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A Memory of My Mother

  A Memory of My Mother The boat rocked softly on the waters of the Ganga as I sat beside my younger brother. Between us, on his lap, rested a small steel tumbler, the last physical trace of our mother. The river breeze was cool, but inside me, memories rose warm and sharp, one after another. I saw her again as she was on my first day of school, holding my tiny hand, walking me through the gate with a smile that hid her own nervousness. I heard her voice telling us stories at night, her Hindi simple and sweet, her imagination endless. I remembered her sitting beside us during homework, not understanding our English or science lessons, yet listening patiently, encouraging us with her presence alone. She never needed to know the answers, she was the answer. And now she was gone. I had been seven oceans away, in my adopted land, when the news reached me. I took the first flight home, heart pounding, praying I would make it in time. But fate had its own rhythm. I had not seen ...
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Dhadkan ka Afsana - Heartbreak

  धड़कन का अफ़साना पड़ गए थे बादल पवई पर , भीगी थी हर इक रहगुज़र , क्लासों से लौटे हम भी , दिल में थी इक मीठी ख़ुशबू भर। होस्टल की सीढ़ी पर चलते , चिट्ठी की आहट साथ चली , नागपुर से आया था पैग़ाम , आँखों में इक बिजली खिली। काग़ज़ पर लिखे थे अल्फ़ाज़ , सुनहरी सी किस्मत का रंग , पहला नंबर , गोल्ड मेडल था , दिल में उठी गर्व की तरंग। दोस्तों की भीड़ ने घेरा , शोर हुआ ताली-सा चारों ओर , सोचा ये सब माँ के नाम है , जिनके सपनों ने दिया था ज़ोर। जेब में थे बस थोड़े से साधन , पर सपनों की थी भरमार , बॉम्बे से चलती उस ट्रेन ने , नागपुर का भी कर रखा था ख़याल। थोड़ा-सा सामान था साथ , बाँध के रखा था इक बैग में , सोचा , घर के आँगन में जाकर , बाँटूँगा ये खुशियाँ सबके संग में। याद आई माँ की थकन , उनकी चुप उम्मीदों की छाँव , हर इक जगे जगे में बस था , उनका चेहरा , उनकी दुआओं का गाँव। जल्दी में चिट्ठी भी लिख डाली , हेड ऑफ़ डिपार्टमेंट के लिए , ज़िंदगी कितनी तेज़ भागती है , फिर भी रुकती माँ की लिए। नागपुर की शाम ने घेरा , घर की खुशबू , पुरानी गली , मौसी जी ने इशारों इशारों में , न...
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अब मेरा अपना आसामां होगा

सफ़र की शुरुआत का कोई निशान नहीं होता, बस चल पड़ते हैं कदम, जब कोई अरमान नहीं होता। अब तक तो औरों के ही नक्शे-कदम पे चलते रहे, हालात की धूप में, मोम की तरह पिघलते रहे। वो राहें अपनी न थीं, जिन पर ज़िंदगी गुज़ार दी, औरों की पसंद पे ही, अपनी हर खुशी वार दी। याद आता है वो बचपन, वो दादी का आँचल, जहाँ हर गम का हल था, वो प्यार भरा आँचल। ज़रा सा रो देना और फिर गन्ने की वो मिठास, जैसे हर मर्ज़ की दवा थी, नानी के पास। मगर अब वो मासूमियत नहीं, न ही वो सहारा है, ये समंदर गहरा है, और तन्हा ही किनारा है। फर्ज़ के सारे कर्ज़ अब, अदा हो चुके हैं, पाँव की बेड़ियाँ कटीं, हम आज़ाद हो चुके हैं। अब मुड़ना है किधर, ये फैसला मेरा अपना होगा, जो देखूँगा जागती आँखों से, वो मेरा सपना होगा। दाएँ, बाएँ या सीधा—मंज़िल अब खुद चुननी है, अपनी ही खामोशियों से, एक नई धुन बुननी है। सुनहरी किरणों ने आज, चेहरे पे दस्तक दी है, बीते कल की धुंध ने, अब विदाई ली है। दरवाज़े के पार देखो, पत्तों का वो झूमता मंज़र, जैसे खत लिख रही हो हवा, एक नए सफ़र पर। मैं तैयार हूँ अब, हर अनजानी डगर के लिए, निकल पड़ा हूँ मैं, अपने खुद के सफ़र के लिए।
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Sugarcane, Shikanji, and Goodbyes

