Chandan Sharma's Blog, page 3

KOLKATA DIARIES: The Awakening

I rubbed my eyes and tried to recognize the blur ambience through my dozy eyes. ‘Oh, it is Kolkata.’ Last night was a bit difficult, despite of a working AC in my room, I could not get a nice sleep. New places have been problematic for me, specially for sleeps.  It was supposed to be a busy day. I picked up the mobile to see the time; it was 6:15 am. I took a long breath. I threw my blanket aside and jumped out of the bed.
After getting fresh, it was the time to brush my teeth and take a bath. I went towards the bathroom mirror to take a close look on my face. My dark color was deepened and sunburns of yesterday were quite visible. The oil glands of my face have got an ultimate companion in the form of humidity. I closed my eyes and tried to console my heart.
When I opened my eyes, my attention was grabbed by the ‘BINDIS’ stick on the corners of the mirror, as many as 6 of them. The first one was round and big, green color. All others were also round but red in color. I thought about the beautiful Bengali ladies who stayed in that room with their husband, boyfriend or family. It was hard for anybody to say that how many people have stayed there before me. They all would have come with different purposes and different mind-sets. Had the walls of this room could speak; it could have told us a splendid set of stories.
I ordered a cup of tea for me and it was over-boiled to an extent which was far more than required. It made it bitter and heavy. As soon as I had the first sip of the tea, I remember a line from a Hindi story called ‘चिकित्सा का चक्कर’ written by perhaps ‘SUDARSHAN’ (not sure).  ‘स्वाद ऐसा की मुर्दे के मुंह में डाल दो तो वो भी तड़पकर रह जाए’. I felt as if my stomach had jumped into my mouth. I kept the cup of tea aside and waited for the breakfast to arrive.
After a while ‘AMAR’ (the boy taking care of guests in that guest house) brought my breakfast. Bread and omlette with butter…exactly as I ordered.
‘omlette ki chini milano aachhe?’ I asked sarcastically.
‘Na’
He answered and quickly moved towards the stairs. He had no time for my petty sarcasm. I closed the door and finished my breakfast. Despite of my speed and urgency, it was already 11 am.
I moved out of my house and walked towards the main road. I took a taxi and asked him to take me to ‘SHIVPORE’. He casually acknowledged me and started his meter. After travelling 15 minutes or so, my mind started to push me to call my friend Prasun and ask him about his address. I do not discard my intuitions normally.
‘Is it SHIVPURI?
‘NO, it is ‘SHIVRAMPUR’ and once you reach there ask for ‘PONDIT PADA’.
My friend just saved my time and money to go in vain. I asked taxi driver go to ‘Shivrampur’. He acknowledged again and nodded his head. After going through an ordeal in that taxi for almost 40 minutes and asking around 8 people about the address, I finally was able to leave the taxi. Prasun came to receive me.
After all the greeting and Namaste formality, it was the time to have some ‘NIMBU PAANI’. I wondered whether this was the thing which was found during ‘SAGAR MANTHAN’, at that time, people may have called this ‘AMRIT’ but now it was ‘NIMBU PANI’.
After all the news/gossip exchange, we felt that we were running low on energy. So, it was lunch time. Rice, Fish, Daal, Lady-Finger and Jack-fruit. I don’t know whether everything was so delicious or I was so hungry, but either ways it worked. Later I came to know that there was sugar in all the vegetables and I wondered that it still tasted so good. So, putting small amount of sugar in food is not that bad, it is just that you should know, how much to add.
After a long gossip and tea sessions, we decided to go to ‘South-city mall’. An AC mall seemed like a good idea. We booked a taxi and went to south city mall. Being from Delhi, malls were not a new thing for me. In fact, I was tired of going into different malls and seeing same kind of expensive culture but this time it was different.
I entered the mall as soon as I got off the taxi and felt the serene touch of AC on my sweat-clad body. It was like a touch of your first love…deep and soothing. I could not move far from the vent of air for almost 5 minutes. After experiencing the 5 minutes of cool air, I moved in. Lots of showrooms, restaurants, food courts, game-courts…none was of my interest. While Prasun and his friends kept themselves busy in those showrooms I found suitable place for me in ‘Crosswords’. I found a copy of hand written diary of ‘Rabindranath Tagore’. As I turned the pages of that diary my hands shivered. The creation of one of the greatest was in my hand. I could see how he wrote and then cut certain words to find the best combinations, same as we do while we write in out copies and diaries. Though I could not read the entire writing but I could feel the soul of his creation.
Drowned in the memory of literary excellence of English and Bangla, I stepped outside the mall. A rush of warm and humid air collided with my face. I took out my handkerchief and started wiping my face.
Small stalls, hawkers and peddlers had occupied the street right outside the mall. It had all kinds of things starting from fruits, water, chaat, tea, books, crafts and everything which comes in your mind. Generally big malls do not allow such small peddlers to set their business near it. On one side mall was standing proudly with its AC, expensive showrooms, food courts and much more, and on the other side these poor peddlers were trying to increase/gather their livelihood from there. What diversity…ah!
Everybody had talked about the city of joy and its rich culture, but grievances of these peddlers remains constant. I felt a pain in my heart. We feel happy to purchase a creation of a person who no longer exists, no matter how expensive it is. But feel reluctant and negotiate to the highest extent to purchase a piece of craft which is being sold by a person trying to survive in this harsh world. Perhaps we respect the creations of ‘Rabindranath Tagore’ but don’t understand it.                       
Just when I thought that ‘KOLAKATA DIARIES’ will be a simple memoir and I have found what I wanted to pen down through these blogs, I realized that journey of KOLKATA DIARIES is not yet over:
“I thought that my voyage had come to its end
at the last limit of my power,---that the path before me was closed,
that provisions were exhausted
and the time come to take shelter in a silent obscurity.

