Category Archives: tributes

SHORT STORY: ASPIRATIONS OF A ROCKSTAR

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    This story is from the US. In the year 1983 a talented young guitarist was kicked out of his band in the most unceremonious manner. The band had just been signed up for a remarkable deal. They were about to record their first album. But only a couple of days before the recording. The band showed the guitarist the door. In other words he was asked to leave. There was no warning, no discussion, and no melodrama. They literally woke him up one day, and handed him, a bus ticket home.

    While on the bus, back to Los Angeles from New York, the guitarist kept asking himself. What was his fault? How did all of this happen? What was his mistake? Did he rub someone the wrong way? Such stupendous contracts, didn’t just, fall out of the sky, especially for the raucous, upstart metal bands. And had he missed his chance of a lifetime?

    But by the time the bus rolled into Los Angeles, the guitarist had got over his self-pity. He vowed to start a new band. He decided that his new band would be so very successful, that his old band would forever regret their decision of firing him. He would become so very famous that they would be subjected to years of seeing his face on TV, hearing him on the radio, and seeing his posters on the streets, and his pictures in magazines. While they’d be flipping burgers in some dingy eatery, loading vans, from their shitty club gigs, obese and drunk with their ugly wives, while he’d be rocking out in front of the stadium crowds, live on television. And as a sadist he would bathe in the tears of his betrayers, and each tear would be wiped dry by a crisp clean hundred dollar bill.

    Thereon, the guitarist worked as if possessed by some musical demon. He spent months recruiting the best musicians he could find—far better than his previous band mates. He wrote dozens of songs and practiced meticulously. His seething anger fuelled his ambition. Revenge became his muse. Within a couple of years his new band had signed a record deal of their own, and a year later their first album was going gold. In other words it had achieved a sales level meriting a gold disc.

    The guitarist’s name was Dave Mustaine and the band he formed was the legendary heavy-metal band Megadeth. Megadeth went on to sell over 25 million albums and went around the world many times. Today, Mustaine is considered one of the most brilliant and influential musicians, in the history of heavy-metal music.

   But unfortunately. The band that he was kicked out of, was Metallica, which has sold over 180 million albums worldwide. Metallica is considered by many to be one of the greatest rock bands of all times.

    And because of this, in an exclusive and intimate interview in 2003, a tearful Mustaine admitted, that he couldn’t help but still consider himself, a failure despite all that he had accomplished in his mind. For he would always be the guy who got kicked out of Metallica.

    Dave Mustaine knowingly or unknowingly chose to measure himself by the inconsequential fact whether he was more successful and popular than Metallica. The experience of getting thrown out of his former band Metallica, was so painful for him. That he considered his success relative to Metallica and as the metric by which to measure himself and his music career.

    Despite churning that horrible event of his life into something positive, when Mustaine created Megadeth, his choice to hold on to Metallica’s success, as his life-defining metric continued to hurt him even decades later. Despite all the money, and the fans and the accolades, he still considered himself a failure.

    Now you and I may wonder at Dave Mustaine’s situation. This is because you and I have different values than Mustaine has. Because we measure ourselves with a different metrics. Whereas, Mustaine’s yardstick of being better than Metallica helped him launch an incredibly successful music career. But the same yardstick later on tortured him, in spite of his success.

    Moral of the story: Be content with what you have in life, and stop comparing yourself with others, especially, your peers.

Synopsis by Kamlesh Tripathi

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https://kamleshsujata.wordpress.com

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Shravan Charity Mission is an NGO that works for poor children suffering from life threatening diseases especially cancer. Our posts are meant for our readers that includes both children and adults and it has a huge variety in terms of content. We also accept donations for our mission. Should you wish to donate for the cause. The bank details are given below:

NAME OF ACCOUNT: SHRAVAN CHARITY MISSION

Account no: 680510110004635 (BANK OF INDIA)

IFSC code: BKID0006805

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Our publications

GLOOM BEHIND THE SMILE

(The book is about a young cancer patient. Now archived in 7 prestigious libraries of the US, including, Harvard University and Library of Congress. It can also be accessed in MIT through Worldcat.org. Besides, it is also available for reading in Libraries and archives of Canada and Cancer Aid and Research Foundation Mumbai)  

ONE TO TANGO … RIA’S ODYSSEY

(Is a book on ‘singlehood’ about a Delhi girl now archived in Connemara Library, Chennai and Delhi Public Library, GOI, Ministry of Culture, Delhi)

AADAB LUCKNOW … FOND MEMORIES

(Is a fiction written around the great city of Nawabs—Lucknow. It describes Lucknow in great detail and also talks about its Hindu-Muslim amity. That happens to be its undying characteristic. The book was launched in Lucknow International Literary Festival of 2014)

