"Aisi Hogi Hamaari Mulaakat"

ऐसी होगी हमारी मुलाक़ात

ऐसी होगी हमारी मुलाक़ात
जब चाँद बिखरेगा चाँदनी,
होगी निशा बावली,
फूलो से खिलेंगे सपने,
और होगी बरसात!
मिलेंगे ख़ुद से हम तुम,
ऐसी होगी हमारी मुलाक़ात!

हवा रोक रफ़्तार,
जब साथ लाइएगी महक सावली!
मिलेंगे रूह जब अपने अंजाम से,
और आखों से होगी बात!
मिलेंगे ख़ुद से हम तुम,
ऐसी होगी हमारी मुलाक़ात!

खामोशी छाएगी फिजा में,
और आसमा में होंगे तारे बेशुमार!
जब रुक जाएंगे काटें घड़ी के,
और ना बीतेगी रात!
मिलेंगे ख़ुद से हम तुम,
ऐसी होगी हमारी मुलाक़ात!
- मुकुल प्रियदर्शी

Right to safety be my fundamental right

I wrote an article titled “Safety first” in the month of October’2008 hoping terrorism mayhem to stop in India. I had also listed down some actions items for government and security establishments to follow to eliminate terrorists’ attacks on Indian Territory.

Today again I write on the same topic….down and dejected…lost in my own world. Yesterday was 26th November 2008….there came 20-30 odd frustrated and lost individuals who once again brought India to a stand still…..caught it by collar…looked into its eyes and without a blink made it cry.
India is great…We are super power…We would rule the world…We as school students always boosted these lines in our friend’s company. How good were those days of child innocence? Today as a young literate individual, I, myself, question those lines.

Mumbai was not made target for first time. It has already been targeted in 1992 and 7/11 bomb blasts in local trains in 2006. Sea route was not taken for the first time, it was the route preferred in 1992 also to transport weapons. India was not targeted for the first time but in last six months Indian metros had been targeted one after another. Then again, every time we are caught off guard. Who is responsible? No one is ready to take blame. State Government is pointing finger towards central government….Centre looks in blank…Home minister is more worried about his shirt colour and freshness of his hair. Police says it has got outdated weapons that do not stand a chance against high quality weapons of terrorists. Army blames that it was called late and even NSG takes hours to bring the situation under control.

No one is ready to take the responsibility. Spineless India every time is pushed on the ground and we forget the incident after a day or two. It’s back to normal for us as well as those responsible for our security. Today as a law abiding and tax paying citizen of India I ask a simple question,” Who is responsible for my security?” If state, centre, police and defence are not ready to be accountable. I am left alone on my own for my safety. I refuse to pay the tax and demand weapon licence for myself.
All those politicians sitting in decision making positions look within yourself….what promises would you make to us in the next election when my basic requirement of safety is not meet. A common man for whose rights you boost to be fighting, demands right to safety to be included in my fundamental rights. Officials approving fake passports, ration cards and other documents for terrorists, if proved, to be booked under terrorism law.
and for India....it needs to shed the burden of being a soft nation and soft target. Indian needs to shed their dishonesty and selfishness. We allow these Pakistanis and Bangladeshis to come into our country, get ration cards and other proofs etc by money, become a resident and burden on our country and finally strike at ourselves at the first opportunity. Lets take pledge together not to felicitate their entry and stay in our country even if they pay large some of money. It is better to die of poverty than being killed on road by some crazy b****** of neighbouring nations.

IT's life: Chapter 2

Railway station was empty with some passengers waiting for the early morning trains and beggars and late arrives sleeping on the platform by the side of station walls. Shops were closed and water sprinkled profusely through the public tap. Dim yellowish light of bulbs lead Mehir’s way to the main exit of railway station. He walked down the stairs but there was not a single taxi or auto in front of the entrance but where was Mehir going...errr…hmm…even he had no idea. He kept walking and passed through the boundary walls of railway station that were filled with the posters of latest bollywood movies playing in Varanasi’s theatres, famous coaching institutes and neem hakeems advertising their skills to cure any sexual disease. These walls were also used as a shield and were effectively turned into a urinal. The smell all around pushed Mehir to take some fast steps and he reached the connecting road with no vehicle in site. There were some autos and taxis lying in the parking area but drivers were fast asleep. Mehir preferred not to wake them. At the left corner of station connecting with main road, there were two roads spurting towards left and right. ‘Which one is mine?’ wondered Mehir. He was about to take right when a voice echoed,’ Are bhaiya!!! Kidhar jaat ho raat me akele? Sunsaan sarak baa…koi chor lutera sab samaan paisa cheen li’ (Hey Brother! Where are you going alone? Roads are empty. Some thief will snatch away all your goods and money).

‘I have got nothing valuable in my bag and have very less money in wallet as well’ replied Mehir.

‘Is there something more valuable than your life? Don’t be adamant…come here…have tea. I will arrange a rickshaw for you’ said the man standing behind the small tea stall, which was filled with the smoke of initial coal/charcoal burning.
Mehir had tea and it was better that any of those that he had at better places and hotels. Stall owner asked his helper, a small boy covered from leg to head with a thatched bed sheet knotted around his neck, to run and bring Ramlal along with his rickshaw. It was winter season and cold in northern part of India is unbearable during this phase. But so is the resilience of its people. Many of the poor spend this phase covering their bodies with whatever they could lay their hand on. Long cloths like bed sheets and shawls are wrapped around children of the family to ward off the chilly streak of cold. Helper returned with Ramlal in his rickshaw. Mehir had waited in the small tea stall wondering what he was doing and about his destination from here. Meanwhile the stall owner kept on informing him about the importance of Varanasi in Hindu mythology and palaces to visit in and around Varanasi. Mehir paid for the tea and sat in rickshaw.

