Rohit Sharma

Mansi, a teenager, is envious of the marigold flower glowing in her house's backyard. "They look beautiful", she smiled. As per her, their life is more effortless and with the blessings of nature, they get free food, sunlight, air, water. Even the bee is not shameful while arranging for pollination, a process humans feel too sacred about. Mansi is tormenting with the ideas of social customs and that they have to be followed without the availability of the resources in return. "More rules for those who have nothing". You are suddenly an outcast from the rest of the disciplined and obedient society if you show resistance. "Where are the toilets? Why do we have to defecate in the open? Why are our schools not having facilities for the making of the aspired man and woman expected from us?". She took birth in a family which has less hold on earning income, and a society divided into thousand layers, economically, socially, politically. Mansi now...

It's 9'O clock evening when Radhe would get his train from his hometown where he arrived for celebrating a festival for two days. It's done. The festival is over. He came home in such a narrow notice and for such a small time that he himself feels dizzy about it. It is as much as for the coming and so much for going back. At home, everyone is there, his family and some good friends. Back at the place of work, he knows that four walls keenly await him. But he will go. No questions would he ask with the inner self. He knows that it's this that he has to do and he is finally feeling determined about it. No, it didn't come easy. There were alternate phases of confusion, high shallow passions, some real moments with self, understanding of self-limits and time. Time is what Radhe has understood about the least and the most. He says, "Time changes, life changes". Who comes home for two days? "Hey, stop seeing it from the privilege that you possess!". Ra...

ट्रेन टेशन पर लगी हैं. ट्रेन की ज़्यादा सीटें खाली हैं. प्लेटफार्म भी कितना खाली हैं. लोगों का उत्साह गले में बँधा हुआ हैं. आज गर्मी लग रही हैं. दिल्ली में मार्च के अंत तक आते आते सूरज कर्क रेखा पार कर उत्तर में चढ़ाई करने लगता हैं. तापमान में बढ़ोतरी होने लगती हैं. काली टीशर्ट नहीं पहनना चाहिए था. कल होली का दिन हैं. रंगों ग़ुलाल का दिन हैं. आज होलिका देहेन होगा. होलिका एक औरत थी जो स्वेक्षा से अपने भतीजे प्रह्लाद को आग में दहा लेने को बैठी थी. 'हरी' ने प्रह्लाद को बचा लिया. होलिका तड़पते चिल्लाते भुन के राख़ हो गयी. अगले दिन लोगों ने एक दूसरे पर रंग लगाया, नाच गाना किया, भांग चढ़ाई. अब हर साल होलिका नामक नारी को समाज के लोग घेर के 'जला' देते हैं. उनका दावा हैं की इससे झूठ, फरेब, कालाबाज़ारी, ऊंच नींच अथवा अनेक बुराइयों का दहन हो जायेगा. नहीं होगा तो अगले साल फिर ट्राई करेंगे. कभी न कभी तो होबै करेगा! मैं टेशन जल्दी पहुंच गया. आज रविवार का दिन हैं. कल रंग वाले दिन पब्लिक हॉलिडे रहेगा. दिल्ली की चौड़ी सड़कें सूनसान हो जाएगी. अब कोरोना दोबारा पैर पसार रहा है. गोरमिंट ने कहा हैं की...

"हम सब पागल हो गया हैं", एक पागल ने दरपन के आगे कहा. दरपन ने भी यहीं कहा, "हम सब पागल हो गया हैं" पागल का विश्वास मजबूत हो गया. दुनिया पागल हो गयी हैं. ये आदमी भी यहीं कहता हैं. बहोत दिनों बाद किसी से बात की थी जिसने उसकी बात का उत्तर भी दिया. वो अपनी छवी पर अविज्ञा से तरस करता हैं और दोस्ती की गाँठ बाँधने के लिए कुछ और दिल की बात कहता हैं. "मुझे पेट में दर्द होता हैं" दरपन ने दोहराया, "मुझे पेट में दर्द होता हैं" "तुम्हें भी भूख लगी हैं!", "हां", दरपन और पागल आदमी साथ में प्रतिउत्तर करते हैं! बस फिर क्या. उसने घंटे भर अपने आप से, अपने दरपन से गप्पे साठी. फिर थक गया. बैठ गया. सिकुड़ गया. भूख तेज लगने लगी. शरीर कमजोर, शक्ति शिथिल. जब एक दो घंटे की गहरी नींद के बाद उठा, जपड़बाज़ी में अपने नये मित्र को देखने हुआ की वो हैं भी की नहीं. वो वही था. उसकी तरह वो भी व्याकुल था, अकेला था, हारा हुआ था, नंगा था, कमज़ोर था... लेकिन आज कैसी हार? आज तो एक नया दोस्त मिला हैं जो दिल की बात पूछता सुनता हैं, साथ नहीं छोड़ता. "भूख", मुँह बनाक...

The murderer is so guilty of his crime, he doesn't even want to have the sheer amount of light peeking through the small jetty (chhajja) of the cell. He is given solitary confinement for the first few years. In this rat cell, he couldn't stand straight or stretch his body fully. The air is retarded. The walls are colorless. The light is timid. No human shadow lingers nearby. During the daytime, the cell is hot like an oven. It's difficult when a butterfly or a cockroach enters the cell. For the most time, there is a constant vacuuming sound, even the sighs of the earth are not heard. He would sit in various postures, at times standing in different corners of the cell, staring at the wall, drumming it, punching it, scratching it. His sleep has faded away. He sleeps more infrequently, never knowing what time is it, what day is it? Wondering whether is it a bad dream, is he really him, is this a reality, he would bang his head against the wall. It was all real. This is his new...

Chanda uncle had been a long part of the bygone childhood. He lived nearby and would walk down the street, smilingly, where we would play. He was tall and thin, always would wear something white. He would walk straight, eyes to the ground, chest high. Near his mud house, were several guava and jamun trees. Be it summer or rain, we would go and feast upon it. No one had ever shooed us away. For long, I had stopped saying the customary Namaste to him. The communication had ended and only momentary eye contacts remained. While at home, I remember him still walking past the gate, but not smiling. His teeth had fallen. He had grown much thinner and old. He had patches of grey hairs lingering over the head. His mouth red stained with Pan. I do remember his voice. I got to know that today he has kindly departed. I wish that he be rest in peace and may the shades of guava tree ever linger upon him with benevolences. ❤

This time, radhe is going to try very hard. He will force this upon himself and he is not turning back. Ah, he is going to nail the purple box and bury it deep inside the earth. He will do it. He is already on it. The box that has got his demons and his heart, he is going to get rid of it. No turning back. He is going to erase everything and it's better that he change the road.. Radhe is tired of trying and each time that he had turned back, it was as futile as it can be. It seems that disappointment has befriended him. This world, this life, no, it isn't possible. It's not that it's hard. It's not legible. He has been distracted each second ever since he had let the red thing attached to his chest to dominate over. That was a start and by now, look at him! Look at his face, his fake smile, his lowered gaze, and the contracted shoulders... What a man he was and what a bygone youth that he has passed with nothingness... ________ https://www.amazon.in/Antarman-se-kabh...