REFRACTIONS … FROM THE PRISM OF GOD

(Co-published by Cankids–Kidscan, a pan India NGO and Shravan Charity Mission, that works for Child cancer in India. The book is endorsed by Ms Preetha Reddy, MD Apollo Hospitals Group. It was launched in Lucknow International Literary Festival 2016)

TYPICAL TALE OF AN INDIAN SALESMAN

(Is a story of an Indian salesman who is, humbly qualified. Yet he fights his ways through unceasing uncertainties to reach the top. A good read not only for salesmen. The book was launched on 10th February, 2018 in Gorakhpur Lit-Fest. Now available in Amazon, Flipkart and Onlinegatha)

RHYTHM … in poems

(Published in January 2019. The book contains 50 poems. The poems describe our day to day life. The book is available in Amazon, Flipkart and Onlinegatha)

(ALL THE ABOVE TITLES ARE AVAILABLE FOR SALE IN AMAZON, FLIPKART AND OTHER ONLINE STORES OR YOU COULD EVEN WRITE TO US FOR A COPY)

*****

 

 

 

 

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REMEMBRANCE–SHRADHANJALI

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 (Shravan Tripathi 23.1.1993 — 24.2.2009)

DEAR SHRAVAN

I see you here and I see you there,

Even when I know,

All very well,

You aren’t … really there.

*

And every year on this very day,

You do send me to despair,

But when I reflect,

 I still can recollect.

*

Those lovely moments,

When you were born,

When I had thought,

We’ll be together … life long,

But that was not to be.

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In your fight for life,

I remember with gripe,

Seasons had come, and seasons had gone,

Where time was kind, but destiny was strong.

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Though time fought well,

 Yet destiny won,

As it snatched you away,

With its divine intent.

*

Now that you’re gone,

There isn’t too much of a song,

Except for the noble mission,

That you had brought along.

*

You often come in my dreams,

That brings me loads of serene,

Is when, I wilfully dream,

To serve those sick umpteen.

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It is said,

Life is a mystery,

Where destiny,

 Is another name of cruelty?

 But where God is kind,

But time is like a serpentine.

*

And when I bring it upon myself,

I realise,

Your short life span was indeed the mystery,

Where destiny pulled off the grim cruelty,

And between the mystery and the cruelty,

Was God’s beauty?

But where time still meanders,

Like the serpentine’s ferocity.

*

And in this windswept life of mine,

 One more year, goes by,

But I’m happy to tell you,

I’ve kept your mission alive.

*

So rest in peace,

For you have achieved,

What you came for, in discreet.

***

Only the luckiest of the lucky don’t encounter the agony of losing their child

*****

By Kamlesh Tripathi

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https://kamleshsujata.wordpress.com

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Share it if you like it

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Shravan Charity Mission is an NGO that works for poor children suffering from life threatening diseases especially cancer. Our posts are meant for our readers that includes both children and adults and it has a huge variety in terms of content. We also accept donations for our mission. Should you wish to donate for the cause. The bank details are given below:

NAME OF ACCOUNT: SHRAVAN CHARITY MISSION

Account no: 680510110004635 (BANK OF INDIA)

IFSC code: BKID0006805

*

Our publications

GLOOM BEHIND THE SMILE

(The book is about a young cancer patient. Now archived in 7 prestigious libraries of the US, including, Harvard University and Library of Congress. It can also be accessed in MIT through Worldcat.org. Besides, it is also available for reading in Libraries and archives of Canada and Cancer Aid and Research Foundation Mumbai)  

ONE TO TANGO … RIA’S ODYSSEY

(Is a book on ‘singlehood’ about a Delhi girl now archived in Connemara Library, Chennai and Delhi Public Library, GOI, Ministry of Culture, Delhi)

AADAB LUCKNOW … FOND MEMORIES

(Is a fiction written around the great city of Nawabs—Lucknow. It describes Lucknow in great detail and also talks about its Hindu-Muslim amity. That happens to be its undying characteristic. The book was launched in Lucknow International Literary Festival of 2014)

REFRACTIONS … FROM THE PRISM OF GOD

(Co-published by Cankids–Kidscan, a pan India NGO and Shravan Charity Mission, that works for Child cancer in India. The book is endorsed by Ms Preetha Reddy, MD Apollo Hospitals Group. It was launched in Lucknow International Literary Festival 2016)

TYPICAL TALE OF AN INDIAN SALESMAN

(Is a story of an Indian salesman who is, humbly qualified. Yet he fights his ways through unceasing uncertainties to reach the top. A good read not only for salesmen. The book was launched on 10th February, 2018 in Gorakhpur Lit-Fest. Now available in Amazon, Flipkart and Onlinegatha)

RHYTHM … in poems

(Published in January 2019. The book contains 50 poems. The poems describe our day to day life. The book is available in Amazon, Flipkart and Onlinegatha)

(ALL THE ABOVE TITLES ARE AVAILABLE FOR SALE IN AMAZON, FLIPKART AND OTHER ONLINE STORES OR YOU COULD EVEN WRITE TO US FOR A COPY)

*****

 

 

 

 

BOOK CORNER: WHAT INDIA MEANT TO ME–Lord Mountbatten of Burma

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Khidki (Window)

–Read India Initiative—

This is only an attempt to create interest in reading. We may not get the time to read all the books in our lifetime. But such reviews, talk and synopsis will at least convey what the book is all about.

