A few days back I stepped out of my house for some urgent work. While I was waiting for the railway barricades to open, I noticed the small *kaccha* houses alongside the road. The facial expressions of those who lived there depicted both glee and regret. And that was the point, where this line crossed my mind “Sadak kinaare banaya hua ek kaccha makaan”…but those residents already turned that “makaan” into “ghar” and that’s when I thought of penning it down.
So all in all, the idea behind this video has been way too raw and pure. I hope you like it.
Also, Pictures are from google. And individual credits would go to @alamyltd @dreamtime @Brettcolephotography @shutterstock @indian_eagle__
World Labourer’s Day
देखो आज शांत देश की आवाम है,
हर गली मोहल्ला इस कदर गुमनाम है।
पर अब गौर करो ज़रा इन चिड़ियों की चहचहाहट पर,
क्योंकि कैद में नहीं हो तुम बस कुछ वक्त का आराम है।।
देखो कैसे आज वह प्रकृति, वह फूल वापस जा खिले हैं,
कैसे वह पक्षी आसमान से आज फिर जा मिले हैं,
चलो आज ज़िंदगी के कुछ पल इनके नाम करदें,
और खोल दे इनके वह बंदिश के धागे जो अब तक इंसान ने सिले हैं।।
देखो आज इस दौर को, इन मुश्किल हालातों को,
सुरक्षित रहो घर पर और याद रखो इन बातों को।
यह वक्त है एकता का, वाहदानियत का सबर का,
ताकि रोज सुबह देखो नया सूरज, और चांद, आने वाली रातों को।।
देखो इन योद्धाओं को जो तुम्हारी हिफ़ाज़त के लिए अपनी जान बिछाए हैं,
कद्र करो इनकी, जो तुम्हें महफ़ूज़ रखने को अपना घर पीछे छोड़ आए हैं।
आओ आज सलाम करते हैं दिल से इन फरिश्तों को हम,
जो ज़िंदगी और मौत के खेल में बहादुरी का परचम लहराए हैं।।
देखो जहां पली हैं खुशियां हमेशा, आज वहां सन्नाटा सरेआम है,
पर ज़िंदगी रुकी नहीं है, बस एक छोटा सा अल्पविराम है।
आओ आज मिलकर निहारे दुनिया के सौंदर्य को हम,
क्योंकी कैद में नहीं हो तुम, बस कुछ वक्त का आराम है।।
Jahan garv se lehrata the jhanda Hindostaan ka,
Waha shayad ab sirf ek tukda hi bachega insaan ka
Dekho jal raha hai yaha desh mera,
Pr kya unhe sunai nahi de rha ye nara awaam ka?
Hairaan hun pareshaan hun, kya yahi hai wo lekh samvidhaan ka?
Kya yahi hai wo desh mera jaha teej bhi thi aur tha wo roza Ramzaan ka?
Aaj batein insaniyat se dharm tk pohoch gyi usi desh me,
Jahan shahaadat me naam agar Hindu ka tha to sath hi tha ek deshbhakt Musalman ka.
Jahan Shankh ki goonj suni maine, sath hi waqt dekha Azaan ka,
Jaha Hindi bhi thi, Urdu bhi thi, aur tha lehza Salaam ka.
Aaj bastiya jali hain, kal mombattiyan uth jaengi,
Zra pucho khud se, kya kabhi socha tha tumne ye haal apne hi Bhaarat Mahaan ka?
Depression! Antonym for expression? Yes, it can be said so. Depression can gulp you inside completely without even your knowledge. It is often taken heedlessly but showcase it’s adverse effects lately.
