Your Storyteller (Part-1)

बॉस भोपाल शहर का बंदा हूँ मैं कहें तोह एक small town guy अपने rules बड़े clear थे. देखो, batting gloves और English willow bat मेरा था, तोह सीधी सी बात है captain तोह मुझे ही बनना था ना. अबे ऐसे क्यों देख रहे हो हाँ कोई बिगडैल अमीरजादा थोड़ी था मैं. पढाई की थी पूरी लगन से अब जाकर छठी क्लास में अव्वल आया और मुझे उन गर्मियों की छुट्टीयों में यह bat  gloves मिले थे.

Actually वोह मेरा नहीं मेरा पापा का था, या कहूँ है. यादों में संजो के रखा है आज भी, एक एक winner prize. हम्म्म्म.... कितना अजीब लगता है सोच कर एक इतने बड़े क्रिक्केटर का बेटा हूँ और कभी क्रिकेट को अपना ही नहीं पाया. हाँ बचपन में रोड पे ईंट जमा कर खेला बहुत है पर अपने पापा जैसा कभी खेल नहीं पाया क्या करें हमारी लगन तोह बस किताबों में लगती थी ना खेल-कूद से पेट नहीं भरता यह कहीं न कहीं लोगों ने सिखा दिया था मुझे.

हम्म्म्म.... यार क्या दिन थे वोह भी... तब FaceBook का मतलब बस येही होता था की face हमेंशा book में घुसा रहता था तब ना तोह E-mail था न G-mail और खवाबों में थी जो Female उसको नालंदा स्कूल के पास बूढ़े अंकल की दूकान से cream letter pad  खरीद के पन्ने पे पन्ने पे पन्ने लिखते थे. फिर postman का इन्तेज़ार करते थे. कभी LOVE @ first sight,  कभी दिल टूटता था, और कभी कोई नोटबुक देते समय उसकी ऊँगली छु जाती थी तोह महीना भर सपने आते थे.......... अच्छे दिन थे कमबख्त अच्छे दिन थे.

वैसे क्लास टेस्ट में लगातार first आने पे मम्मी ने pocket money  देना शुरू कर दिया पूरे 50 रुपया महीना. जिस दिन मिलती थी लगता था शेन्शाह हो गए हों. चल दिए 10 नंबर मार्केट की रोड पे एथन में, चक्की के बाजू वाले प्रेम restaurant में एक टिक्की एक Thumbs Up फिर वोह WWF के stickers ढूँढना पूरे बाजार में. अरे भाई दूसरों से अलग भी तोह होना चाहिए ना.

जब थोडा बड़े हुए तोह वोह pocket money जगजीत सिंह की ग़ज़लों की cassettes  में जाने लगी. आज भी याद है सर्दियों में वोह देर रात तक गज़ले सुनना. “बात निकलेगी तोह फिर....” याद है? याद है न बेटा. वोह बात भी देखो कमबख्त कितना दूर चली गयी. नानी के यहाँ जाते थे गर्मियों में वहाँ मौसी जो आया करती थी छुट्टियाँ मानाने. वोह शाम को हम सब खेलते थे और मौसी नानी मिलके कभी अचार और कभी सोयाबीन की बड़ी बनाती थी. शाम ही को 4 बजे कुल्फी वाला आता था बड़ी बड़ी मूछें. आस पास बहुत दोस्त बना लिए थे वहाँ. पर किसको पता था की उनमे से एक दोस्ती बहुत खास हो जायेगी.

खैर पहले दादा जी साथ रहते थे. अरे रुको नहीं नहीं जैसा सोच रहे हो वैसा कुछ नहीं. वोह तोह बस अपने बचपन की यादों के साथ रहने चाहते थे सो वोह ग्वालियर चले गए अपने पुराने घर. वोही घर जहाँ एक बल्ब की फैक्ट्री थी और मैं बचपन में जिसके नीम के आस पास घुटने घुटने चलता था. वैसे जब तक दादा जी थे मुझे बहुत अच्छा लगता था उनके पास कहानियों की पोटली जो थी और कहानी भी राजकुमार वाली नहीं असल जिंदगी की बातें जो उन्होंने अपनी पूरी life experiences देखे वोह किस्से. आज भी बहुत याद आते हैं वोह शाम की उनकी coffee और पापा और उनकी बैठक.