WHAT INDIA MEANT TO ME

By Lord Mountbatten of Burma

(An excerpt from the lost pages)

(Lord Mountbatten of Burma is a title in the peerage of the United Kingdom. In 1947 it was for rear admiral Louis Mount Batten, 1st viscount, Mount Batten of Burma and the last viceroy of India)

    Lord Mountbatten had both emotional as well as a professional cause for loving India:

    There was a special reason why Lord Mountbatten had an additional warm spot in his heart for India. While he was in Delhi staying at the old makeshift viceregal lodge, a young girl, of whom he had become very fond in England had come to stay with the viceroy, Lord Reading. Her name was Edwina Ashley. On 14 February 1922, during a dance in the house he sat out with her during the fifth dance in a small sitting room and proposed marriage to her. She accepted his proposal and all his happiness started from there … what you call India.

    The Prince of Wales (the heir apparent to the British throne) was delighted at this and was most helpful. Mountbatten had to have the king’s permission to marry and he saw all that. Later he discovered there had only been one dissenting voice when he and Edwina announced their engagement—and that was the vicereine—lady Reading, who wrote to Edwina’s aunt and said: ‘I’m afraid she has definitely made up her mind about him. I hope she could have cared for someone older, with more of a career behind him.’

    Soon both Edwina and Mountbatten  were tied to India with a possible bond of memory and affection, which clearly played an important part in their lives when he came out in 1947, as the last viceroy and indeed when he started as the first Governor-General of independent India

    Mountbatten makes another interesting highlight. In 1943 when he set up the supreme allied command in South-East Asia, he had closed on a million, Indian sailors, soldiers and airmen serving under him. He was particularly proud of this and admired their courage and steadfastness. They certainly fought magnificently and made a great international name for themselves.

    Thus when he finally came out as a viceroy he could add to his feeling of twenty-five years of love for India his two and a half years association with so many fighting men in war.    

    No wonder it was easy for him to feel the real happiness at being back in India, a country where Edwina and Mountbatten had grown to love among the people they admired and liked so much.

    What India meant to him can be summed up in one phrase in his own words:

    ‘Fascination, affection and happiness.’

    (LOUIS FRANCIS ALBERT NICHOLAS GEORGE MOUNTBATTEN, First Earl Mountbatten of Burma, British admiral and statesman, was the last Viceroy and the first Governor-General of independent India. He died in 1979 at the age of 79).

Synopsis by Kamlesh Tripathi

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https://kamleshsujata.wordpress.com

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Share it if you like it

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Shravan Charity Mission is an NGO that works for poor children suffering from life threatening diseases especially cancer. Should you wish to donate for the cause. The bank details are given below:

NAME OF ACCOUNT: SHRAVAN CHARITY MISSION

Account no: 680510110004635 (BANK OF INDIA)

IFSC code: BKID0006805

*

Our publications

GLOOM BEHIND THE SMILE

(The book is about a young cancer patient. Now archived in 7 prestigious libraries of the US, including, Harvard University and Library of Congress. It can also be accessed in MIT through Worldcat.org. Besides, it is also available for reading in Libraries and archives of Canada and Cancer Aid and Research Foundation Mumbai)  

ONE TO TANGO … RIA’S ODYSSEY

(Is a book on ‘singlehood’ about a Delhi girl now archived in Connemara Library, Chennai and Delhi Public Library, GOI, Ministry of Culture, Delhi)

AADAB LUCKNOW … FOND MEMORIES

(Is a fiction written around the great city of Nawabs—Lucknow. It describes Lucknow in great detail and also talks about its Hindu-Muslim amity. That happens to be its undying characteristic. The book was launched in Lucknow International Literary Festival of 2014)

REFRACTIONS … FROM THE PRISM OF GOD

(Co-published by Cankids–Kidscan, a pan India NGO and Shravan Charity Mission, that works for Child cancer in India. The book is endorsed by Ms Preetha Reddy, MD Apollo Hospitals Group. It was launched in Lucknow International Literary Festival 2016)

TYPICAL TALE OF AN INDIAN SALESMAN

(Is a story of an Indian salesman who is, humbly qualified. Yet he fights his ways through unceasing uncertainties to reach the top. A good read not only for salesmen. The book was launched on 10th February, 2018 in Gorakhpur Lit-Fest. Now available in Amazon, Flipkart and Onlinegatha

(ALL THE ABOVE TITLES ARE AVAILABLE FOR SALE IN AMAZON, FLIPKART AND OTHER ONLINE STORES OR YOU COULD EVEN WRITE TO US FOR A COPY)

*****

 

 

 

BOOK TALK: LETTERS OF GURUDEV RABINDRANATH TAGORE

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Khidki (Window)

–Read India Initiative—

This is only an attempt to create interest in reading. We may not get the time to read all the books in our lifetime. But such reviews, talk and synopsis will at least convey what the book is all about.