But I find that thy will knows no end in me.
And when old words die out on the tongue,
new melodies break forth from the heart;
and where the old tracks are lost,
new country is revealed with its wonders.”
                                                                                                                     -Gurudev
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
      

 

KOLKATA DIARIES: The Awakening

I rubbed my eyes and tried to recognize the blur ambience through my dozy eyes. ‘Oh, it is Kolkata.’ Last night was a bit difficult, despite of a working AC in my room, I could not get a nice sleep. New places have been problematic for me, specially for sleeps.  It was supposed to be a busy day. I picked up the mobile to see the time; it was 6:15 am. I took a long breath. I threw my blanket aside and jumped out of the bed.
After getting fresh, it was the time to brush my teeth and take a bath. I went towards the bathroom mirror to take a close look on my face. My dark color was deepened and sunburns of yesterday were quite visible. The oil glands of my face have got an ultimate companion in the form of humidity. I closed my eyes and tried to console my heart.
When I opened my eyes, my attention was grabbed by the ‘BINDIS’ stick on the corners of the mirror, as many as 6 of them. The first one was round and big, green color. All others were also round but red in color. I thought about the beautiful Bengali ladies who stayed in that room with their husband, boyfriend or family. It was hard for anybody to say that how many people have stayed there before me. They all would have come with different purposes and different mind-sets. Had the walls of this room could speak; it could have told us a splendid set of stories.
I ordered a cup of tea for me and it was over-boiled to an extent which was far more than required. It made it bitter and heavy. As soon as I had the first sip of the tea, I remember a line from a Hindi story called ‘चिकित्सा का चक्कर’ written by perhaps ‘SUDARSHAN’ (not sure).  ‘स्वाद ऐसा की मुर्दे के मुंह में डाल दो तो वो भी तड़पकर रह जाए’. I felt as if my stomach had jumped into my mouth. I kept the cup of tea aside and waited for the breakfast to arrive.
After a while ‘AMAR’ (the boy taking care of guests in that guest house) brought my breakfast. Bread and omlette with butter…exactly as I ordered.
‘omlette ki chini milano aachhe?’ I asked sarcastically.
‘Na’
He answered and quickly moved towards the stairs. He had no time for my petty sarcasm. I closed the door and finished my breakfast. Despite of my speed and urgency, it was already 11 am.
I moved out of my house and walked towards the main road. I took a taxi and asked him to take me to ‘SHIVPORE’. He casually acknowledged me and started his meter. After travelling 15 minutes or so, my mind started to push me to call my friend Prasun and ask him about his address. I do not discard my intuitions normally.
‘Is it SHIVPURI?
‘NO, it is ‘SHIVRAMPUR’ and once you reach there ask for ‘PONDIT PADA’.
My friend just saved my time and money to go in vain. I asked taxi driver go to ‘Shivrampur’. He acknowledged again and nodded his head. After going through an ordeal in that taxi for almost 40 minutes and asking around 8 people about the address, I finally was able to leave the taxi. Prasun came to receive me.
After all the greeting and Namaste formality, it was the time to have some ‘NIMBU PAANI’. I wondered whether this was the thing which was found during ‘SAGAR MANTHAN’, at that time, people may have called this ‘AMRIT’ but now it was ‘NIMBU PANI’.
After all the news/gossip exchange, we felt that we were running low on energy. So, it was lunch time. Rice, Fish, Daal, Lady-Finger and Jack-fruit. I don’t know whether everything was so delicious or I was so hungry, but either ways it worked. Later I came to know that there was sugar in all the vegetables and I wondered that it still tasted so good. So, putting small amount of sugar in food is not that bad, it is just that you should know, how much to add.
After a long gossip and tea sessions, we decided to go to ‘South-city mall’. An AC mall seemed like a good idea. We booked a taxi and went to south city mall. Being from Delhi, malls were not a new thing for me. In fact, I was tired of going into different malls and seeing same kind of expensive culture but this time it was different.
I entered the mall as soon as I got off the taxi and felt the serene touch of AC on my sweat-clad body. It was like a touch of your first love…deep and soothing. I could not move far from the vent of air for almost 5 minutes. After experiencing the 5 minutes of cool air, I moved in. Lots of showrooms, restaurants, food courts, game-courts…none was of my interest. While Prasun and his friends kept themselves busy in those showrooms I found suitable place for me in ‘Crosswords’. I found a copy of hand written diary of ‘Rabindranath Tagore’. As I turned the pages of that diary my hands shivered. The creation of one of the greatest was in my hand. I could see how he wrote and then cut certain words to find the best combinations, same as we do while we write in out copies and diaries. Though I could not read the entire writing but I could feel the soul of his creation.
Drowned in the memory of literary excellence of English and Bangla, I stepped outside the mall. A rush of warm and humid air collided with my face. I took out my handkerchief and started wiping my face.
Small stalls, hawkers and peddlers had occupied the street right outside the mall. It had all kinds of things starting from fruits, water, chaat, tea, books, crafts and everything which comes in your mind. Generally big malls do not allow such small peddlers to set their business near it. On one side mall was standing proudly with its AC, expensive showrooms, food courts and much more, and on the other side these poor peddlers were trying to increase/gather their livelihood from there. What diversity…ah!
Everybody had talked about the city of joy and its rich culture, but grievances of these peddlers remains constant. I felt a pain in my heart. We feel happy to purchase a creation of a person who no longer exists, no matter how expensive it is. But feel reluctant and negotiate to the highest extent to purchase a piece of craft which is being sold by a person trying to survive in this harsh world. Perhaps we respect the creations of ‘Rabindranath Tagore’ but don’t understand it.                       
Just when I thought that ‘KOLAKATA DIARIES’ will be a simple memoir and I have found what I wanted to pen down through these blogs, I realized that journey of KOLKATA DIARIES is not yet over:
“I thought that my voyage had come to its end
at the last limit of my power,---that the path before me was closed,
that provisions were exhausted
and the time come to take shelter in a silent obscurity.