“Where could I take you Saab?” asked Ramlal.

“Hmmm…don’t know! Take me anywhere where there is peace. A place that could help me forgot my past, worries of present and that there is something called future” replied Mehir.

“Are saab…I don’t understand what you mean. There is sankatmochan temple, BHU temple and Baba Vishwanath Temple. Where do you want to go?” wondered Ramlal and started peddling his rickshaw.

Mehir wondered where on earth he wanted to go…thought of temples mentioned by Ramlal and said,” which one is the most peaceful? I mean...the least populated. Any place that would be empty where I could be with myself…concentrate and mediate. I want to be alone for a while”

Ramlal turned back, looked at him and said, “what babuji? Is a temple peaceful in India? There would be long queues outside each of these temples. People visit from all parts of India and they make queues from the early morning and temples to remain empty…out of imagination. He paused and continued,”Today only hearts are empty, not any place of worship. We all have turned into a monster waiting to strike and more bad we do, more we visit places of worship….maybe to wash away all the sins.”

Mehir was startled by the serious and meaningful talk of a rickshaw puller. He added,’”I don’t want to go to any of these places. Take me somewhere else.”

Ramlal stopped the rickshaw and said,”There is only one place which can make you meet you soul. It is a place where souls separate from bodies of dead but living meet their soul….Ganga Ghat (Bank of river Ganges). I would take you there” and stirred the rickshaw through the labyrinth of narrow lanes leading towards the bank of river Ganges.

Mehir left Ramlal at the end of the road towards river Ganges and walked alone towards the river. It was early morning and deep red sun was rising from east side of the river. It seemed as Sun was coming out of the river, very slowly rising up in the sky in the far away horizon. Sun looked relaxed, fresh and its rays were low in intensity unlike the daytime. Motion of the Sun slowly from the river gave an impression of someone coming out from the river after bath.
People had already started descending to the river for holy bath. Mehir watched the strength of unabated faith when people plunged themselves into the cold and dirty water at the height of winter season without any remorse. The glow on their face after the bath, all because of their unquestionable faith that all their past sins were washed away by the streams of Ganges, was surprising. Mehir had never been so radiant even after bath in the crystal clear hot water from geyser and layers of creams over his face. He wondered,” Bhakti ki Shakti(Strength of Prayer).”

Far away on the other side of river, small chunk of woods were burning at some distance from each other. Mehir went to a boat and asked its owner,” What’s that brother?”

Boatman replied,” Saab…that’s a shamshaan and those are burning pyres of dead. Mehir had never been to a samsaan but today, he being running away from his own life, it was the best place to be. It is a place where we all summaries our life. He requested the boatman to take him to the other side.
Mehir went and sat on the small temple in the shamshaan. Watching dead bodies being burnt, relatives crying first and being back to normal just after some minutes amused him. We human fight all through their life for money, position, name, fame and lust, to be burnt someday into ashes which leave nothing of you in this world. We are born out of atoms to be ended in atoms. That’s the circle of life.
Lost in his own thoughts, Mehir little did realize that the priest had arrived in the temple. He cleaned the temple, bathed the statue, offered flowers and prayed. All though this, he observed Mehir sitting on the stairs staring towards the flow of Ganges. He completed his prayer and came towards Mehir saying,”Son...have some prasad. Don’t worry. Everything will be ok. Have you lost someone close? I have observed you sitting here for a long time all alone”

Mehir was snatched back from the embrace of thoughts by this little intervention of priest. He smiled and took the prasad. “No…I didn’t lose anyone today. I have lost myself. It didn’t happen in a single day but was stretched across years.” Mehir paused for a while and then continued,” Running in the race of life…..running for money, appreciation and fame…somewhere in the process I lost myself. I lost the ground to capture sky which I could never reach. I lost everything to find something that would never be mine.”

Priest didn’t look amused. He had seen people wondering over their life’s earning and learning but this sort of feeling is always momentarily. When you sitting in a shamshaan with pyres burning all around. It is nothing but natural to have extreme stream of emotions running through your blood. Priest took Mehir around the temple, offering water and murmuring the slokas of gita to calm him down.
Mehir sat with his back on one of the pillars of the temple. Priest was still sitting along with him. There was no one in the temple. Wind coming through the direction of Ganges’ flow had cooled down the surrounding. Sun had risen through the horizon and it had transformed dark foggy dawn into a wonderful clear day. Priest looking at Mehir wondered,” You seem to belong to a well to do family, learned and intelligent. What has made you so sad? Why are you wondering about life and death when you have a long life to live? Go back to your home….you will forget everything in some days. Everything will be back to normal”

Mehir looked into the eyes of priest and asked,” Why didn’t you go back to your home”
Priest was socked by this question. He looked away, collected himself and replied,” I am a Sanyasi. I have no family. I am away from all Moahs and Mayas.”

Mehir’s question caught the priest off guard. He tried to divert the attention of Mehir and asked,” Why are you so sad? Let it flow out of you. This is God’s home. You learned people may not believe in God but it is the only reason for my existence. If you could believe me even for a second, bring the past out and throw it into the Ganges. Ganges will take it alongside. Let the bygones be bygones. Destroy the past. Start afresh. Make a new beginning.” pushed the priest.

Mehir shook his head in negative but didn’t reply. Puzzled priest took his arm around Mehir. Mehir felt the warmth of his father around him. It was always easy to curl up in father’s arm after every mischief hoping to avoid mother’s warth. He would first correct the mistakes of Mehir and then would take him for a walk telling him the stories of great people and their life. He had never scold Mehir but his words of wisdom would always make Mehir accept his mistakes with a promise to never repeat it. Mehir started crying with his head over priest’s shoulder.