LETTERS OF GURUDEV RABINDRANATH TAGORE

    If the razzmatazz of this hurly-burly digital life is beginning to throttle your peace, pace and cheer of mind? If the endemic digital platform—whatsapp, played, more by adults than children, since its invention has turned your life into a hackneyed saga. You need to go back in times for some more sans souci. Let me therefore take you through the synopsis of a letter written by Tagore. That winds-back in time and is indeed a refreshing read.

    Tagore had written many such letters during his lifetime in Bengali. Later, in 1920 he translated them into English. And it goes without saying, that these letters take you to that litterateur’s magnetic world almost immediately. It unleashes that ‘thinking English’ on you that revs up your literary appetite. When you go into a pleasant reverie. It of course, stay’s away from the current day ‘instant English’ with that digital makeup. He narrates each letter in that typical atavistic settings. Today, I have attempted to summarise one such letter for you.

BANDORA, BY THE SEA –written in October 1885

    I have turned twenty seven. While being seated by the sea side in Bandora, located in Ponda Taluka of North Goa. I’m able to capture the gestures of the unprotected sea that huffs and puffs. And while doing so it transforms into the tiresome froth. The sea equates with the feel of some shackled giant as if straining at its bonds. That too, right in front of the gaping jaws of the land. Where, we build our homes on the shore and watch it lashing its tail at the sea. Wow! What a massive show of strength that sends the waves splashing high, like the muscles of a giant.

    Primeval and from time immemorial this battle between the land and water has been going on. The parched earth slowly and steadily is only adding the sea to its kitty and thus spreading a broader apron for its children. Where, the ocean is receding under consternation step by step. Wailing and sobbing, beating its chest in despair, as if to a somber call of beating the retreat. One shouldn’t forget. Sea was once the sole monarch—utterly unencumbered.

    After all, land has only risen from its womb and usurped its throne. Since then sea has become the mad old creature with a heavy crest of foam. It moans and groans, and laments continually. Like King Lear … exposed to the fury of these elements.

    These events of land and sea keep impacting my mind on and on. As nothing else has happened of late apart from my turning, twenty-seven.

    But turning twenty seven is no trifling … happening for me. As I have crossed the meridian of the twenties. I am now progressing to thirty. They say I’m now headed towards maturity an age. Where, people begin to expect fruit rather than fresh foliage consumed hitherto. But alas, where is the promise of fruit. As I shake my head. Life still feels like a brimful of luscious frivolity, with not a trace of deep philosophy.

    Folks in general have started complaining: “Where is that something that we expected of you. In the hope of which, we absorbed the soft tenderness of your childhood? We can’t be putting up with immaturity forever? So, it is high time for us to know what we shall gain from you. We want an estimate of the proportion of oil which even, a blindfolded miller or an unbiased critic can squeeze out of you.”

    It is impossible to delude people into waiting expectantly any longer for results. While I was under age they trustfully gave me credit. But it is sad to disappoint them now that I am on the verge of thirty. But what am I to do? Words of wisdom will not come so easily. I am utterly incompetent to provide things that may profit the multitude. Except for, a snatch of a song, or some tittle-tattle, and a little merry fooling, that I’ve been able to advance. As a result, those who had high hopes will turn their wrath on me. But then, no one has ever begged them to nurse these expectations of me.

    Such were the thoughts that assailed me since a fine Bysakh morning. When, I wake up amidst the fresh breeze and light with a new leaf and flower. Only to find, that I had stepped into my twenty-seventh year.

    Even way back in 1885 Gurudev was able to comprehend the rivalry between the land and the sea. 

By Kamlesh Tripathi

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https://kamleshsujata.wordpress.com

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Share it if you like it

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Shravan Charity Mission is an NGO that works for poor children suffering from life threatening diseases especially cancer. Should you wish to donate for the cause. The bank details are given below:

NAME OF ACCOUNT: SHRAVAN CHARITY MISSION

Account no: 680510110004635 (BANK OF INDIA)

IFSC code: BKID0006805

*

Our publications

GLOOM BEHIND THE SMILE

(The book is about a young cancer patient. Now archived in 7 prestigious libraries of the US, including, Harvard University and Library of Congress. It can also be accessed in MIT through Worldcat.org. Besides, it is also available for reading in Libraries and archives of Canada and Cancer Aid and Research Foundation Mumbai)  

ONE TO TANGO … RIA’S ODYSSEY

(Is a book on ‘singlehood’ about a Delhi girl now archived in Connemara Library, Chennai and Delhi Public Library, GOI, Ministry of Culture, Delhi)