But I find that thy will knows no end in me.
And when old words die out on the tongue,
new melodies break forth from the heart;
and where the old tracks are lost,
new country is revealed with its wonders.”
                                    -Gurudev
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
      

 

Kolkata Diaries: entering the arena

 
I stood for a while on the gate of my bogie, after spending a splendid night in my 1st class coupe in Kolkata Rajdhani express. With all beautiful thoughts about the city of joy-Kolkata running randomly in my mind, I tried to push myself out of the bogie. As soon as saw people outside the train, I realized that this city is also the city of humid climate and dripping drops of sweat. I took a long breath, as if wanted to store the fresh air-conditioned air of the train in my lungs for as long as I could manage.  
I stepped out of the train. Two eyes were staring at me, two big and beautiful eyes. A Bengali lady with a red and big round ‘Bindi’ stacked on her forehead was gazing at me. I was about to smile at her but I noticed a red spot hiding under her hair, ‘she is married’ I concluded. On one hand, her big ‘Bindi’ indicated a traditional Bengali lady and on the other hand her hardly visible ‘Sindoor’ was a symbol of newly married girls. I moved on with my useless observations.
‘DADA, TAXI CHAI?’ A hurried man asked awkwardly. I understand a little Bengali but it should be loud and clear. He read my face as a psychologist and paraphrased his question, ‘DADA, taxi lagega aapko?’ Though still not in complete Hindi but was quite understood. ‘Behala jana hai, kitna kiraya?’ He didn’t answer but smiled, somehow it seemed similar to a victorious smile. ‘DADA, aapse kya kiraya, 500 de dena.’ He almost started to snatch my bag from me. I protested and continued to pull the bag, for a while a tug-of-war took place between us. He realized that he cannot pull the bag from me and surrendered.
I proceeded straight to pre-paid taxi booth. A long queue was impatiently waiting for its turn. I became a part of it. Soon, the first drop of sweat dripped from my forehead and disappeared into my eye-brows. I took out my handkerchief and tried to wipe out the sweat and as soon as I did so, a new layer of sweat appeared on face within no time. I forcibly puffed a breath out of my mouth to reduce my restlessness. BEHALA- INR 200, finally I got my slip in my hand and jumped out of that twitchy queue. I started walking towards my taxi while the queue watched me enviously.
It was a long fight between me and layer of sweat. Every time I wiped it from my face if reappeared. But I didn’t lose the hope and kept on fighting until my handkerchief reached its saturation point. The Owen-clad taxi led me to Behala crossing Howrah Bridge, victoria palace and millions of people.
‘MANI-KANCHAN GUESTHOUSE’ was my destination. I stepped towards the receptionist. A middle-aged man greeted me in Bengali and in return, I smiled. I asked him about the room my friend had booked. His eye-brows jumped for a mini second which screamed loudly his inner voice, ‘Ah…non-Bengali.’
I rushed into my room and threw my bag on the bed. I hurried to the bathroom to take bath. I think for the first time in my life I felt so urgency to take a bath. Life is strange…isn’t it? While I was taking bath, somebody kept in knocking my door with constant chant if ‘DADA’. I deliberately ignored him and concentrated on the ‘divine cold water’ pouring on my face from the ‘angelic shower’.
I looked at the bed closely. The bed-sheet was as old as Kolkata. A red spot on the bed sheet was a witness of a brutal murder of a mosquito and blots on it were giving me an obnoxious feeling. I opened my bag and took out my cloths.
I ordered fish-curry and rice for me. A plate with fish curry, vegetable, Daal and rice was there within no time. I was hungry and the presence of that decorated plate made my mouth flooded with saliva. I tasted the vegetable first, it tasted sweet. I tasted again…it was really a bit sweet. All of a sudden I realized that Bengali put sugar in almost all of their dishes. I tasted everything and apart from ‘Daal’ everything had an essence of sugar. I controlled my anger and concentrated on rice, Daal and pieces of fish. It was weird because I don’t like having veg with non-veg, but it was demand of stomach. Sweat, meanwhile ignored the fan and continued to bother me.   
‘I want a different and AC-room.’ I declared in front of receptionist. He quickly understood that I was not in a good mood. He managed for a different room without any delay after I agreed with the revised rest for the AC-room. I went inside the AC-room which was better than the earlier one. Not great but still ok. I took a long breath and fell on the bed as a falling tree.
I opened my eyes slowly after an hour. The sweat was dripping insanely from my body. I stood up from the bed in a flash and switched on the button of tube-light, but it refused to glow. There was no electricity. I rushed to the reception yet again to ask them whether they have power back-up. The person on the reception was fighting with the sweat with the help of a hand-fan. I got my answer. AC room is of no use without light. Am I being too finicky about all these? The question echoed in my mind. The electricity came back and I saw the outline of my body made of sweat on the bed.
I stepped towards the market area and found it very crowded. Sweat, crowd, noise, traffic, unknown-language and pollution, I wondered why Kolkata is called a ‘city of joy’?
Slowly I merge with the crowd and became a part of it. I stopped wiping layer of sweat from my face. I saw happy faces enjoying tea on the roadside stalls. All of a sudden, old ones, youngsters…everybody seemed to be happy. They were not bothered about any of the things which were troubling me. This crowd was alienated from the issues of Bengali, non-Bengali, fair, dark, cast or community. They were enjoying every bit of their life. But the question was, how?
What is true happiness, the luxuries, relatives, friends, money or something else? May be I can learn it from these roadside dwellers more than the people in AC-rooms and travelling in AC cars. May be I can learn many things from them in a few days. These days would teach me about the real happiness and inner joy. It is just the first day and I have already realized that my frustration was much lesser than it was couple of hours ago.
I carried a candle, a hand-fan and some ‘DOI MISHTI’ (Doi =Dahi, thanks to Bengali friends) with me while returning to my AC-room, Moni-Kanchan guest house, behala, Kolakata – the city of joy.
  
  
  
 
 
   
      
 