Priest asked slowly,” What happened, Son? Who are you?

Mehir relaxed himself by the pillar and replied,” I am an IT professional working for one of the most reputed organisations of India. My life has been on run and in the process I kept losing small parts of me that when I gather today seem to be a larger section of myself. I have lost my values which my father imbedded in me. I have lost strength to face someone because I could not cover for my faults. I have money, home and cars etc. but I am alone. I don’t remember when I last visited my sister’s home. I don’t remember when I called my mother on my own. My brother is working but what does he do. I have got no idea. I write code with no bugs. Customers appreciate my work. I have won many awards and accolades but not any heart. A small life for me seems to be too long to live now.
Today after many years, God snatches me back and plays the past to make me realise how much have I lost and whom have I alienated and hurt. IT’s life. It’s my life”

Priest added,” What is your story and whom did you hurt?”
..........can be continued

Todo Bhaarat!!!

धरतीपुत्र की लल्कार लगाओ,

जलते देश की आग भरकाओ!

टूटे देश को जोड़ा था लौपुरुष ने,

तोड़ उसे फिर एक बार, ख़ुद की नज़र से नज़र तो मिलाओ!

कश्मीर की कहानी सुनी,

असम की है अपनी परेशानी!

तमिल श्रीलंका रोते हैं,

हम पंजाब को भी कभी खोते हैं!

भुत छोर वर्तमान में आओ,

उत्तर प्रदेश बिहार से घबराओ!

बंगाल में ना कोई काड़खाना लगाओ,

महाराष्ट्र में घुसने की ना हिम्मत जुटाओ!

यह है भारत सपनो का,

इतिहास और आज से हारे,

भविष्य को खड़ा खड़ा निहाड़े!

छोड़ दो उम्मीद, तोड़ दो सपने,

गैर बन बैठे हैं अपने!

बांधो मुट्ठी, हाथ फैलाओ,

धरतीपुत्र की लल्कार लगाओ,

जलते देश की आग भरकाओ!!!

- मुकुल प्रियदर्शी

Dedicated to all the short sighted politicians who are on the verge of dividing India for their vote bank politics and media hyped personality.

IT's life: Chapter 1

It was a dusky night with moon at its full glow. Silence of wide spread fields were cut across by the roaring thunder of fast moving Purva Express connecting Delhi with Kolkata. It was passing through UP and was scheduled to reach Patna next morning and Kolkata in the evening. Mehir, suffering from bad throat, had a tough day in office and he somehow caught this train at the last moment in Delhi. He had to reach Kolkata on weekend to meet his family and the girl whom they had finalised to be his would be bride. Tired and exhausted, Mehir fell on his berth and went into deep sleep.
His sleep was cut short in midnight by the crying of a child on front berth. A lady was trying to console him but the little monster was in no mood to sleep. Mehir tried hard to go back to sleep, blocked his ear with pillow and has his quota of Gaalis exhausted for the child but the child continued.

‘Why don’t you give him something to eat? Maybe he is hungry’ Mehir said to the lady in an irritated tone.

Lady took the child closer to her heart and put her duppata over it. Mehir presumed that she had started breast feeding. It was dark in the compartment but the uneasiness of the lady could have easily been felt. She kept arranging her duppata…bringing it to left, right, up and down. The jingles of her bangles kept coming intermittently. Child enjoyed the drink and the compartment was back to silence with only deafening sounds of rails playing the background score.

‘I am sorry if I was rude to you. I had a bad day in office and was in deep sleep till your baby cried’ said he in a slow and smooth voice.
Lady replied, ’It’s ok. It was my mistake that I forgot his milk bottle. I am sorry if his cries disturbed you’
Mehir replied in negative and was about to turn on the light but left it off given the uneasiness of the lady while feeding her child.
He questioned, ‘Are you alone? Don’t you have someone along with you?’
Lady took a sharp turn towards him and said in a stern voice,’ why are you worried? I am sorry if my child disturbed you. Now please don’t try to show sympathy. Go back to sleep. I don’t need anyone’s mercy.’
Mehir was hurt and decided to go back to sleep but there was something in her voice that was unusual and attracted Mihir’s attention. He decided to continue the conversation.
‘Please don’t take it otherwise. I was just inquiring. It’s quite unusual to find a lady travelling on her own in a sleeper class that too in a train that passes through the patches of UP and Bihar’ tried to assuage Mehir.

‘It is ok. It’s just that I get irritated whenever someone tries to invade my privacy. No one is interested in giving a helping hand. All they want is a topic to discuss which will help them pass their time in train…akeli ladki….ek bache saath….bacha hai jo rota hi jaa raha hai…all these craps’ replied she and put the child on the berth who had slept and again arranged her dupatta to make her comfortable.

‘You are a genius….have understood human dynamics well’ said Mehir and had a healthy laugh.

‘No Sir…you are wrong. I am very bad in understanding people’ said she and took a long pause and added’ or else how could had I misunderstood the intentions of a man who was most important person in my life’ after taking a heavy breath.

He kept quite. He had a look on watch and its radium glowed arms showed it was 3:00AM. Train was nearing Mugalsarai station. He assumed.

She continued,’ Life is tough and tougher is having faith on someone else who is not your family or relative. But it is hurtful when the same person leaves you shattered, all because he could not stand on his own against his family wishes.’

He started understanding her story. His heart was pounding on his ribs. There she was…traumatized….all alone with a child and the most he could offer was an audience. He continued to suffer in silence of his agony.

‘Are we dead? Have we lost all our compassion? How can a man leave someone who he said was his life? He said he could not go against his family’s wishes. Today I stand against whole society…being a single Mother. I took it as a challenge to show him that it’s not family but you. We always hide our weaknesses under the layers of family and society’ said she and anger was evident. His heart was racing and had this conversation continued, he would have fainted.