AADAB LUCKNOW … FOND MEMORIES

(Is a fiction written around the great city of Nawabs—Lucknow. It describes Lucknow in great detail and also talks about its Hindu-Muslim amity. That happens to be its undying characteristic. The book was launched in Lucknow International Literary Festival of 2014)

REFRACTIONS … FROM THE PRISM OF GOD

(Co-published by Cankids–Kidscan, a pan India NGO and Shravan Charity Mission, that works for Child cancer in India. The book is endorsed by Ms Preetha Reddy, MD Apollo Hospitals Group. It was launched in Lucknow International Literary Festival 2016)

TYPICAL TALE OF AN INDIAN SALESMAN

(Is a story of an Indian salesman who is, humbly qualified. Yet he fights his ways through unceasing uncertainties to reach the top. A good read not only for salesmen. The book was launched on 10th February, 2018 in Gorakhpur Lit-Fest. Now available in Amazon, Flipkart and Onlinegatha

(ALL THE ABOVE TITLES ARE AVAILABLE FOR SALE IN AMAZON, FLIPKART AND OTHER ONLINE STORES OR YOU COULD EVEN WRITE TO US FOR A COPY)

*****

 

 

 

 

FASCINATING MONSOON

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      An overcast day, makes a lazy weekend that gives an ethereal feel, when you wake up to the light morning drizzle, tip-tap tip-tap. You realise you don’t have to go for work today. But you certainly can take your raincoat and step out, to witness the groovy nature in its mystifying colours, all splashed and splattered for you, so go there and enjoy. Where, the mind feels light, body feels like flying and the senses divine. The combination is indeed rare. Otherwise, there is always so much to do and so much to brood in your routine life.

    I don’t expect to see the holy sun today. Like me he too is on leave. I guess they have a tie-up—the sun and the clouds. When the clouds appear, the sun goes on leave and doesn’t return till clouds leave. Sun might be strong, but today he looks weak, even when he is above the clouds. That reminds me of man. Who too like clouds, tries to block ways of God but is often weather beaten by time … waqt.

    I step out quietly without a sound. Tina is fast asleep. No lunch to be packed, no hurried breakfast to be tabled. Little Khitkhit for a change, is in her own fantasy, and in a hug with her mother. On the verandah one can see a few uncomfortable pigeons, chirping mynas and even a few jumping sparrows, all trying to shrug the rain water off their feathers. The street lights are still lit because of the overcast. They normally fade with sunlight. The first few drops are rejuvenating. It feels like an unusual dawn that’ll refresh you for the entire year. One can’t but miss the few mongrels hiding under the parapet whimpering … as if the agony wasn’t enough that you’ve sent us rains.

    The exterior is all wet as one tip toes to find that confident rhythm along the roadside that has become one big puddle. There are no children around. They all are in the cozy lap of the weekend, oblivious of the once in a while, fun zone outside. The surroundings are still, even when the drizzle has now become a downpour. I’m intact beneath my raincoat. Except for the milkman and the newspaper wala no one else is seen around, barring a few devoted morning walkers. Even the society guards are catching up on their forty winks.

    Suddenly one gets to see the lightning followed by the sound of thunder. The nature is freaking out. I go past the wide streets with tall buildings all around that is now beginning to wake up to a wet dawn. The winding brooks that have sprung up all over have only become more loud and tuneful.

    And as I walk along, I can’t help but think. Why is man the biggest adversary of nature when nature has provided so much for mankind?

*

By Kamlesh Tripathi

*

                                                      https://kamleshsujata.wordpress.com

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Share if you like it

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Shravan Charity Mission is an NGO that works for poor children suffering from life threatening diseases. Should you wish to donate for the cause the bank details are given below:

NAME OF ACCOUNT: SHRAVAN CHARITY MISSION

Account no: 680510110004635 (BANK OF INDIA)

IFSC code: BKID0006805

*

Our publications

GLOOM BEHIND THE SMILE

ONE TO TANGO … RIA’S ODYSSEY

AADAB LUCKNOW … FOND MEMORIES

REFRACTIONS … FROM THE PRISM OF GOD

(CAN BE BOUGHT FROM ON LINE BOOK STORES OR WRITE TO US FOR COPIES)

*****

 

A day with Dad

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    I knew for sure. This ever changing world around me will only change further. But I just didn’t know how much. Ever since you left us on this very day many years ago. I have stayed away from Lucknow. And after many years I’m home around this time. Thinking, I would sight the changing times myself. So, on this serene and dismal morning I went out for a morning walk. Pursuing, quite the same route. That, you once frequented. And it gave me a feel as if I was following the same trail that you had left behind.