Kolkata Diaries: Part 1

 
I stood for a while on the gate of my bogie, after spending a splendid night in my 1st class coupe in Kolkata Rajdhani express. With all beautiful thoughts about the city of joy-Kolkata running randomly in my mind, I tried to push myself out of the bogie. As soon as saw people outside the train, I realized that this city is also the city of humid climate and dripping drops of sweat. I took a long breath, as if wanted to store the fresh air-conditioned air of the train in my lungs for as long as I could manage.  
I stepped out of the train. Two eyes were staring at me, two big and beautiful eyes. A Bengali lady with a red and big round ‘Bindi’ stacked on her forehead was gazing at me. I was about to smile at her but I noticed a red spot hiding under her hair, ‘she is married’ I concluded. On one hand, her big ‘Bindi’ indicated a traditional Bengali lady and on the other hand her hardly visible ‘Sindoor’ was a symbol of newly married girls. I moved on with my useless observations.
‘DADA, TAXI CHAI?’ A hurried man asked awkwardly. I understand a little Bengali but it should be loud and clear. He read my face as a psychologist and paraphrased his question, ‘DADA, taxi lagega aapko?’ Though still not in complete Hindi but was quite understood. ‘Behala jana hai, kitna kiraya?’ He didn’t answer but smiled, somehow it seemed similar to a victorious smile. ‘DADA, aapse kya kiraya, 500 de dena.’ He almost started to snatch my bag from me. I protested and continued to pull the bag, for a while a tug-of-war took place between us. He realized that he cannot pull the bag from me and surrendered.
I proceeded straight to pre-paid taxi booth. A long queue was impatiently waiting for its turn. I became a part of it. Soon, the first drop of sweat dripped from my forehead and disappeared into my eye-brows. I took out my handkerchief and tried to wipe out the sweat and as soon as I did so, a new layer of sweat appeared on face within no time. I forcibly puffed a breath out of my mouth to reduce my restlessness. BEHALA- INR 200, finally I got my slip in my hand and jumped out of that twitchy queue. I started walking towards my taxi while the queue watched me enviously.
It was a long fight between me and layer of sweat. Every time I wiped it from my face if reappeared. But I didn’t lose the hope and kept on fighting until my handkerchief reached its saturation point. The Owen-clad taxi led me to Behala crossing Howrah Bridge, victoria palace and millions of people.
‘MANI-KANCHAN GUESTHOUSE’ was my destination. I stepped towards the receptionist. A middle-aged man greeted me in Bengali and in return, I smiled. I asked him about the room my friend had booked. His eye-brows jumped for a mini second which screamed loudly his inner voice, ‘Ah…non-Bengali.’
I rushed into my room and threw my bag on the bed. I hurried to the bathroom to take bath. I think for the first time in my life I felt so urgency to take a bath. Life is strange…isn’t it? While I was taking bath, somebody kept in knocking my door with constant chant if ‘DADA’. I deliberately ignored him and concentrated on the ‘divine cold water’ pouring on my face from the ‘angelic shower’.
I looked at the bed closely. The bed-sheet was as old as Kolkata. A red spot on the bed sheet was a witness of a brutal murder of a mosquito and blots on it were giving me an obnoxious feeling. I opened my bag and took out my cloths.
I ordered fish-curry and rice for me. A plate with fish curry, vegetable, Daal and rice was there within no time. I was hungry and the presence of that decorated plate made my mouth flooded with saliva. I tasted the vegetable first, it tasted sweet. I tasted again…it was really a bit sweet. All of a sudden I realized that Bengali put sugar in almost all of their dishes. I tasted everything and apart from ‘Daal’ everything had an essence of sugar. I controlled my anger and concentrated on rice, Daal and pieces of fish. It was weird because I don’t like having veg with non-veg, but it was demand of stomach. Sweat, meanwhile ignored the fan and continued to bother me.   
‘I want a different and AC-room.’ I declared in front of receptionist. He quickly understood that I was not in a good mood. He managed for a different room without any delay after I agreed with the revised rest for the AC-room. I went inside the AC-room which was better than the earlier one. Not great but still ok. I took a long breath and fell on the bed as a falling tree.
I opened my eyes slowly after an hour. The sweat was dripping insanely from my body. I stood up from the bed in a flash and switched on the button of tube-light, but it refused to glow. There was no electricity. I rushed to the reception yet again to ask them whether they have power back-up. The person on the reception was fighting with the sweat with the help of a hand-fan. I got my answer. AC room is of no use without light. Am I being too finicky about all these? The question echoed in my mind. The electricity came back and I saw the outline of my body made of sweat on the bed.
I stepped towards the market area and found it very crowded. Sweat, crowd, noise, traffic, unknown-language and pollution, I wondered why Kolkata is called a ‘city of joy’?
Slowly I merge with the crowd and became a part of it. I stopped wiping layer of sweat from my face. I saw happy faces enjoying tea on the roadside stalls. All of a sudden, old ones, youngsters…everybody seemed to be happy. They were not bothered about any of the things which were troubling me. This crowd was alienated from the issues of Bengali, non-Bengali, fair, dark, cast or community. They were enjoying every bit of their life. But the question was, how?
What is true happiness, the luxuries, relatives, friends, money or something else? May be I can learn it from these roadside dwellers more than the people in AC-rooms and travelling in AC cars. May be I can learn many things from them in a few days. These days would teach me about the real happiness and inner joy. It is just the first day and I have already realized that my frustration was much lesser than it was couple of hours ago.
I carried a candle, a hand-fan and some ‘DAHI MISHTI’ with me while returning to my AC-room, Moni-Kanchan guest house, behala, Kolakata – the city of joy.
  
  
  
 
 
   
      
 

Remembering 1st January

When I opened my eyes on 1st Jan, I was scared to go to office. It was not because of upcoming New Year’s celebrations. I am a team leader and according to the business protocol, I am the person responsible to make sure that my whole team is present and working. I was scared to pick up my mobile because I was sure that people would have sent me their excuses for the leave. And thanks to my team members, it happened. I had many excuses lined up for the day. I had production hour shrinkage to deal with but there were many excuses which actually made me to smile. I have shared a few, read it and enjoy.

1. My Mother got missing: The one which started the series of funny excuses was this one. The guy sent me an SMS that his mother is missing. My reaction was ‘What?’ I called him and he said that his mother is missing. I asked whether he has launched any FIR. He said ‘No’ because father is out to find her. I asked him that how he can be so reluctant about it. He replied that her mother has done it in past as well. I disconnected the phone thanking her mother to get missing on 1st Jan.

2. A monkey has blocked my house-gate: I called the guy and asked to clarify the situation. He said that a monkey is sitting near gate and is not ready to go. He added that he was too scared to go out.I scolded him and asked whether you are a man or a girl who is scared of a monkey. I ordered him to drive the monkey away. But he started crying. ‘Wow!’ a boy is scared of a damn monkey and is not ready to come out of the house. It is awesome.

3. Cannot find the dress: This girl is so innocent. She informed me that she cannot make to the office today because she cannot find the dress which she was supposed to wear today. She described that how painful it was to hand-wash this dress and now she couldn’t find it. I asked her to come to office in any dress. But she sounded so jittery that I was confused whether she has misplaced her dress or skin.