Train reached Mugalsarai station. Mehir was numb, so was she, staring at the child who was fast asleep. He took the window up and light from railway station pierced into the compartment. Mehir took a quick glance at her face and quickly closed the window.

‘What happened? Why did you close the window so quickly’ she asked, looking up to him, maybe trying to imagine his face in the darkness.

Mehir replied,’ No. nothing…it would have disturbed the child.’

Train left Mugalsarai station and the lady lied down on her berth, moving the child closed to her body.
It was 3:30 AM. He thought,’ two more hours and it would be day.’ Mehir was sitting on his berth, staring at the darkness of room.

Train reached Varanasi. Lady was in her sleep.

‘Sir, ticket please’ said the TT manning the exit of Varanasi railway station.

Mehir handed over his ticket to him. He checked it and said,’ your ticket is up to Kolkata. Why are you terminating your journey in Varanasi?’

Mehir took his ticket back, moved slowly and replied,’ my past reappeared and blocked my destination’
.........can be continued!!!

Safety First!!

Delhi-Varanasi-Mumbai-Hyderabad-Ahmedabad-Jaipur-Bangalore-Delhi!!!! This is not anyone’ orkut profile mentioning their location. This is the terror map of India depicting all the targets of terrorist for last one year (Phew…..add Malegaon and Gujrat in the list as they were targeted while I write this piece). What is happening around us? I have no answer. Do you have?

Newspapers and News channels are all blaming home minister of India, Intelligence Bureau and local police. Neither this blame game have stopped nor the attacks. How far will it go? How many more lives will it take? Who are responsible?

As I sit and think of ways to curb this menace. A lot of idea flow through my little mind and I put some here to share with you:
It’s not the time to blame anyone but plan for the future so that these attacks are not repeated.
1) Let’s start with a security week all over India. All schools, Offices and public places will be filled with messages, lectures and road shows explaining individual’s responsibilities, safety measures and related laws.
Our tough and challenging life has made us immune to our surrounding. We even don’t know our neighbours. Let’s shed our inhibition and take social responsibilities…get involved. We need to be aware about our surrounding and inform police helpline as and when we get suspicious about anything.
2) A toll free and easy to remember number of police’s terrorism cell in each of the major cities and state capitals, working 24*7.
3) A central terrorism cell (on the lines of CBI and IB) coordinating with all the terrorism cells of the major cities and state capitals with free access to information and latest weapons even of defence for specific purposes with prior permission.
4) Stringent terrorism law with special courts hearing those cases….speedy trails and execution of court’s decision.
5) Rewards for all those involved in informing police about terrorists and their plans. Rewards should be monetary as well as promotion in their rank in their professional life.

Even if we implement all these suggestions, the implication will only be short term. These attacks were not carried out by any external agencies. All these so called terrorists are Indians who are not happy…who don’t believe in Indian secularism. A long term plan needs to be planned for these brothers of ours who have moved away from mainstream and started believing in death and destruction. Onus is on us now to make every Indian believe India is of all of us. All religion, caste and creed are equal and have equal rights. We need a national leader who could unite all of India and lead us on the right direction.
For me I only want to do my job as an Indian and leave behind a better and safer India for generations to come. Aameen!!!

Indian IT: Bull’s leg shaking after the run

“This is all to do with big and rich people. We never get affected by major financial policy decisions and fluctuations in share markets” said my grandfather and would repeat it time and again whenever I would curiously ask about any financial news while we watched news together.
That was the time of government jobs and what mattered the most in news was political news. That was early nineties and the benefits of opened Indian market were yet to be seen.
India has changed a lot over last couple of decades and so has the topographies of each individual’s family. Single earning joint families have transformed into each working nuclear families (at least the middle class is moving in this direction). Working not in any government department but private firms and growth of these private firms are closely (or better call it directly) related to major financial policy decisions and fluctuations in share markets, a clear contrast to what had been my grandpa’s time.
Last week’s development in financial circle shook US and aftermath was felt in India and each IT professional’s heart. Rising Dollar had already put Indian IT firms on back foot and developments of last week made the situation worse. The fall of esteemed Leman Brothers, acquisition of Merrill Lynch and problems in AIG coupled with credit crisis in US is expected to hit Indian IT firms hard. Banking and Financial services constitute on an average 40% of their business and US market dependence is also close to staggering 45% (which has reduce over a period of time due to corrective actions taken by these firms after slowdown in 2002-03).

So what is the future now? I take the positive out of this situation. It had been a bull’s run for last couple of years, uncontrolled hiring and uneven growth. Its time to sit for a while and consolidate upon whatever we have gained over a period of time. It’s an opportunity to plan for the future and fix any loop holes that could have crept in our systems and processes. Re-iterate each individual’s responsibility, slow down the hiring, create opportunities in Asian markets which has largely been left untouched by IT surge( though the margins are going to be low ). Indian firms and government departments (central and state) remain untouchable to best practices followed all over the world and IT. Indian IT firms by working with most reputed of organisations all over the world have expertise to transform Indian industries by providing consultancy as well as IT services.

If these firms could stand 2002-03 debacles, there is no point to think that they would not swim this tide also. I am a little sceptical but also optimistic and confident.
“It affects us” I said looking up to the heaven, hoping my grandpa would hear it.