     To be frank. I wasn’t surprised when I saw. The old surroundings had really sprung up to the hilt, leaving no niche for that stilly calm. The flow of river Gomti has receded and it isn’t what it used to be in your times. It has thinned down. Like the plait of an ageing lady. The chirping Gauraiyas are nowhere to be seen. And no one knows where they have gone. Did you see them by any chance? Did they come to you? Meanwhile some Gods have grown in stature but some remained where they were. The temple of Hanuman Setu has exalted both in pomp and spirits, just like you. But the small Shivalaya near the banks has only greyed. It still emanates of that salt and pepper looks. The overarching, Banyan tree there, has spread all around the Shivalay. As if, protecting, the God of the poor, residing in it. That reminded me of the days when you protected all of us.

     The chauraha has become quite psychedelic as everything out there has changed. The famous samosawalla—Phullu who had his makeshift shop in the middle of it is nowhere to be seen—the samosas are there but the walla has changed. No one knows where he has gone. Some say he is no more. One, Good Samaritan has converted her home into an institution. I wish. Many were like her.

     The chauraha gossips are no more vociferous. The morning newspapers have swapped positions and with that even the feel. From Swatantra Bharat it is now Dainik Jagran and some others. What has grossly depleted over the years is ‘time.’ People don’t have time but enough to whine. Where, morals have declined.

    Even in the faint trickle and rustle of the holy river. I could hardly hear the serenading calls of those joyous koel in the colourful months of spring. That used to be so piercing earlier. It has now been overtaken by the roar of the swarming vehicles thriving on the embankment. That sadly pollutes the vicinity, all along the scorching day. Lots of people walk up to the newly resurrected Mandirs, Ashrams and even a Masjid nearby for peace of mind. Perhaps, someday, their temples within, shall also kindle to the call of the Almighty.

    Most bright children in and around have left for good. I now only find their parents whiling away their time in obsolescence. Is when, I wonder what I got from you and what I gave to my child. If the equations are not comforting peace shall always elude me.

    So much has changed over the years. Yet a few things haven’t changed. Just as, the day and night take their turn. The sun still rises and the rain comes when it has to come. Seasons too, alternate when they have to. But more importantly the chord we struck during our lives will never ever change.

    What I continue to learn from you is, pillars should not change. But they should allow  the change.

    May, you rest in peace.

    By Kamlesh Tripathi: Homage to Babuji (K.P. Tripathi). He left us this day in 1984.

*****

        

  

KULDHARA—JAISALMER: THE HAUNT REMAINS EVEN AFTER CENTURIES

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By Kamlesh Tripathi

    Rajasthan lies on the spread of the Thar Desert. It has some ghost villages that remain almost unpeopled for various reasons.  But only a few have got as much publicity as Bhangarh located in the Alwar district of Rajasthan and Kuldhara located near Jaisalmer. The unique publicity is because of the myths attached to them. So while we were in Jaisalmer it was only natural for us to undertake the sightseeing of Kuldhara.

    Ghostly villages and vicinities often attain our attention. Concurrently, they also unleash our wild imagination to some hair-raising and eerie trepidation. But their character remains subdued when compared to the overwhelming ruins of the arrogant castles and Qilas like the ruins of the Bundi Palace in Rajasthan, or the mighty Roman ruins to name a few. Kuldhara is located in the deep-seated desert region of western Rajasthan. While standing there under the hot blistering sun you might not get to see a single human form till the horizon. In all earnestness, such unspeaking and phantom villages and towns may not utter a complaining word but then they relentlessly semaphore about the enduring trauma that their inhabitants might have undergone and that gives us a chance to peep into their distressing lives.

    Kuldhara simmers in the deep desolate wilderness, about 18 km, southwest of Jaisalmer. And it certainly has a cruel story to narrate. In Kuldhara we came across a young man by the name of Bhairo Sharma. He narrated the aghast happening in an emotional tone and tenor. This was when I reflected after years that there was someone doing justice to the forgotten art of storytelling.

    The story dates back some three hundred years ago. Kuldhara then was a prosperous and well-doing village under the state of Jaisalmer. The inhabitants were a congregation of Paliwal Brahmins. The legend throws up a spine-chilling event. It starts when the devilish eyes of Salim Singh, the all-powerful oppressive and pervert Chief Minister of the state of Jaisalmer fall on the lovely daughter of the village Pradhan and he wishes to marry her by force. He also threatens the entire village with grave consequences, if they do not acquiesce to his wishes.

    The entire clan of Paliwals lived in those 85 villages there. They forthwith held a meeting. In the meeting, it was decided that instead of acceding to the demands of the depraved Chief Minister Salim Singh, the Paliwals would instead abandon their village and homeland. This will save the honour and purity of their daughter from the devilish eyes of the monster. And soon, they all left for good. But before departing they put a powerful curse on Kuldhara that after they leave no one else shall ever be able to settle and prosper in the village. And from that day onwards the village remains unoccupied, barren and totally deserted. The place gives an isolated and godforsaken look. Perhaps, it is similar to the unseen yet imagined faces of the residents of those times, and that too, centuries ago. It is also believed that the people who have attempted to stay there overnight have been haunted by some strange and abnormal occurrences.