ग्वालियर से दादा जी नीबूं लाते थे मम्मी नीबूं सूखाती थी अचार के लिए. गर्मी में वोह ठण्डाई या खस का शरबत बनवाते थे जाड़े में मूंगफली खाते थे. वोह रजाई में अदरक की चाय पीते थे हम सब और देखते थे चित्रहार और देख भाई देख या फिर श्रीमान श्रीमती. दशहरें पे रावण जलता था बित्तन (bittan) मार्केट पे बड़ा सा जाते थे पापा के साथ बिना डर के यह terrorism वाला scene नहीं था ना उस वक्त. अच्छे दिन थे कमबख्त अच्छे दिन थे.

आज खुदको देखता हूँ मैं तनहा लोगों के शहर में तनहा रहता हूँ मैं. कभी खुदसे छुपना चाहता हूँ अभी सिर्फ खुदसे मिलना चाहता हूँ मैं. देर से सोता हूँ देर से उठता हूँ कोई खाना बना देता है कोई कपडे धोकर डाल देता है. मैं.... मैं बस चलता रहता हूँ लाइफ की conveyer belt  पर, एयरपोर्ट पे खो गए किसी suitcase की तरह..... अकेला. कभी कभी बड़ी खूबसूरत लगती है यह तन्हाई और कभी कभी जैसे कातिल की निगाहों से मुझसे बात करती हैं या शायद you know  शिकायत बहुत करता हूँ मैं. आज बैठा हूँ मैं खिडकी के पास सुबह के 5 बजे. ना जाने कितने टाइम से अपने साथ यूँ नहीं बैठा जैसे कितने दिनों बाद मेरे दोस्त शहर की और खुदकी आवाजें सुन रहा हूँ सड़क पे बेतरतीब और बेमतलब चलती गाड़ियों के होर्न, पास वाली पटरी से निकलती एक्सप्रेस ट्रेन और उनके गूंझते होर्न. लगता है कितनी सदियाँ बीत गई मुझ जैसे लेट लतीफ़ आलसियों ने सुबह का हिन्दुस्तान तोह जैसे देखा सुना ही नहीं. पहले मेरी सुबह किसी और ही आवाज़ से होती थी दूर सुबह सुबह मंदिर में बालाजी सुप्रभात चलता था और मैं झट से स्कूल के लिए तैयार होने लग जाता था और फिर वोह “ना नाना नाणा... नाना ना,,,, ह्म्म्म ह्म्म्म्म्म्म्म्म.... यह आकाश वाणी है अब आप देवकी नंदन पाण्डेय से समाचार सुनिए.     हा हां आज फिर वोही धुन गुनगुनाने लागा हूँ ना जाने कितने साल बाद खुदसे बातें कर रहा हूँ याद कर रहा हूँ वोह सब जो बहुत अनमोल है मेरे लिए.

अरे शायद आपको पता हो अभी हाल ही में मैं बंगलोर होकर आया अपनी MBA  की internship करने गया था वहाँ. भाई प्यार हो गया मुझे उस शहर से बहुत वोह सुना होगा ना आपने “m a small town guy she’s a uptown girl” बस हम छोटे शहर वालों को ऐसी ही बड़ी बड़ी चीज़ों से प्यार हो जाता है खैर मैं भी वहाँ दफ्तर जाने लगा था “दफ्तर” कौन कहता है अब यह. पापा भी जाते हैं दफ्तर एक मोटी सी सरकारी डायरी लेकर. घर पे वहाँ से अक्सर फोन पे बात करता था. मम्मी ने SMS करना भी सीख लिया है और तोह और FACEBOOK account भी बना लिया है. कभी कभी अचानक वहाँ meeting में मुस्कुरा पड़ता था देखता था मम्मी का scrap या chat आया होता था “ बेटा how are you?” यह देश सचमुच बदल रहा है मेरे दोस्त मम्मी का scrap वोह भी अंग्रेजी में. एक टाइम था ना मोबाइल था न यह SMS  डॉक्टर की clinic की तरह दो मिनट बात करने के लिए PCO में wait करना पड़ता था. एक टाइम थे जब अंतर्देसी पत्र पे चिठ्ठी लिखते थे जब सारा परिवार साथ में खाना खाता था. अक्सर सोचता हूँ क्या मैं इतना बदल गया या यह दुनिया ही बदल गयी...