Me and We

It had happened in past and occurred again recently. I watched them unfold the mystery, sitting in the comfort of my home with “It happened in India-A biography of Kishor Biyani” in my hand. Didn’t you get it??….I was watching the proceedings of Lok Sabha, the sacred sanctorum of Indian Democracy, during recently concluded “Confidence Motion” discussion brought by honorable Prime Minister Mr. Manmohan Singh. I have a habit of keeping a book or newspaper in hand while watching TV to utilize my time during ad breaks and this time I had “It happened in India”. Luckily there were not many breaks during lok sabha proceedings and I didn’t get much time to indulge in the book or else I would have been torn between the ideals and risks of a man who changed the face of Indian retail and the activities of our elected MPs who stooped to the nadir.

The pre-voting days were mysterious and every hour brought a new ‘BREAKING NEWS’. If Devegowdas, Ajit Singhs and Shibu Sorens were undecided (or better call if waiting for the best deal), ruling alliance was nervous and opposition hurried sensing its time has come. That was the follow up stage for the real battle and all those aaya rams, gaya rams and new found paltu rams made it the most awaited event of the year. First day of the session was a normal one with PM bringing in the confidence motion, leader of opposition starting the debate and others following him. I missed the old days and speakers like Atal jee, Sushma Sawaraj, Pramod Mahajan, Rajesh Pilot and many others who were not there in the lok sabha this time. Speeches lacked the spark and oratory skills but second day was different. If Chidambaram attacked left and NDA, Lalu brought in humorous freshness and Rahul Gandhi opened his heart but it was the other thing that caught the attention “Cash on the centre table”. Opposition bought cash which they said was paid to them to change their vote. The whole parliament went into its toes and speaker hurriedly asked the camera to stop the live telecast of the proceedings. TV Screen went black and I started reading the book.
Kishor Biyani, don’t you know him? He is the man behind pantaloons, Big Bazaar, Food Bazaar and Central retail chains. A small time business man who made it big only on the shoulders of determination and rare but very small business ideas. He didn’t hire big advertisement agencies and consultancy firms but observed Indian consumer‘s habits, emulated small nukhsaas that our mom and daadi had and localised each store according to the regional preferences. He gives the credit of his success to India and adeptly called his auto biography “It happened in India”

Proceedings were back on TV screen and what I was watching shocked me to the core. MPs were purchased for their votes, some voted against their own party’s whip and some ran away before the vote and abstained themselves. I asked myself,” Had it not happened in past?” Yes…it had happened. What is the reason behind it?.........hmmm…many…….maybe money……..greed……..society………no no……..it’s the lack of moral values. Leave alone MPs…it’s all of us……we have lost the moral values. It the naked race for money, money & money, even if it means losing one’s own conscience.

I gazed on those blank walls of the room and thought, “My life is the same…..living each day, I didn’t do anything substantial….maybe won’t do anything significant in future as well. But so had been many generations, so am I and so would be coming generations. We are the arm chair critic who comments on all but does nothing. I looked back on the TV screen….results were announced and Ruling Coalition had won it. I saw them celebrating while I cried for the loss of human values, though I was happy that nuclear deal will now pass through and maybe ten years from now, India would be a better place. But the loss of values is eminent. The values got eroded with time. It had been a gradual journey. Every individual have lost a part of values that he inherited from their preceding generation and it is the unlucky MPs whose loss is on display and we as individual are lucky to keep it under wrap. “Ohhh..leave these thoughts” I said and envisaged my son doing the same 30 years from now. Nothing will change but for some like Kishor Biyani. I was back to “It happened in India”.
You are welcome to comment.................

A Story of All, disclaimer: any resemblance to living or dead is pure coincidence

“Alla Hu Akbar Allahhhhhhhhhhhh” announced the mikes fitted on the pillars of the village mosque. “Its 5:30 AM” whispered Juman Miyan and left his bed, took the lotta (a steel utensil filled with water) kept under the bed and left for field. It has been the routine for Juman Miyan for last 50 years. He would wake up early and go directly towards his fields. Once he is complete with field’s inspection and has attended to nature’s call, he would reach the bridge over the river that flows by the village. The bridge is situated in the north-east corner of the village and acts like a gateway for the village. Many respected elders of the village would have reached the bridge by the time Juman arrives. Babu Kamaldev Singh would share national news that he had heard in 6:00AM bulletin on his radio. He would be chewing a long daatun (villager’s brush) in between his teeth. Others would sit surrounding him from all side. Govind Mahato would pass some comments on every news and would be continuously staring at the bank of river where many children would be playing and doing their morning chores, occasionally scolding someone who has gone deep into the river. It was a daily routine for the entire village’s elders.

“Election dates have been announced. It would be held next quarter in four phases” informed Babu Kamaldev Singh and chewed his daatun for a longer duration. It gave some time to Govind Mahato to pitch in with his comments, “kya karna?..These elections do no good to us but the politicians. Our life has always been the same” and shouted at a boy who had swam up to middle of the river.

“Naah….this time we will make sure that promises made by the politicians are fulfilled after the election” added jumman Miyaan

“ Ohhh Jumman…nothing will happen. We have repeatedly been promised roads and electricity but I think we would not be able to see good roads and electricity in our life time” said visibly sad Kamaldev Singh and other elders nodded in unison.
“Don’t lose hope Kamaldev babu. Last time MLA saab fulfilled his promise and opened a primary school in our village” said confident Jumman Miyaan.

“School with no teacher….It has two teachers who never bother to visit” added Govind Mahato.

“ acha bhailog…I am leaving. I need to go to fields” informed Kamaldev Singh and took out the daatun from his mouth and went towards the river for bath.
“Hmmm..even we would leave” echoed all the elders and meeting was off.

Jumaan Miyaan returned home after completing all his remaining morning chores along the bank of river and shouted for meal. His daughter Razia came out with water and plate full of meal. He ate and left for fields with his pair of oxen. Villagers generally have three meals a day- one before going to field, in the field and the last before going to bed. Their meals are quite heavy and their hard work justifies it.
“Hoorhhhhh………hothhhhh” Juman Miyan kept shouting and maneuvered his oxen through the labyrinth of village’s narrow passage like an expert, occasionally sharing pleasantries with others, lazily sited on the front of their house. Village was like a big family where one knew all and Juman Miyan never felt alienated even when he was following Islam in a Hindu majority village.