   The parallel story that runs and appears to be as plausible as the first one is that Salim Singh, upon, not being obliged by the Paliwals jacked up the taxes to such an extent that it became practically unbearable for the local community to survive in the village.  They, therefore, decided to move to fresh fields. But people are more inclined to believe the first story that has a tinge of both bedevilled lasciviousness and wickedness in it.

    There are also murmurs that the village was abandoned in the early 19th century for reasons such as dwindling water supply and earthquake but the story of Salim Singh holds more credence.

    The dilapidated and tale-telling houses and monuments are now maintained by the Archaeological Survey of India (ASI). One can enter the village only after purchasing a ticket. Thereafter, you drive along the prime street which appears to be the main boulevard of the erstwhile settlement. There, even now, after centuries one feels gloomy and sad for there are mud houses in a row with fallen roofs. And the ruined walls give you a sense of a melancholic past. The entire landscape is dry, dusty and sun stricken. It conveys a blaring message of atrocious human upheavals, even when, the era denoted happiness through righteousness.

    We halted at a location that appeared to be the hub of the ghost village. Close by, there was a house in good upkeep. We entered to see the rooms. They were all well-maintained. Following the path we went upstairs and up to the terrace. From there, the entire hamlet was in sight. I couldn’t feel any supernatural presence there but the chill of sombreness struck me while I was moving around. One could say the animation was missing. The ladies in the group could not withstand the countenance of destruction so they slowly moved away. I could sight an unvisited and left-alone temple nearby. Gradually, we cruised past the pitiable ruins standing there in the form of crumbling walls. For a moment, it conveyed the story of the lives that lived there, centuries ago. There was definitely something spine-chilling even when everything around was so calm and unmoved. Perhaps, the collective curse, of the helpless citizens was still pulsating there. Everything around was looking so recent. And, it felt, as if someone was whispering at you from those dilapidated houses behind.

    Kuldhara remains a sorrowful place with deserted looks. Curses don’t die so soon, they say. The ambience brings a kind of seeping dejection in you. Especially, when, one thinks of those disgraced citizens, who were forced to flee from the land of their ancestors. The place doesn’t appear to be ghostly for any other reason barring the wicked crime spelt in the story.

    Even when the ASI has taken over the settlement, it remains to be seen if this village will ever flourish. By flourish, I mean– will the lineage of the people, who left generations ago, ever return, or come together to salvage the village? And last but not least was this the quintessential example of migration that moved a civilized settlement? My answer would be no. It was time to move on.

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HELP DOESN’T HAVE A COLOUR OR A RELIGION.

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By Kamlesh Tripathi

 

    Just as terrorism—Help, too, doesn’t have a religion. It can come from any corner. But unlike terrorism, that kills. Timely help sustains life. I had once gone to a hospital in Delhi. To meet parents of some poor young children who were suffering from cancer. The drill was to provide them with direct financial support, for treatment.

    In all we had met about ten children and their parents in the hospital. Our NGO decided to support three out of them. Based on, certain illness criticalities, doctor’s recommendation and the budget available with us. Out of the three. One child happened to be from Sopore in J&K. His name was Abdul. His father’s name was Fareed. Who, happened to be a small-time shopkeeper with a paltry livelihood. Abdul was suffering from cancer for the last one year. And, during that period Fareed had exhausted all his savings. Although, he had received timely aid from the government. But that too had been gradually spent. Slowly the resources were receding, while the treatment was still in full flow.

    When I met this bright child Abdul. I found him in an animated mood. As he was talking to his mother in Sopore over phone. He had come to Delhi for treatment without her. I spent some time understanding the challenges of Fareed. Then decided to give him the good news of our supporting his son’s treatment. Up to a certain level. But he didn’t sound enthused about it.

    First, I thought he hasn’t understood me. So, I repeated what I had told him earlier. This time I spoke in Hindi. But still his reaction was not at all cheerful. I then specifically enquired, if he had understood what I had said. To which he gave me this shocking reply. ‘Janab, I have understood what you’ve said. You want to pay for my son’s treatment. But yours is a Hindu NGO. So, how can I accept money from your Trust. That too for my son’s treatment? It might not cure him at all, and Allah won’t spare me.’

    For a moment I was shocked. I didn’t know how to react. Does religion lay down crude boundaries at such junctures? I thought dismally. But without being deterred. I opened my bag and wrote a cheque, and handed it over to him.

    He held the cheque and looked at it morosely. I patted his back a couple of times. When his eyes went moist. Perhaps, he was at a break point. Where, on one end, was the health of his son and the mounting expenses because of that, and on the other, were his own self created radical diktats. Which, he was trying to blame it upon his religion.

    I said, ‘Fareed Bhai this cheque is neither Hindu nor Muslim. It’s only a piece of paper from Upparwala, for your son. So utilize it.’ And then I moved out.