बस अभी के लिए इतना ही.इतनी तोह नहीं मेरी कहानी बहुत कुछ है बताने को अभी, थोडा दर्द है थोड़ी खुशी है पर फिर कभी...

बस मैं old fashioned थोडा सा conservative और दूरदर्शन generation का लड़का हूँ. मिलने की उम्मीद करता हूँ बिछडने से डरता हूँ सपने देखता हूँ हर सुबह जिंदगी एक नई पहेली एक नई मुश्किल मेरे दरवाजे डाल जाती है. हर दिन वक नई पहेली सुलझाने जो निकलता हूँ. मैं कोई और थोड़ी हूँ आपके जैसा ही हूँ मैं आपकी जुबां बोलता हूँ मैं आपके पड़ोस में ही रहता हूँ मैं आपके मोहल्ले में ही तेहेलता हूँ मैं मेरी आँखों से देकिये आपकी ही जिंदगी जीता हूँ मैं बस भोपाल शहर का बंदा हूँ मैं

           -    रोहन सिंह

वैसे आपको बता दूँ उस खास इंसान से जरुर मिलवाऊंगा मैं आपको अपनी अगली POST  में बस इंतज़ार करिये कुछ दिनों का, धन्यवाद.            

  

किताबें और हम (Dedicated to all Book lovers)

किताबें जो झांकती हैं बंद अलमारी के शीशों से,

बड़ी हसरत से तख्ती हैं,

महीनों मुलाकातें नहीं होती अब,

जो शामें उनके साथ कटा करती थी ,

अब अक्सर गुज़र जाती हैं लैपटॉप के परदे पर. 

बड़ी बेचैन रहती हैं किताबें,

उन्हें अब नींद में चलने की आदत हो गयी है,

बड़ी हसरत से तकती हैं

जो कहानियां वोह सुनाती थी,

जिनके पेज के निशान कभी मरते नहीं थे,

वोह किताबें अब नज़र नहीं आती हैं कहीं घर में.

जो पक्के रिश्ते वोह बनाती थी,

वह उढे उढे से हैं अब,

आज कल फसबूक के फ्रेंड जो नए रिश्ते बुनते  हैं.

कोई पेज पलटना होता है तोह सिसकियाँ निकलती हैं,

कई लफ़्ज़ों के माएने गिर पड़े हैं,

आज कल पेज बस LIKE करने को जो होते हैं.

जुबान पर ज़ायका आता था किताबों के पन्ने पलटने का,

अब ऊँगली के एक क्लिक से दुनिया पलट जाती हैं,

बहुत कुछ तह बतह खुलता जाता है स्क्रीन पर,

किताबों से जो ज्याति रिश्ता था,

मिट सा गया है वोह,

कभी सीने पर रखते थे,

कभी गोदी में लेते थे,

कभी घुटनों को अपने रेहेल की सूरत बना कर,

नीम के सजदे में पढ़ा करते थे,

Chats और Msgs तोह बहुत मिलते रहते हैं,

मगर वोह किताबों में मिला करते थे सूखे फूल,

दफन से होके रह गए हैं किताबों में कहीं.

वोह किताबें मांगने, उठाने, और बदलने के बहाने,

जो रिश्ते बना करते थे पहले कभी,

उनका क्या होगा... वोह शायद अब नहीं होंगे...

अब तोह बस स्क्रीन पर Virtual रिश्ते बनते बिगड़ते हैं.
 
- रोहन सिंह

An Interesting Tryst... (Kannada Barodilla)

This is the first time I am blogging on this new blog after returning from a place away from the comfort of my home. In fact, this time I am blogging about an IT hub of India capital of Karnataka and a Mall City of South India. Yes, you guessed it right I am talking about Bangalore.