A Memoir of a Childhood Journey There are journeys that take you across miles, and there are those that take you inward—toward memory, meaning, and the quiet truths of life. I was eight when one such journey began, sparked by a telegram and carried on the wheels of a bus, a bicycle, and an ekka.        The Telegram and the Journey I was eight when the telegram arrived. My mother held it with trembling hands, her face clouded with worry. When my father came home, he read it aloud, my grandfather in Allahabad was gravely ill. We needed to go. Bags were packed quickly, and the next morning we boarded a bus from Nagpur. Fourteen hours of winding roads and dusty windows later, we reached Jasra, my father’s hometown, just outside Allahabad. We stayed the night, then continued toward my mother’s village. At the edge of the village, my mama ji, her brother, was waiting with a bicycle. No car, no cart, just a humble cycle and a warm smile. We loaded what we could onto ...
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Heartbreak!

 Hearbreak      The skies over Powai were heavy with July’s monsoon clouds, their rhythm syncing with the pulse of campus life. I had just wrapped up my classes for the day, the scent of wet earth lingering as I walked back to my hostel. Before heading up to freshen up, I detoured to the post room, half-expecting the usual flyers and notices. But there it was: a letter addressed to me.      I tore it open as I climbed the stairs to my third-floor room, heart thudding with curiosity. Inside was a note from my younger brother and an official letter from Nagpur University. I paused mid-step, eyes scanning the words that would change everything: Gold Medal for First Rank in Chemical Engineering . I let out a shout of joy, startling a few hostel-mates who turned to see me grinning like a madman. Their congratulations came in waves, and I basked in the moment, this was more than a medal. It was a tribute to every late night, every borrowed book, every chai...
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A Whisper on the Rails

     The city of Bangalore, with its relentless hum, had drained my spirit during a week-long work assignment. As my journey neared its end, my soul yearned for quiet, for repose. The sun dipped, painting the sky in hues of yearning, as I boarded the train to Bombay, a novel clutched in my hand, my sole companion. I found solace in my upper sleeper berth, stowing my world beneath me, and ascended, ready to drift. The station's murmur, the distant engine's call – a lullaby to a tired heart.      Then, just as the train's final whistle sighed its imminent departure, they appeared. A young woman, dusky and exquisitely beautiful, entered the compartment with her mother. Her presence was an immediate hush to the world's clamor, drawing my gaze, holding it captive. They settled into the berths directly opposite mine, and for a fleeting moment, my thoughts wove delicate tapestries, imagining their stories, before I gently guided my attention back to the printed pa...
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A Spark in Nagpur

             The year was 1969 , and the world held its breath. I was just a child, barely old enough to grasp the enormity of it, but the crackling voice of Neil Armstrong declaring "one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind" on July 20th resonated deep within me. Apollo 11's audacious journey to the moon, carrying those brave earthlings, wasn't just news; it was a cosmic whisper, igniting a spark of wonder in millions of young minds across the globe. I'm certain that moment alone inspired generations of kids, pushing them towards a profound curiosity about science , nudging them onto paths to become scientists, engineers, and doctors , all driven by a shared desire to serve humanity. A few years later, that distant lunar echo found a vibrant, tangible form right in my hometown. Kasturchand Park, Nagpur, India , usually a quiet expanse, transformed into a bustling carnival of knowledge. A grand science exhibition was underway, its vibrant...
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