4. Cancer: A girl from my team dropped me a text that she thinks that she has breast-cancer and she cannot come to office today. She added in the text that she will be on time from tomorrow onwards. I called her and some boy picked up. I asked him that whether I can speak with the girl. And the boy said that she is taking bath. I asked about her well-being and boy answered that she is not well, sever cough-cold. I disconnected the phone. Poor girl forgot to discuss the reason of leave with her boyfriend.

5. A mouse is in trouble: One of the guys sent me an SMS to let me know that he cannot come to office because a mouse has inhabited his Bike’s silencer and is not ready to come out. ‘Excuse me.’ I called him to ask him whether he is serious. He sounded so concerned over the phone. He said that mouse is perhaps stuck in there and a mechanic has been called. I had my hand on my head. I asked him ‘Dude’ take a public transport. And you won’t believe what he answered…he said that can’t come because he doesn’t want that mouse to die.

6. I am locked: I saved the best one for the last. Guy called me when 2 hours of the shift was left and said that he was locked inside his room. I asked how that is possible. He told me that he was playing chor (thief) - Police with his son and he locked him in the room and went to the market with his mother. And he lives on the seventh floor so it was impossible to come out through window. He also added that he had no mobile with him as it was kept in his living room.
I was astonished by the excuses. Worthless to say, all of them were marked absent. I was dazzled that mature people like them can make such excuses which do not stand anywhere. I only wanted to tell them that at least make some good excuses so that I can convince my managers that all of the people who are absent have genuine cause. Please share if you have faced such situation ever in life.
 

मैं भी चोर तू भी चोर

During my childhood days, I hated my father for watching news channels and useless debates. It used to be a torture watching and listening to endless discussions and same reports over and over again. Now, when I am in my late twenties, I understood that it was indeed a stupid thing to do, but was necessary. I watch news daily and listen to endless debates. Though there is nothing which comes out of it but it is a time pass. I enjoy debates. No matter how big or how worst scandals have occurred but the whole debate is always Congress vs BJP. I like mindless blame game on the television while a debate. The ministers who often do not have knowledge of what they are talking about quarrel like street dogs. They bark on each other and perhaps if given a choice will bite each other as well. The snow-ball of allegations are thrown and re-thrown. We as common man think that how stupid they are? But the reality is that they are the sharpest and the canniest. They bypass the real issue of corruption and play amongst each-other, which public think as a fight but in reality, it is scripted. As scripted as a movie dialogue ‘KITANE AADMI THE?’ It is predefined to them that on the point when they will stuck, they will talk about useless things. The whole serious discussion on coal, 2G, commonwealth, irrigation, colonies, helicopters and everything vanishes between two useless and gross questions-   ‘TUM LOGO NE KYA KIYA THA, JAB TUMHARI SARKAR THI’ and ‘TUMHARI SARKAR KYA KAR RAHI HAI?’ It is so scripted that a common man enjoys the words- fight and likes the moderator of the debate as well. But in the course of enjoyment and entertainment the serious issues are gulped with a cup of coffee they get from the news channels. ‘AND THEY DON’T EVEN BURP.’ When they get over with the show, the quarrel ends as if never was there. They talk sweetly to each other and shake hand…and even hug each other and thank each other for savings their ass. The harmony between them after the show can be compared to that of between Lord Rama and Bharat. Where the hell the hot steam and temper goes, don’t forget that they are same people who have committed crime against the public of India…but who cares?  Because at the end of the day ‘CHOR-CHOR MAUSERE BHAI’.The steamed issues like above are solved in closed room discussions. Nobody knows that what kind of dealings are done inside those rooms. How many Crores have been spent by the government to keep their allies with them and to make opposition quit any particular issue. Nobody knows that for which minister a 5 star hotel has been booked and has been provided with the services of high class prostitute.We as common men keep wondering about how rich we will become when the black money sent overseas will come back, electricity bills, gas cylinders, petrol, diesel, vegetables and the things which affect us.  Oh! I forgot that I too have to pay the electricity bill today, otherwise late fee will be charged.     क्यों करे चिल्लम-चिल्ली
क्यों करे हम शोर।
आ गले मिल जाए बंधू
मैं भी चोर तू भी चोर।
कहानी बना ले धासु कोई
ब।हर मिडिया है घनघोर।
आपस में लड़ कर क्या फायदा
मैं पतंग तू डोर।
आ गले मिल जाए बंधू
मैं भी चोर तू भी चोर।।
      

...More Rape...feel free

Ever since human has kept records of his acts and culture, women have been considered as a luxury item or a property. The powerful men, over the years, have used women to satisfy their darkest desires and fantasies. They were considered as status symbol as well. Hence, the powerful men must acquire all the beautiful women.  
In older days when men were considered uncivilized, they used to attack other weaker tribes to get slaves. Most of them used to be women. These women were enslaved to fulfill physical needs and for domestic works.
In Indian epic book like ‘Ramayana’, Sita (wife of Lord Rama) was abducted by Ravana. This abduction, not only reflected Ravana’s lust for Sita but also it was a token of disgrace to Rama. Lord Rama in reply killed Ravana and liberated Sita. But after the epic Rama-Ravana war, follows a purity test of Sita to make sure that she has not been tampered. The victim was harassed, insulted and humiliated. And that was because she was more like a property than a living woman.
Another Indian epic ‘The Mahabharata’ includes an episode where ‘Draupadi’ (wife of Pandavas) was treated as a property more than a woman.  She was kept on stakes in a gamble. Tortured and humiliated by her relatives, she pleaded for help but nobody listened to her, instead they tried to fiddle her morality.    
Here we are, now after hundreds of years, we are more civilized, more liberal and understanding. We have accepted the opposite gender as our better half. Women are contributing in all parts of society. The last president of India was a woman and Congress is being led by one of the most powerful women in Indian history. Gone are the days when we used to count women who have done well in their lives. Now, women have taken themselves out from the confines of counting and every woman is an achiever.
But, that’s only one side of the coin. Turn on the television and all you would find the reports and coverage stories of rape and domestic violence with women. Staring from 5 years old to 60 years old, every female seems in danger. You get one incident of rape and then similar reports are flooded on the news channels. How often have you wondered whether it is really happening or its all TRP game?  
I also wonder whether any time-machine has been invented somewhere, though which ancient brutal men are entering the civilized world, who can compel cruelty to its superlative degree.  In a recent incident, a five years old girl was not only raped but was almost murdered after it. Her private parts were injured by things like candles and bottles. How gross is that?   
After 16 December last year, people thought that government and specially police will be more sensitive and proactive towards such cases, but a tight slap on the face of a girl protester shows the sensitivity of Delhi police. The person was not a constable or less literate, he was the ACP. He was suspended and now police is waiting for people to get pacify as the time passes, so that, the suspended ACP can be recalled.
Celebration of ‘Navaratra’ and worshiping goddesses like Durga, Laxmi and so on, seems a drama and nothing more.  I am proud to be an Indian but such incidents are dishonorable, shameful and appalling.  