Well as am a bit sick right now so, all the while I am writing this piece, some of my simultaneous actions are: trying to stop my sweat drops from falling on the keyboard, sipping a very hot cup of tea (I have an addiction, humidity of rainy season doesnt matter :p).. and of course trying hard to concentrate amidst chaotic workers who are basically destructing my home in the name of RENOVATION.

For all those who don't know me personally, Well, being a Management student I went to Bangalore aka Bengaluru for my summer internship at one of the (so called) IT firm Religare Technologies.

Although, I don't travel too often, this was the first time I visited this place. Also this was by far the longest distance I traveled ever. But somehow I felt, this trip was very interesting. The fact was that after struggling a lot I found a very good place to live,  with an internet connection and all luxuries of life which actually changed the whole experience. I don't know how I became so fortunate  because I didn't expect this whileI was leaving home. And that too I usually can live on minimals even though I'll get disconnected from the rest of the world, but I suppose in an IT city you can found access to internet, even when you don't get a Samosa (North Indian Dish)

I am here again, blogging about the same city.

All this time while I was there, I had some interesting encounters, the ones I'd have hardly faced at my hometown. The main distinction and the main factor being one thing, language. I won't term it as a "language barrier", here. Cuz, it's the soul reason for my enjoyment there. Whenever you're in a city with people speaking a different language, to survive, you need to know just one thing: How to convey that you don't know their language in their own language... Confused..?? It's like saying "I don't know English" in English or "Malaa marathi bolaayla yet naahi" in Marathi (which was told to me by my brother, Rahul Singh who was senior software developer at TCS Pune). So, here, in Karnataka I had learnt to speak just two words: "Kannada Barodilla" - I can't speak Kannada (this I learnt from my bhaiya cum roommate Anshul Bhaiya along with numbers from 1-20, which eventually faded from my mind). Next time around I will make sure to implement my short learnings. and those two magical words made my trip, literally!

I remember, a day before leaving, I was on bike with my Boss. I don't know why he always wants to run as he was in extreme hurry might be because he was doing SALES could be the best reason for the same.So he was  driving fast and it eventually cut the way of an elderly person on bike, but bad luck, just moments after we had to stop coz the Metro construction work won't let us pass :(  So, that elderly person made his way till our bike and told us something, we didn't understand and we didn't speak anything. When my boss didn't answer him, he thought boss was ignoring him and he started abusing me (you immediately come to know when someone is abusing u by his tone). So, after he finished his lexicon, my boss told him "Kannada Barodilla". He stared at us (firstly my boss then me) for a moment and then burst out laughing. Then again, he started saying something in Kannada, this time in a cheerful way. My boss then told him "sorry" in Hindi  "Sorry, galti se ho gaya". I wonder if he got any of that, but that saved me.. :) He told us in Hindi "theek.. chaltya" (Fine, that's OK).. Even the Hindi they speak is of a completely different kind. I then moved ahead..

I would like to keep this post short. I plan to publish some more interesting experiences in my future posts.

After this, whenever I met someone Kannada, I usually reply by saying "Kannada Barodilla", and then it leads to an interesting conversation.

I hope I did not hurt feelings of any staunch Kannada-speaking-person. If my other roommate Hemant Bhaiya came to know I have written all this and published on the blog, he will chew me out raw.. :D as he speaks Kannada fluently.

My life Rated - Rohan Singh

My Life... in figures

This Is My Life, Rated
Life:	4.7
Mind:	4.8
Body:	4.5
Spirit:	3.3
Friends/Family:	2.6
Love:	7.7
Finance:	3.4
Take the Rate My Life Quiz

Monsoon Express-An evening in Mandu

Perched on the top of the Delhi Gate with the old stone-path entry into the world's largest fortified city, the valley spread out below and the wind in my hair, the setting was perfect to say the least.

Many would know Mandu for the story of Rani Roopmati and Baz Bahadur, but this entire city of ruins has many untold stories almost buried in its stone structures. Some of Afghan architecture, others of monuments built for love, some that whisper anecdotes of the many rulers who came here. I wanted to save those for another day. This evening was beautiful just in its simplicity. The sun was getting lost in the clouds behind the stone walls of Mandu and the sky was clearly in a mood to play. 


