothened with finesses, he walks and walks around. Busy streets meet him with monotonous gaze. Look at the unmoving earth. These lanes are sure mazes. Hear me out! What is the day today? Is it the month of January? "Oh, it's long gone...", the city talks back in nothingness. A month jus passed... where did it go? He can't sleep on the new bed. It's too soft. Lots of  caring, and he asks, for what? He acts unaware. By the open window of the room, comes in singular breeze, bringing with it random honks of vehicles and few cries of adolescents. Down at the highway, traffic moves romantically robotic. A drape of thin smog protects the air, while a yellowish enigma glitters overhead.. How about some silence. Close the window! The skylights hide the stars up t...