बासमती चावल का चमत्कार

 
 हमें ऐसा लगता है कि इस दुनिया के पति-पत्नी में जितनी लड़ाईयां होती हैं उनमे से ९८.५ %लड़ाइयों का कारण पडोसी होते हैं। बीवी के शिकायतों का पुलिंदा किसी न किसी चाय-सम्मलेन का फल होता है। ऐसे ही किसी सम्मलेन में किसी शुभ-हन्तक ने हमारी बीवी के कान भर दिए। जीवन में गुरूजी महाराज के शरण की सार्थकता का इस तरह महत्व समझाया कि उस दिन के बाद से सुबह और शाम प्रत्येक दिन हमे चाय के साथ ये उलाहना सुनने को मिलती कि हमारे सर पर किसी गुरूजी महाराज का साया नहीं है । इंसान की अपनी बहुत सारी सीमाए होती हैं सो हमारी भी हैं। लगातार कई महीनो से बीवी की प्रताड़ना झेलने के बाद हमने निर्णय ले लिया की बस अब तो एक गुरु महाराज को तो खोज ही निकालेंगे जो हमारी अनगिनत समस्याओं का समाधान निकाल सके। फैसला तो हो चूका था मगर आजकल एक योग्य गुरु की खोज किसी योग्य वर की खोज से भी अधिक कठिन और दुर्गम है । बात की गंभीरता को समझते हुए हमने आज के देवता गूगल की शरण में जाने का मन बनाया . बस फिर क्या था कुछ ही पलों में हमे एक सुयोग्य गुरूजी के विषय में ज्ञान हुआ । उनके वेबसाइट पर उनकी इतनी महिमा का गुणगान किया गया था जिससे एक बार तो विष्णु को भी इर्ष्या हो जाये । उनके नाम से ही आलौलिकता झलक रही थी ‘श्री श्री श्री लुप्तज्ञान कपटप्रिय किर्तिखंडक महाराज ’ । हमारे सौभाग्य से महाराज का एक अधिवेशन हमारे ही नगर में होने वाला था । अपनी स्फूर्ति का परिचय देते हुए हम अविलंभ आजोयक के पास पहुँच गए । वहां पहुँच के तो हमने दाँतों तले उँगलियाँ दबा ली । पास पाने के लिए इतनी प्रतिस्पर्धा जैसे ये पास नहीं इलेक्शन लड़ने का टिकेट हो । हम चुपचाप आयोजक के पास पहुच गए और उनको नमन करके उनके जवाब आने का इंतज़ार करने लगे जो की उसी तरह पूरा नहीं हो पाया जैसे प्रणब दादा का प्रधानमंत्री बनाना का सपना । खैर हमने ही वार्तालाप शुरू किया।
“महोदय, क्या हमे पहचाना?” उसने हमे ऊपर से नीचे तक घूरा और शंकित स्वर में बोला, “अरे हमने पहले ही ग्यारह पेटी पंहुचा दिया है आपकी पार्टी को ।”
“हम कोई पेटी वाले नहीं है…हम तो यहाँ पास लेने आए है ।” हमे ये बात बहुत अखरी की वो हमे कोई पेटी -संदूक वाला समझ रहा था…बताइए भला?
“अरे तो यहाँ क्या कर रहे है वहां लाइन में जाकर खड़े हो जाइए और ३००१ रूपए जमा करा दीजिये ।” उसकी बात सुनकर ऐसा लगा कि टमाटर के दाम फिर बढ़ गए हो ।
“श्रीमान वहां तो शाम हो जाएगी …आप कुछ देखिये ।” हमने हाथ जोड़कर विनम्र निवेदन किया । वो बड़े ही लापरवाह अंदाज़ में बोला “५००१ रूपए लगेंगे ।” अचानक ही लगा की हमे हृदयाघात आते आते रह गया । हमने ज़रा डर-डर के पूछ ही लिया कि भला २००० ज्यादा क्यों? वो मुस्करा कर बोला , “सर्विस टैक्स ।”
“क्या लेखकों के लिए कोई डिस्काउंट नहीं है ?” उसने कोई जवाब नहीं दिया मगर इस तरह घूरने लगा मानो हमने उसे पेट्रोल की कीमत ३५ रूपए प्रति लीटर बता दी हो । हम चुपचाप जाकर लाइन में खड़े हो जाये । शाम तक जदोजेहद करने के बाद किसी तरह पास का इंतजाम किया । घर पहुँच कर बीवी को बताने का धीरज न था सो फ़ोन करके बता दिया । जब घर पंहुचा तो देखता हूँ श्रीमतीजी दरवाजे पर खड़े होकर हमारा रास्ता देख रही है …मन ही मन लगा कि गुरु का आशीर्वाद पास लेते ही मिलाने लगा है । उस दिन शाम को बीवी ने खाना इतना स्वादिस्ट बनाया कि एक बार तो शक ही हो गया कि कही कोई बावर्ची तो नहीं रख लिया । रात में सोते समय भी हमने पास तकिये के नीचे ही रखा …ये सोचकर कि शायद यहाँ भी कुछ शुभ हो जाए ।
सुबह हम दोनों तैयार हो कर सम्मलेन में गए । वह श्रद्धालु गन अपने अपने समस्याओ का समाधान जानने को उत्सुक थे । आख़िरकार ३ घंटे के इंतज़ार के बाद हमारा नंबर आया … सवाल पूछने का बीड़ा हमारी श्रीमतीजी ने उठाया ।
“महाराज मेरे पति लेखक है मगर आज तक इनका एक ही उपन्यास छप पाया है । कुछ ऐसा उपाए बताए कि घर में धन -धान्य की वर्षा हो जाए?”
“बासमती चावल खाया था?”
“जी महाराज, पिछली बार पड़ोस के वेर्माजी के बेटे की शादी में खाया था ।”
“अपने पैसे का कब खाया था?”
“महाराज, याद नहीं आ रहा।”
“अब से रोज़ बढ़िया बासमती चावल खाओ कल्याण होगा।”
मेरा मनन हर्षित हो गया । न कोई यज्ञ , न पूजा -पाठ …मेरा भी मनन एक सवाल पूछने को मचल पड़ा ।
“महाराज, मेरा भी एक सवाल है ।”
“नहीं बालक तुम्हारा तो एक सवाल हो गया है … बाकी भक्त भी इंतज़ार कर रहे है ।” गुरूजी मुस्करा कर बोले । हमे पहली बार एहसास हुआ की ममता दीदी को कैसा लगा होगा जब कलम साहिब ने राष्ट्रपति चुनाव लड़ने से मना कर दिया।
उस सम्मलेन को ६ महीने गुज़र चुके है और तीनो पहर बासमती चावल खाते-खाते बैंक अकाउंट खाली और पेट गैस से भर गया है .इधर सुनने में आया है की हमारे परम पूज्य गुरूजी को भी कारावास की सजा हो गयी है । अब पाठको से ही अनुरोध है की कोई रास्ता सुझाए … ।
 