Just when it was turning a shade of twilight, suddenly there was an overwhelming splash of pink and orange in the sky. As if an artist had suddenly changed his mind and decided to opt for more pleasant strokes than a twilight hue. Even our skin tone had turned a shade of pink. It felt like all of Mandu was covered with a soft quilt of pink, reflecting in the mighty Delhi Gate to the lake below.


It was quite amazing, in fact, I even tried to take a picture, but the colours didn't come quite as close to what I was witnessing. Perhaps it was nature's way of keeping this a very private affair, like a private screening; not to be captured for posterity but for the pure thrill of the experience. I can tell you I have no complaints with that. 

Artworks By Rohan Singh

Killing your Dreams

The first symptom of the process of our killing our dreams is the lack of time. The busiest people I have known in my life always have time enough to do everything. Those who do nothing are always tired and pay no attention to the little amount of work they are required to do. They complain constantly that the day is too short. The truth is, they are afraid to fight the Good Fight.

The second symptom of the death of our dreams lies in our certainties. Because we don’t want to see life as a grand adventure, we begin to think of ourselves as wise and fair and correct in asking so little of life. We look beyond the walls of our day-to-day existence, and we hear the sound of lances breaking, we smell the dust and the sweat, and we see the great defeats and the fire in the eyes of the warriors. But we never see the delight, the immense delight in the hearts of those who are engaged in the battle. For them, neither victory nor defeat is important; what’s important is only that they are fighting the Good Fight.

And, finally, the third symptom of the passing of our dreams is peace. Life becomes a Sunday afternoon; we ask for nothing grand, and we cease to demand anything more than we are willing to give. In that state, we think of ourselves as being mature; we put aside the fantasies of our youth, and we seek personal and professional achievement. We are surprised when people our age say that they still want this or that out of life. But really, deep in our hearts, we know that what has happened is that we have renounced the battle for our dreams – we have refused to fight the Good Fight.

When we renounce our dreams and find peace, we go through a short period of tranquility. But the dead dreams begin to rot within us and to infect our entire being.

We become cruel to those around us, and then we begin to direct this cruelty against ourselves. That’s when illnesses and psychoses arise. What we sought to avoid in combat – disappointment and defeat – come upon us because of our cowardice.

And one day, the dead, spoiled dreams make it difficult to breathe, and we actually seek death. It’s death that frees us from our certainties, from our work, and from that terrible peace of our Sunday afternoons

A Nokia N Series addict discovers grassroots enterprise in India

"Got Damn it" I thought Waking up late in the morning, I was frustrated because I missed my coaching class again. I was little angry at those bloody "Career launcher" guys as they are making me wake up daily at 5 AM to attend their classes. But mostly I was angry at my OLD(read fucked up) cell phone as it is it again behaving in a weird manner because of some stupid problem with joystick. (and that is why its alarm didn't went off today).


So I decided that today I am going to make my second move towards getting into IIM and that would be to get a new phone. (as my first step was joining CL, bloody 6AM-calling-mba-prep-class).

So I took my bike late in the evening and went to the city. I mean its not like I am living in some rural or suburban area  in-fact I am living in very posh locality of Bhopal, its just that in Bhopal we have a market called "city". I never understood why it is called city, I guess it because when we enter in Bhopal that is the first market you encounter and so the people coming from rural areas buy their stuff from there and o back to their small town and thus the market is called "city". [OR IF YOU KNOW SOME OTHER REASON FEEL FREE TO WRITE IN COMMENTS]

So i went to te city and asked for the mobile market. Surprisingly, I found the mobile market in a very narrow "gulli"(alley) and a lot of kiosks their. I was looking for a shop to buy me new cell phone.

When I reached that shop i saw a ‘hole in the wall’ you cannot imagine.  There was a small fading sign on the top saying “Cellphoon reapars” barely visible through the street vendors crowding the Budhwara Market(One part of 'city') of Bhopal. On my way to buy a new Nokia N 80, my innate sense of adventure (read foolishness) made me stop my bike and investigate. A shop not more than 6 feet by 6 feet. Grimy and uncleaned.