“ Kaaki!! I am not going to leave you this time, you will have to prepare the delicious for me this dussara” informed Juman to the mother of Babu Kamaldev Singh, who was 80 years old, on his way.

“Naah…….I will not prepare anything this time. I am too old now. I have brought daughters-in-law who are good cook. I hope they will prepare delicious food for you” said kaaki and inquired” If you are going to your fields…bring some fresh chana for me”
“ offcourse kaaki but you have more chana planatation than me. I am a small farmer compared to you son babu kamaldev singh” said Juman and laughed heartily.
“No...No…your chana are the tastiest” countered Kaaki and Juman noded and maneuvered his oxen towards his field.

Kaaki would always ask Juman to bring chana from his fields, though she had more chana plantation than him and he would always bring a bunch of fresh chana plants for Kaaki every evening. This gesture was an emotional act as Juman’s mother and Kaaki were very good friends and Kaaki looked after Juman like a mother when Juman’s mother died. It was a mother son relation, not by the birth but heart.
Juman had been living in this village since childhood. His father was posted in the local post office and though he originally belonged to Bengal, it has become his home since then. He was the only son of his father and fathered only daughter Razia before his wife died while giving birth to their second child. Memories of his wife and commitment towards his daughter Razia never allowed him to marry again. His income from his small land holding was enough for the survival of two member family. He would save some money every year for Razia’s marriage. That was the sole aim of Juman Miyan.

“Once Razia gets married, I can die peacefully” Juman had repeated this sentence many a times to fellow villagers and all would agree. In a patriarchic society like India girl child is always looked upon as a disadvantage and their marriage is one burden that bothers her father from day one.

Razia would play with other children when Juman worked in field. She would be in babu kamaldev singh’s home for the whole day, playing with babu kamaldev singh’s children. Juman would take her back while returning in the evening. Her best friend was Mehir, son of babu kamaldev singh. They would roam aimlessly around the village with other children, occasionally stealing mangoes from other’s orchid. Mehir would always keep the best mangoes for Razia and carry her on his arms when she got tired.
Days passed and Razia blossomed into a beautiful girl and Mehir joined Armed forces. They would meet occasionally whenever Mehir was on leave. Mehir would tell fascinating stories of armed forces. They were inseparable and shared all their secrets. Mehir would tell how he managed to escaped from his camp to watch movies and Razia would share her secret about her visit to Mela without Jumman’s knowledge.
That had been a tough day in field. The left boundary that separated jumman’s fields from others gave away and the all the standing water for rice plantation from neighbour’s field entered jumman’s field which he had not even been ploughed completely. He tied the pair of oxen in the mango tree planted at the corner of the field and started blocking the cracks in the banking. It took quite a long time and by the time he reached village it was dark. Jumman directly went to home but Raiza don’t reply even after repeated shouting. He tied oxen to naad( a big conical shaped earthen material made object in which cattle eat) and put some hay with water in it. Razia didn’t come back by then.

“She must be at babu Kamaldev singh’s home. Mehir has come back and she is always with him. They are still children” thought Jumman.

He washed himself and ate some morning roties that were kept near the chullaha. “Ohhh..this girl has not even prepared food today. Its limit now. I will scold her ….every time gossiping with one or the other…how long will it go” thundered Jumman and left for babu kamaldev singh’s home with bunch of chanas that he had brought for kaki.

There was something different today. It was dark and none of the homes had put laltern (light) on the terrace. It was all very silent and he found none on the road. All dark….no shouthing…..even the dogs were missing from road…..”I hope everything is alright. Has someone passed away that the village seemed to be engulfed in sorrow” thought Jumman and his hearth skipped a bit with this thought. Tense and fearful …he started taking big steps and was worried about Razia. “Where is she? Can’t she be at home...Why does she keep on roaming all over the village…..but what can she do? How can one leave all day in a lonely home?” kept thinking Jumman...he was full of worry and reached kamaldev singh’s home.
It was full dark and its doors were closed. This was the first time he found kamaldev singh’s house so deserted. “Kamaldev babu…….kamaldev babu” shouted Jumman but got no reply. “Razia….Razia”..again no reply. Jumman got worried and started patting on the door.

“Jumman…Jumman…don’t make sound and come here. Have anyone seen you coming here?” asked kaaki slowly from the side window’s small crack.

“No..No kaaki but where have all gone? I found no one on road...It’s all deserted. What has happened? Why are you inside? Where is razia?” inquired worried Jumman and wipped off sweats from his forehead and offered the bunch of chana that he has brought for her.

“wh…Jum….Jumman” said kaki and started crying inconsolably. Jumman was standing puzzled and blank.

“What happened kaki…don’t worry….let me know everything “assured Jumman.

“It’s all over Jumman. Sab khatam ho gaya……all have become devils” said kaki and signaled Jumman to stand behind the pillar so that none could see him.

“Elections were announced yesterday and today’s afternoon news bulletin announced that Jairam Pandit, leader of opposition party was killed while campaigning. This lead to rumor that it was done on the behest of other religion’s fanatics. This news spread like a wildfire and local police office was burnt and local tailor, bakery and madarsaas run by people of other religious faith were burnt and owners murdered. This lead to brawls all over between two community and Govind Mahato who was returning from his fields unaware of the development, was murdered” informed kaki and again started crying.

“Thanks kaki….You saved Razia. Please keep her with you. I will take her back when the things are back to normal” said relieved Jumman.