पाकिस्तान ना रहा तो?सुबह उठाकर समाचार देखा तो दिल बैठ गया...

पाकिस्तान ना रहा तो?


सुबह उठाकर समाचार देखा तो दिल बैठ गया, पाकिस्तान का कोई प्रधानमन्त्री नहीं था । दुःख के मारे मेरे हाथ - पैर फूल गए । बड़ी मुस्किल से चाय की फरमाइश की और जीवन में पहली बार बिना शिकायत के पूरी चाय गटक गया । पता नहीं इतना गम मेरे मन को क्यों घेरे था ...ऐसा लग रहा था मानो मेरा फेसबुक अकाउंट सील हो गया हो । खोये खोये मन से दफ्तर के लिए तैयार हुआ और पहली बार बिना भाग्यवान के चुम्बन के अपने रास्ते हो लिया । पूरे रास्ते के दौरान यही सोचता रहा की अब पाकिस्तान का क्या होगा?भले ही पाकिस्तान ने कई बार हमपर चढ़ाई की हो, भले ही वो वहां से आतंकवाद को बढ़ावा दे रहा हो, भले ही वो दुसरे देशों से मिलकर हमारे खिलाफ शाजिश करता रहा हो मगर है तो ये वही देश जिसे पीट पीट कर हम अपना सीना चौड़ा करके घुमते हैं । ये वही पाकिस्तान है जहाँ जब उनके ही पाले हुए आतंकवादी बम फोड़ते है तो हमे कहने का मौका मिलता है - 'बोए पेड़ बबूल के तो आम कहा से होए' । ये वही देश है जो अपने ही तथा कथित दोस्तों से जब फटकार सुनता है तो हम कहते है 'और ले लो मज़े' । जब जब हमारी गाड़ी सड़क के गड्ढो में जाती है तो हम ये सोचकर अपने आप को तसल्ली देते है कि अगर मैं पाकिस्तान में होता तो गाड़ी गड्ढे से निकलती ही नहीं । जब जब चावल में कंकड़ पड़ते है तो मन कहता है पाकिस्तान में होता तो ऐसे कंकड़ नहीं चावल मुंह में पड़ रहे होते । जब जब भ्रष्ट अधिकारी रिश्वत खाने की बात करता है तो हमे लगता है की अगर ये अधिकारी पाकिस्तानी होता तो पैसे मांगता नहीं बल्कि छीन लेता । खैर इसी तरह सोचते सोचते आफिस पहुँच गया और वहां भी यही मुद्दा छाया हुआ था । वर्माजी मेरे पास दौड़े दौड़े आये और कहने लगे, "कुछ सुना, पाकिस्तान प्रधानमन्त्री विहीन हो गया है ...अब क्या होगा कहीं सेना तो अपने हाथ में सत्ता नहीं आ जाएगी?" हमने उन्हें आश्चर्य से देखा...वो तो हमसे ऐसे पूछ रहे थे जैसे ज़रदारी हमारे ससुर हो और घर की बात है तो हमें तो पता ही होगा। देखते ही देखते वहां लोगों की भीड़ जमा हो गई। हमने चारो ओर खड़े लोगो को देखा और कहा, " अरे आप यहाँ के राष्ट्रपति की चिंता करिए ना, कहाँ पाकिस्तान के मुद्दे में अपनी टांग अड़ा रहे हैं । सभी लोग ऐसे निराश हो गए जैसे सिक्स्थ पे कमीशन रद्द कर दी गई हो। हम अपने केबिन में गए और वहां की टीवी ऑन करके समाचार देखने लगे । पाकिस्तान के हालिया हालत पर पूरी रिपोर्ट आ रही थी । कुछ देर बाद ध्यान गया तो हमारे आफिस का चपरासी मुकेश हमारी चाय में चीनी मिला रहा था...मिलाता ही जा रहा था...मिलाता ही जा रहा था। हमने कहा अरे घनचक्कर कितनी चीनी मिलाएगा? 'सॉरी सर ' बोलकर चला गया । जब हमने चाए की चुस्की ली तो मेरे बदन का सुगर ८ गुना बढ़ गया...लगा की ये एक कप चाए में तो इतनी चीनी है जितना पूरे पाकिस्तान में पूरे महीने चलती होगी ।

पाकिस्तान को तो प्रधानमंत्री मिल ही जाएगा मगर जाने कब हम पाकिस्तान के बारे में सोचना बंद करेंगे? समझ नहीं आता की क्यों हम अपनी तुलना उस छोटे से देश से करते रहते है ? क्यों उनके देश में जो भी हो रहा है उसपर इतनी पैनी नज़र होती है? क्यों उस देश में हो रही छोटी घटना भी हमारे देश में न्यूज़ चैनल पर आ जाती है ?क्या ये दुश्मनी है या आज भी हम पाकिस्तान से खुद को अलग नहीं कर पाए हैं ?