Now what it is likely to be depressed? *Dark room, Darker thoughts and Darkest people.* It’s like finding solace in the most uncommon circumstances and places. Mind gets stuck as if someone just poured a whole bottle of glue. The optimism takes no time to metamorphose itself into pessimism. Neverthless, all in all, the victims smile, not because they want to, but because they choose to. Impulsive reactions turn cold and get conjoined with the gloomliness over head and ears. Their heart wishes to screech, and also it does, within the silence of convictions and despondencies. A wall is built, the wall of blues, not allowing the good vibes to penetrate through it. Head bangs are felt without a slight nod, nerves burst inside, heart aches as if someone’s hitting a rod. They could write, a whole story, a full chapter, a whole new book but they opt to be tight-lipped. They are familiar with the fact that their experiences couldn’t be inked into words.
Over and above, they struggle to answer the questions raised on their eccentric behaviour. This state of depression suddenly turns out to be uncertain, unlikely and questionable. Acquainted with the fact that it kills, people egg on to the victims to stay in a state of pretence. It takes a lot for them to turn the corner and turn over a new leaf, making up things that were devastated unintentionally, explaining someone what they’ve been through this while where no pen and paper could be their companion, they were numb.
Now you know what it is likely to be depressed? So, be a person of courtesy, to stand with people when they are low. Stop questioning, start listening. Remember, *You can hear everything, but you only listen what you really wish to*
And now replace the word *victim* with *survivor*, because Depression is Injurious to health (It kills slowly)
-Ritika Mishra ☘
This day, that year,
A strange city, a strange fear.
Polished thoughts, contemporary mindset,
A few of glee and a few of regret.
Relocating was never easy, still gathered my hopes,
It was like a head over heals, stepped on slippery slopes.
People were now a vogue version of the old ones I knew,
Some fluttered with the wind, and I was left with a few.
Morning were dissimilar, nights were not long,
I survived solitary for days, and sang my old songs.
The city had melodies of today, but i had those of tomorrow,
Yearning for my comfort place, made myself a person of sorrow.
But here and now I am a Part and Parcel of this town,
Made friends like Kith and Kin, who don’t let me go frown.
It was once a strange city, for I had a strange fear,
It happened long back, say, this day, that year
-Ritika Mishra ☘
Stop! The word says it so,
Injustice? Does it hold the potential to grow?
For people break into and people vacate,
Is it reigning over by suppressing justice below?
Misogynist, unjust people often refer,
Gender over justice? Humans often prefer.
The lady balance clutches equality for ones questioning it,
Justice over Gender? Yes, I differ.
Files and cases, lawyers and advocates,
Restricted to this? No, it profoundly innates.
But it’s often mistaken for confinement to the courts,
Living with justice unperceived, injustice perforates.
Not a game of verses but of truth gospel,
‘In’ plus ‘justice’, that’s how they spell.
Don’t concur to be this ‘in’ for the word justice,
For the truth inevitably triumphs, even when you don’t compel.
Image courtesy – Saksham Amarya @rangbaaz1408
It was a chilly winter morning, standing next to her bed, gazing at the sun, her hands were rolling on her scars. The scars of lust which was given by her husband last night when she was brutally beaten. “Good Morning sweetheart”, it was her husband’s voice. She wiped her tears, hid her scars and turned towards him smiling. Somehow she moulded herself into these scenarios because for her parents, “Divorce” was much consequential than their daughter.
No sooner did his husband leave than she began to do her household work. Evening, at round about 8 p.m, engrossed in her thoughts, she was walking down the lane towards the market while she heard some footsteps. She turned and saw a shadow under that bright street lamp. She held herself back and started running. Suddenly, four men surrounded her with masks on their face. They came closer, held her hands, tied her mouth, grabbed her face, took her to a deserted corner and laid her down. She could feel their hands entering beneath her clothes. Wriggling with fear and pain, she tried to shout and shut them up but those hands didn’t stop. While two of them almost clenched her face, the last one revealed his personality. She turned pale, because it was her husband who was eagerly waiting to have her taste with his friends. They pulled off her clothes, forced her, licked her and finally raped and murdered her. The moon, the stars and that deserted corner witnessed her dead, naked and exposed.
It was then, when a father realised that the value of a daughter is much more than the word “Divorce” and dim view of this society. He was numb because he never thought of an obscene marriage turning into a dreadful death.
Image source : Google