Kaki could not stop crying and said,” I’m sorry Jumman. Mujhe maaf kar de mere bête……….Razia came running to me in the afternoon and I kept her inside the house. Mehir and Kamaldev returned after an hour and were volatile and had death on their head. They just had been informed about Govin mahato’s killing and at once they saw Razia, he attacked her. I could not do anything Jumman. Mehir kicked out Razia once he had his revenge. Razia, shocked and betrayed, jumped into the well.”

Jumman felt vacuumed and blank. He had no remorse, no hatred and had no fear. He stepped back and walked away.

“Jumman…don’t go my child…they are searching for you. They have gone towards your field. …jumman..jumman” cried kaki.

Jumman was walking but didn’t know where to go. He was not weeping….the tears had dried down. Razia in no more…..Mehir ..Mehir did that to Razia who was like his younger sister. They were best friends. Allahh….is this you world? Images of past, of Razia playing with mehir, Kamaldev singh cajoling Razia…..were passing though his conscience. Jumman kept on walking aimlessly...praying to meet one mob which could free him of all his pain and trouble. He reached home and freed his pair of oxen. They gave Jumman a surprised look and continued eating from the naad. Jumman walked ahead and had no sense of his where about. He reached bridge and could hear the jingles of water flowing beneath.

The reflection of stars in river seemed as the stars are flowing on earth. One of those stars resembled Razia and tears started flowing. He cried inconsolably. He cried for Razia, for all who lost their life to satisfy the greed of politicians, he cried for himself, he cried for Mehir, for kaki, for Babu Kamaldev Singh and for humanity.

Two days later, an unidentified body was found on the bank of river in the nearby village. Police asked babu kamaldev singh to come for identification. Babu kamaldev singh identified the body and said, “It’s of Jumman Miyan, a co-resident of my village.”

Simultaneously, “Alla Hu Akbar Allahhhhhhhhhhhh” announced the mikes fitted on the pillars of the village mosque.

The Journey

It had not changed at all. It remained the same old red brick building with a big clock at the top and both sides flowing as far as I could see. The big bazaar of people….with as many going in and as many coming out. All in a hurry, giving no thought to others and in the process running over other’s leg or colliding with other’s luggage. It was like a race, with no time to show pleasantries or express sorrow. Standing in the sea of people were some black coat wearing people trying to find their prized catch, some more were in maroon robes running around to find the person with the bulkiest luggage and many more were having goods either on their head or hanging sidewise making all sort of noises. Randomly scattered were some stray dogs, cats and numerous rats which could not have found a better place than this in the whole city. I took a closer look at the building and though it had got extended, it was equipped with better facilities and looked better and clean. But it was the mannerism of people and aroma of surrounding that had not changed at all. It was the same old “HOWRAH” railway station, even after 5 years-the last time I saw it.

I took my suitcase and was about enter the building, when a person in maroon robes came forward. “Babuji, I am Santhosh.10 Rupees only” said he and took my suitcase over his head. I wanted to snatch it back but a look at his pale face and endearing eyes didn’t allow me to do that. We reached Platform No. 1 and I paid him “10 Rupees” as demanded and although he was having the suitcase over his head, it was I who felt relieved.

It was 3:30 PM and Coal India express arrived on time. I checked S-1 and entered the compartment towards seat no. 9.

“Chai..Chai” announced one and other followed with “ice cream...ice cream”, “Newspaper….taajo khaboor...Magazines”, “locks...Locks”, and “cold drinks…Water bottle” etc. Passing through the narrow labyrinth of seats, I found seat no. 9 and to my surprise, it was already occupied.

I said, “Hello Sir…It’s my seat”.

He was an old man wearing a spectacle with thick glasses. He looked straight into my eyes...maybe trying to destroy my eye sight by conversing his glance through his lenses. “Man, I have not captured your seat….I am not travelling. Can’t you allow an old man to sit on your seat for a while? How mean of you? Today people have no respect for elders. I am here to see off my son Debu who is at seat no.10. I will get off when the train is about to start. Meanwhile, will you mind sitting on the adjacent seat?” thundered the old man.

“Sir Chai?” asked one of the vendors. “Naa baba..chaie naa” protested the angry old man. I took this opportunity to move away from him and got seated to the adjacent seat, waiting for the train to start.

Pooooooonnnnn….siren went out. All started to leave the compartment and to my surprise it got empty. We were left with around 20 people and the same compartment was full to its capacity, just some minutes ago. “Nothing has changed.” I thought.
The train started running to its full throttle after some time. I arranged my suitcase, got into tracks and opened my writing pad that had novel “Maadhyam” by Mehir in its side pocket.
“Hi….I am debojit….I am extremely sorry for my father’s rude behavior” said Debu, extending his hand of friendship.
“Ohhh….no Problem. Old men do get irritated. It was too crowded as well as noisy at that moment” I explained.
“Are you reading ‘Madhyam’ by Mehir” asked Debu, without giving me a chance to introduce myself.
“No…no...Actually I have already read it. It came out as it was kept along with my writing pad” I replied and kept the novel back in the suitcase.
“I have read all his novels…5 so far….Madhyam being his first. In that case...You are junior to me….you need to catch up with the rest to come closer to me….ha ha ha ha” said the proud Debu.
I looked in his eyes and asked whether he was an ardent fan of Mehir. He replied in affirmative and started explaining, “My association with Mehir started when my father presented me his first novel on my 10th birthday. I grew up with his novels. Every 2-3 years…he would publish another novel and I would be the first to get hold of it. I and my father would compete with each other to complete it first.” It was followed with an extended laughing session.
“Even Mehir would be unaware that he had such ardent fans. He may be writing and leaving the rest for others to judge. I think he is a person who gets inspired by some individuals and situations and writes down the same with fictitious names and backgrounds” I added but debu didn’t like this explanation and his face said all.
He protested, “So do all. Writing is all about inspiration and experiences. Even fictions are a work of imagination with a tinge of author’s personal experiences”
I could only agree with him and decided to keep mum.
He continued, “ Mehir has not published any novel for the last few years. ‘Mausam’ was his last. I heard some rumors that he had left writing. He left his home and got settled in a faraway place, away from his past”.
I could see pain in Debu’s eye. Why does a person get attached to other? Debu never meet Mehir but he is as much disturbed and pained for Mehir’s personal life as Mehir himself.
“I have heard that there was a girl in Mehir’s life and she died of cancer. Mehir left everything after her death. If ever I meet Mehir, I would ask him that how could he leave writing? Though it was his personal work, it added fun, inspiration and values to our lives. I grew up reading his novels. I always tried to emulate the characters of his novels. My family would spend hours discussing his work. How can he take such a rash decision of not writing again? Everyone loses someone close during lifetime but does it mean we stop everything and keep mourning? ”, added Debu.