खोया हुआ बचपन

कल जब मेंदफ़्तर से घरलौट रहा थातो कुछ स्कूलीबच्चो को देखअपना बचपन यादआ गया...यादआया वो दोस्तोमे गप्पे हांकनाकि मेरे घरमे क्या-क्याहै और मैनेइस वीकेंड परक्या धमाकेदार किया? मेरा मन बचपनकी यादे संजोएघर पहुच गयाऔर देर तकबचपन की यादोमे खोया रहा ι आज फिरसे में उसीरास्ते से घरआ रहा थामगर आज वोस्कूली बच्चे कही नाथे ι इधर -उधरनज़रे दौड़ाई तोकुछ बच्चे दिखाईदिए, वो पासही कचरे केढेर से कुछचुन रहे थेι यहाँ वहाँ बगलेझाकते हुए घरपहुच गया ι जबफ्रेश होकर कुर्सीपर बैठा तोअचानक ही लगाकि उन कचराउठाते बच्चो कोदेख मुझे बचपनयाद क्यो नहीआया ? क्या वोबच्चे नही है? आख़िर क्यों उन्हेदेख कर मेंबगले झाकने परमजबूर हो गया? अपनी ही लिखीहुई कविता केअंश याद आगये - 'कचरे कीप्लास्टिक की थैलियोंमे वो एकसपना तलाशता है,नफ़रत से घूरतीउन निगाहों मेभी कोई अपनातलाशता है'ι अचानकही लगा कीमेरी सहानुभूति बसउन शब्दों मेसिमटकर रह गयीहै ι फिर लगासिर्फ़ मैं हीक्यों हम सभीकिसी ना किसीरूप मे इनबच्चों के अस्तित्वसे जो प्रश्नउठ रहा हैउससे बच निकलनाचाहते हैं ι हमअपनी जेलों मेकसाब जैसे आतंकवादीको पालकर तोउनके उपर करोड़ोरुपए खर्च करसकते है, जाँचसमिति के नामपर लाखों रुपएबर्बाद कर सकतेहै, चूहो केबहाने हज़ारो टनअनाज की चोरीतो कर सकतेहै मगर ऐसेबच्चो को स्नेहकी चादर तोक्या आँसू पोच्छनेके लिए रुमालतक नही देसकतेι हमारे देशमे बड़े बड़ेमुद्दे आते हैऔर चले जातेहैι आजकल सबसेबड़ा मुद्दा येहै की राष्ट्रपतिकौन बनेगा? मैंपूछता हूँ कीक्या फ़र्क पड़ताहै ? प्रणब मुखर्जीबने या संगमा...इस देश मेराष्ट्रपति की कितनीभूमिका है येसब जानते हैι शाहरुख ख़ान यासलमान ख़ान अगरकही ओछि हरकतकरते है याहाथापाई करते हैतो वो ब्रेकिंगन्यूज़ बन जातीहै मगर कितनेग़रीब , लावारिस और अनाथबच्चे गर्मी कीलू मे याठंड की शीतलहरमे अपनी जानगवाँ देते हैकिसी को पताभी नही चलता? गाहे -बगाहे अगर इसमुद्दे पर कोईरिपोर्ट बन भीजाती है याकुछ छप भीजाता है तोना तो उसकोकोई देखता हैऔर ना हीकोई पढ़ता हैι क्या सचमुच हमइतने निष्ठूर होचुके है?एकतरफ तो लाखोंटन आनाज़ बर्बादहोने पर भीदेश का प्रधानमंत्रीकहता है किहम किसी कोआनाज़ मुफ़्त मेनही दे सकतेऔर दूसरी तरफहर महीने 2000 बच्चेभूख का शिकारहो अपना दमतोड़ देते हैι आख़िर किस रास्तेजा रहे हैहम? इस देशके ऐसे लोगजो एक दिनमे करोड़ो रुपएकमाते है क्याकुछ सौ बच्चोको भी पालनेका दम नहीरखते? क्या हमइतने क्रूर होगये है किहज़ारो रुपए कीपार्टियाँ तो करसकते हैं मगरहमारे सामने भूखसे बिलखते बच्चेको दो रोटीनहीं दे सकते? क्या हमारी सरकार इतनीसंवेदनाहिन हो गईहै कि करोड़ोरुपए के कॉमनवेल्थऔर 2जी स्पेक्ट्रमघोटालो को तोनज़रअंदाज़ कर सकतीहै मगर इनबच्चो के भविष्यके लिए कुछनही कर सकती? बड़ी विडंबना हैहमारे देश कीभी...हमे येकहने मे फक्रमहसूस होता हैकि हिन्दुस्तान सबकोअपना लेता हैचाहे वो अपनाहो या परायामगर अपने हीदेश के मजबूरबच्चो को आजतक हम अपनानही पाए हैι जो क़ानून केठेकेदार बाल-मज़दूरीदंडनीय है औरशिक्षा सबका मौलिकअधिकार है जैसेस्लोगन निकालकर उसे अपनीरिपोर्ट कार्ड पर उपलब्धिके रूप मेदिखाते है उन्हीके घरों मेछोटे बच्चे बर्तनसॉफ करते हैι आज ज़रूरत हैहमारे एकजूट प्रयासकी । ज़रूरतहै कि हमऐसे बच्चो कोनफरत की दृष्टीसे नहीं बल्किस्नेह की दृष्टीसे देखे औरअपने देश कीसरकार को कुछठोस कदम उठानेके लिए प्रेरितकरें ι अगर मीडियाऔर हम मिलजुलकर प्रयास करेंतो ये संभवहै की ऐसाएक भी बच्चासड़क पर कचराउठाते हुए नदिखे ι


कुछ और नसही मगर हमएक तो कदमउठाए, कृषि प्रधानइस देश मेंकोई बच्चा भूखसे तो नमर जाए ι