    After the episode. A couple of months had passed. But that cheque never came to our account for debit. It was only when the cheque was about to expire. I received a text message from the bank debiting it to our account.

    And upon reading the text message. I felt nice. Not because Hindu money had helped a Muslim. But, because Abdul had realized. That help has no religion or face. It is infinite and can come from any corner of the world. And it is absolutely divine to take help. But the source has to be right.

It is a true story. Names and location are fictitious.

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DO YOUR JOB WELL AND YOU WON’T FEEL HURT.

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    On his first day in office as President when Abraham Lincoln entered to give his inaugural address. One rich and aristocratic appearing person stood up and said, ‘Mr. Lincoln, you should not forget that your father used to make shoes for my family.’ And with that the whole Senate laughed. They thought they had made a fool of Lincoln.

    But certain people are made of a totally different mettle. Lincoln was one of them. He looked at the man directly in the eye and said,

    ‘Sir, I know that my father used to make shoes for your family, and there will be many others here, who too, wear shoes made by him. Because, he made them the way nobody else could, as he was a creator. His shoes were not just shoes. He poured his whole soul into them. I want to ask you, if you have any complaint about his workmanship? Because, I know, how to make shoes myself. If you have any complaint I can make you another pair of shoes. But as far as I know, nobody has ever complained about my father’s shoes. He was a genius and a great creator and I am proud of my father.’

    The whole Senate was dumb struck. They could not understand what kind of man Abraham Lincoln was. He was proud because his father did his job so well. That not even a single complaint had ever been heard of.

    Moral of the story: If you are excellent at your work no matter what work you do happiness will always be yours.

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By Kamlesh Tripathi

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Shravan Charity Mission is an NGO that works for poor children suffering from life threatening diseases. Should you wish to donate for the cause the bank details are given below:

NAME OF ACCOUNT: SHRAVAN CHARITY MISSION

Account no: 680510110004635 (BANK OF INDIA)

IFSC code: BKID0006805

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Our publications

GLOOM BEHIND THE SMILE

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(CAN BE BOUGHT FROM ON LINE BOOK STORES OR WRITE TO US FOR COPIES)

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BOLLYWOOD, CRICKET & loc

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By Kamlesh Tripathi

indian-jawan

    At times it appears the Indian Army Jawan, who fights terrorism at the Line of Control is only fighting to save his own house, but in reality he is fighting for all of us. But the tragedy with Indians is that they show no solidarity with him. Our Prime Minister preaches so much about terrorism in all international forums. But back home India is a divided and selfish lot. People from all professions are only self-centered about themselves and their professions. We don’t realise by behaving in this insensitive manner tomorrow, people may desist from fighting for the country. What will happen then? There is indeed a greater need to feel for our brave jawans and we must perennially keep their morale high. Colonel Anil Chawla puts it quite beautifully.

…………………………………..

Col Anil Chawla, a serving soldier of the INDIAN ARMY wrote this:

Will sending Pakistani artists back, stopping cricket and business with Pakistan actually end terror from Pakistan?

No, it most certainly will not.

BUT there is an emotion called solidarity.

YOU CANNOT MAKE FILMS, PLAY CRICKET, AND DO BUSINESS AS IF EVERYTHING IS FINE, BECAUSE IT IS NOT.

indian-jawan-3indian-jawan2

It makes the soldier wonder aloud, “Why should I alone bear the weight of conflict?”

This conflict between India and Pakistan is not the soldier’s personal war. He is dying and killing for you and me. Imagine a situation in which the soldier felt, and behaved, like Salman Khan, Karan Johar and Mahesh Bhatt? Imagine if a soldier walked up to his superior and said, “Sir, while I am dying on the Line of Control, these people are going about as if everything is absolutely fine between the two countries.”

Why should he alone sacrifice for India, when others were making merry?

Patriotism and sacrifice is not the sole responsibility of the soldier.

The United States boycotted the Moscow Olympics in 1980, and the Russians did likewise when they boycotted the Los Angeles Olympics in 1984. This is what happens when national interest is held paramount. And this is what must happen now.

18 families have been shattered like glass … But the pain of Fawad Khan’s departure is too much to bear, it seems …”

…………………………………

    Film Stars have nothing to do with terrorism…

    Singers have nothing to do with terrorism ….

    Writers have nothing to do with terrorism …

    Directors have nothing to do with terrorism …

    Performers have nothing to do with terrorism …

    Journalists have nothing to do with terrorism …

    Activists have nothing to do with terrorism …

    Cricketers have nothing to do with terrorism …

    Politicians have nothing to do with terrorism …

    Businessmen have nothing to do with terrorism …

    Professionals have nothing to do with terrorism …

    Lawyers have nothing to do with terrorism …

    Then for whom are the Jawans sacrificing their lives for?

    Jai Hind.

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