Debu’s reasoning made me blank. I had no words to say and didn’t want to disturb him anymore. I looked outside the window and the train was still running to its full throttle. I calculated that the train would take another 30 minutes to reach Jamshedpur. I could see rice plantation as far as I could. It was the cultivation time. Much of Jharkhand has been industrialized; though there still remains a major chunk of land that is used for cultivation. The sight of farmers working in an open field with the scorching sun running over, gave me strength to reply to debu. I looked back at him and said,” Debu! Don’t be so sad. It’s all an individual’s decision. There are many better writers. You should start reading their works also.”

“But how can a man leave his flourishing career at such a juncture where he was firmly placed for greater heights…..for the aim that he has worked all though his life?” reasoned firm Debu.

“You already have answered that in our conversation. You yourself said that writing was a work of inspiration and experiences. Mehir would have lost his inspiration with the loss of the lady in his life. Attachment is something that surpasses all the boundaries. You can get attached to anybody. These things are beyond any logic...the same as you got attached with Mehir’s novel. Some are strong enough to withstand any losses in their life…for some like Mehir, it is tough to face the non-existence of someone who was his life. They feel their life is meaningless without them and hence like to get lost where there is nothing to remind of them again.” I countered Debu and saw that the train has reached Jamshedpur.
I took my suitcase and was about to leave when Debu intervened, “It was very nice meeting you. I got answers; for them I was searching for years. I think this conversation will end my quest about Mehir and I would pray to God that may Mehir find other inspiration to write again….his writing inspires us”

I left the compartment and was about to leave but Debu shook my hand and said, “I didn’t get a chance to know about you. May I know your name?” with smile on his face.

I didn’t want to answer his question but a glance at his face didn’t allow me to leave. I answered slowly, “ Mehir…..I am Mehir”. I took my suitcase and got lost in the crowd. I could imagine Debu standing at the compartment gate looking at me, stunned. I had no strength to look back. Today, I had found another inspiration to write again. Today onwards I will write for persons like Debu. I am sure even Mehek would be happy with my decision.

Ek Subah Ek Gadhe Saath- A Poem

आज मेरी एक गधे से मुलाक़ात हुई,
आ खरा हुआ सामने, जाने ऐसी क्या बात हुई?
मैंने उसको निहारा, करीब जा के उससे बोला- " भाई गधे!,
क्यों रोका मेरा रास्ता? क्या मेरे से कोई घात हुई?"
गधे ने पहले मुझको घुरा, फिर धीरे से मुझ से बोला-" हे मनुष्य!,
जब काट डाले जंगल, छीन लिए मेरे घर तब तो विकाश की बात हुई|
अब मैं किधर जाऊ? कहाँ से जंगल उगाऊं?"
गधे की बातों मी था दम, मुझे लगा मेरे आकरें ही हैं कम|
कुछ देर यूं ही खरा रहा, खामोश सा बना रहा|
रुक कुछ पल मैं बोला-" गधे!, मनुष्य को क्यों दोष लगाता है?
यह तो भगवान् का वरदान है जो जनसंख्या बढ़ता जाता है"
गधे ने भी कमर कासी, हामी भर मुझे से बोला- "बढ़ते जनसंख्या पे
रोक क्यों नही लगाते हो? क्यों दिनभर टीवी पे गला फार कंडोम कंडोम चिलाते हो?"
गधे ने हुंकार भरी, आंखों मी आँखें डाल मुझ पे धिकार भारी|
मैं भी कैसे जाता हार? दिल दिमाग की दौड़ लगा गधे को नीचे दिखाने की चाल चली|
मैं बोला-तू मुझे क्या सिखाता है, ख़ुद तो गधा कहलाता है| हस्ते हैं सब तुझ पे
और तू बोझ डाले चुप चाप चलता जाता है|"
जान अपनी जीत मैं अपने ऊपर इतराया|
देख मेरी ओर गधा भी मुस्कुराया और बोला- माना हँसते हैं सब मुझ पे,
पर तू क्यों इतराता है, ख़ुद के काम को दूसरो को दे सताता है|
काट डाले जंगल, जानवरों को गुलाम बनायाऔर नस्ट कर दिया पृथ्वी को|
ख़ुद तो मरेगा ही, क्यों हमे भी मारने पे तुला है?"
गधा लड़ने को था उतारू, फिर मैंने बगले झांकी
देख आती इन्फोस्य्स की बस को, गधे के बगल से रास्ता निकाली|
गधा देखता रहा जाते मुझको और फिर बरी सी हुंकार मारी|
उस घटना से आह़त 'मुकुल' ने भी बस मे कविता की कुछ पंगतिया लिख डाली|