"Can you fix my n73?” I asked.

"Of course , show me” asked a small boy, the only boy in that "shop"(which was even smaller than my bed)

”How old are you” I asked again.

"Sixteen"

Bullshit. He was no more than 12. I am no way letting my precious n73 to a 12 year old boy. he was rather in unwashed and torn T shirt and pyjamas!(trousers). i thought of moving on and look for my new phone as if I buy a new one, they would extract the data for me. Something I have been meaning to do for a year now.

"What’s wrong with it ?” he asked and I stopped.(which I should have not done BTW)

"Well, the navigation key joystick does not respond. It’s kind of stuck and I cannot operate it”

He grabs it from my hand and looks at it.

“You should wash your hands." he said.

I was taken aback at this comment. I saw my hands residing on his table top which was already very dirty and this bloody fella is asking me to wash my hands or did i hear it wrong.

"Excuse me" I said.

"You should wash your hands. Many customers have same problem. joystick get greasy and dirty, then no working"

Now I was little frustrated firstly because Look who was telling me to wash my hands. He probably has not bathed for 10 days, secondly because his reason for the problem was something that would kill Nokia hardware engineer.

I leaned out to snatch my useless n73 back.

”you come back in one hour and I fix it"

I am not leaving all my precious data in this unwashed kid’s hands for an hour. No way.

“who will fix it ?”

"Big brother"

"How big is ‘big brother?"

"big …. umm ..thirty"

Then suddenly big brother walks in. 30 ??? He is no more than 19.

"What problem?" He says grabbing the phone from my greasy hand into his greasier hand. Obviously not trained in etiquette by an upmarket retail store manager.

"Normal N-series problem. I replace with original part now. You must wash your hand before you use this"

WTF, What is this about me washing my hands suddenly?? Do I look like someone using his hands for some dirty work(Don't get me the wrong way).

19 year old big brother rummages through a dubious drawer full of junk and fishes out a spare navigation joystick packed in cheap cellophane wrapper.

Original part? I doubt it.

But by now I am in the lap of the real India and there is no escape as he fishes out a couple of screwdrivers and sets about opening my n73.

“How long will this take ?”

”Six minutes”

This I have to see. After spending the whole morning trying to find a Nokia service centre and getting vague answers about sending the phone in for an assessment that might take a week, I settle down next to his grubby cramped work space. At least I am going to be able to watch all my stored data vanish into virtual space. People crowd around to see what’s happening. I am not breathing easy anyway. I tell myself this is an adventure and literally have to stop myself grabbing my precious n73 back and making a quick escape.

But in exactly six minutes this kid handed my cell phone back. He had changed the part and cleaned and serviced the the whole phone.  Taken it apart, and put it together. As I turned the phone on there was a horrific 2 minutes where the phone would not come on. I looked at him with such hostility that he stepped back.

"you have more than thousand phone numbers ?”

"yes".

"backed up ?"

"no"

"Must back up. I do it for you. Never open phone before backing up"

'You tell me that now ?"

But then the phone came on and my data was still there. Everyone watching laughed and clapped. This was becoming a show. A six minute show.

I asked him how much.

250 rupees’ He ventured uncertainly . People around watched in glee expecting a negotiation. Thats $ 5 dollars as against the Rs 13,000 ($ 260)  I was a about to spend on a new n80 or a couple of weeks without my phone. I looked suitably shocked at his ‘high price ‘ but calmly paid him. Much to the disappointment of the expectant crowd.

"do you have an Iphone ? Even the new ‘4′ one ?"

"no, why”

"I break the code for you and load any ‘app’ or film you want. I give you 10 film on your memory stick on this one, and change every week for small fee"

I went home having discovered the true entreprenuership that lies at what we call the ‘bottom of the pyramid’. Some may call it piracy, which of course it is, but what can you say about a two uneducated and untrained brothers aged 12 and 19 that set up a ‘hole in the wall’ shop and can fix any technology that the greatest technologists in the world can throw at them.

I smiled at the future of our country. If only we could learn to harness this potential.

"Please wash your hands before use" were his last words to me. Now I am feeling seriously unclean.