Darshatha- the visible voice : dark

Showing posts with label dark. Show all posts

Wednesday, 13 July 2022

write

Dream big, they say. by Shristi Nangalia

wearedarshatha 16:34

how can one hammer wood without a thud?

how can one stay parched in case of a flood?

how can one be oblivious of dark clouds

and focus only on the silver shine?

how can one wreck all inhibitions

and let acknowledgements align?

how can one feel satiated in a moment

when they've craved of a lifetime?

how can one shun the hollers of the head

and the mind's incessant chime?

how can a heart be full of something

and still miss it?

how can a throat that is dry and suffocating

doesn't care to admit?

how can one yearn of someone

more than they should?

how can one train the touches

and tame the kisses so good?

how can one walk through the rain

without hope, faith and might?

for now, the only way forward

is to dream of clear skies and moonlight.

Writer- Shristi Nangalia

On frame- Toshni Ghatate

Monday, 14 September 2020

sunset

आत्मघात by Adity Sanker Pandey

wearedarshatha 19:21

उस कमरे के एक कोने में वो गुमसुम बैठा करता था,

मुख में ना शब्द , इशारों में वो सबकुछ कहता रहता था।

थे जो सवाल उसके मन में वो सबके लिए अनायास थे,

उसके लिए जीवन उसका अब बस उनके जवाब ही थे।

ढूंढा उसने जो किताबों में, कई मंदिर और मजारों में,

जवाब मिला वो पागल है, है शंका है उसके खयालों में।

फिर वापस आकर कमरे में, अकेले में सन्नाटे से,

फिर वही प्रश्न पूछे उसने इस बार मगर, दीवारों से।

क्या ऐसा है कि हैं ही नहीं वो उत्तर इस संसार में ही,

फिर क्यों ना किताबों कि माने और पूछें उस भगवान से ही।

हां अभी जहां तुम बैठे हो, हां वहीं बनी एक सूली थी,

हां वहीं फिर से एक और जान घंटो तक उससे झूली थी।

स्वर्ग द्वार पे खड़े हुए, जब उसने अन्दर कदम ना रखा,

परमात्मा को भी उसके फिर परमार्थ भाव का मनन हुआ।

दे दो उत्तर उन प्रश्नों का मुझे वापस श्रृष्टि पर जाना है,

मेरे जैसे कमजोर पड़े नादानो को मुझे बचाना है।

उन प्रश्नों का उत्तर तो तू उस धरती पे ही छोड़ आया है

यहां तो ना हैं सवाल , ना प्रकृति ना माया है।

था जब मनुष्य का सृजन हुआ, अलगाव का ना जन्म हुआ,

फिर भी ये कुछ यूं जुदा हुए, खुद से ही यूं बेहूदा हुए,

की एक था वही ढूढ़ रहा, जो दूजे के पास था रखा हुआ

फिर भी उसको ना फर्क पड़ा, पहला मरा या है ज़िंदा,

स्वार्थ इनपे जब हावी हुआ, "बस मै" का भाव तब हावी हुआ।

तुम्ही देखो जब खुद तुमने अपना ही संघार किया,

इनकी दुनिया क्या रुकी, थमी ? क्या एक पहर भी किसीने उपवास किया?

दुनिया तो बस चलती गई, चलती गई बस चलती गई।

Penned by: Adity Shanker Pandey (guest writer)

Presented by: Darshatha

Image by: Anonymous source of a beautiful sunset.

Wednesday, 23 August 2017

violence

Highway- the road to freedom by Juhi Meshram

wearedarshatha 21:00

Raina… kaari kaari koylaan si raina

Neendi tola, tola si naina

Taaron ka bichhona.. chain se sona

Gota gota gudri mein ghoomega ghaamega

Sooha saaha main nani le jaana

“utho bhaya, kasana phone kiye go,,” and yet another dream of Mahabir was disturbed by hustle and bustle of his life. Millions of times he dreamed it, and million was the time it remained incomplete. “fir ajj oo saaale ka kaam b to khatam kre ka hai ...”. He opened his eyes balked to the voice and noise; voice of his fellow who knocked off his dream with handful of harsh realities and noise of go-down, the wheat storage where they stayed all night.

Bandit, contract killer, were all his identities. Identity. What was his identity. His profession, his childhood, his background. None looked like the one he had ever wished, he had ever wanted. A 6 feet tall, brown, perfectly built up to look dangerous ... he was a man of his actions with aggression being his shadow and violence his diet.

Dhammmmm. The bullet left its court and a man was shot dead. Pause. Mahabir and his comrades tried to escape the scene with the backdrop of guns and a girl. The girl along with her car became their key to escape and they... escaped.

The girl was rich. 5’5”, fair skinned, youthful who could be identified as the daughter of renowned minister.

Aadoo: bhayo, kasana bhi hath chod diyo hai, ab ka karogo

Mahabir: le ke javego laundiya

Tonk : per bhayo, police lag javegi , minister paiso na dio to

Mahabir: laundiya ki jaan pe aawegi to minister ka baap b dego paise. Apan apne bootein pe le jawega laundiya.. jeko aana hai aavo.

And Mahabir was now a kidnapper. They traveled. From city to city, state to state, place to place... to hide. They beat her, tortured her, tied her hands, filled clothe to her mouth.

She tried to escape, tried and failed. But then she realized that the thing she was trying to escape was the one she had always wished, she always wanted; an open sky, refreshing air, the feeling of being free. Stockholm syndrome. She started talking to them, liking them.

Mahabir: jada moh na lagawo laundiyo no.

Aadoo: nah bhayo, nah nah.

Mahabir: iske baap se firauti lewego aor saali laundiya kothe me daal dewego.

Ee saale ameer logan gariban no manorajan smjhe,,, gariban ke amma ko ijjat se khele au leke kon jaye aurat ko ,,, oko pati. Saala rat bhr kutiya k bahr baitha roye au ghr aake gussa b aurat pe nikale.

Mahabir was wearing it; aggression. He wore it since his childhood. He wore it when his mother was used as sexual pleasure by factory owners but he couldn’t do anything, he wore it when his father abused and beat his mother every other day but he couldn’t do anything, he wore it when he faced his mother’s sad sobbing face but couldn’t do anything.

The girl, Veera, on the other hand, did not hate him. She helped him escape the police, she helped him demand ransom from her father.

For her, he was an angel who rescued her from the plastic, unpleasant life back home and for him, she was a high society product, high society that ruined his childhood pushed him into crime.

But her behavior, her innocence developed a sense of inclination inside him for her. He offered her new clothes, food and also a freedom to roam around with them not like a victim but like a companion.

Tota bole pedon pe, ped se, poodi se

Sooha saaha neendan mein okha na ho

Sangi saathi, hansu ne thaare ho na ho

Sooha saaha, amma ka..

Sooha saaha, amma ka..

He used to hum this song so often, this lori his amma used to sing, to pour her love... making him sleep, making him dream, making him escape the reality. But he escaped his house, traveled to city... to crime and violence. He felt the same here. Bounded, like he couldn’t do anything but here, he could violate against the nature of society snatching its peace. And for him it was enough.

Veera: mere ek uncle the, hmesha ghar aate the mere lie chocolate late the muje bht pyaar krte the. Fir bathroom me le jate the, god me bithate,,,waha b pyaar krte the, mai dard me chillati thi,,,muh daba dete the taki meri chikh na sunayi de,,,

Mahabir was listening to her as she continued.

Veera: maine maa ko btaya, maa ne bola sshh kisiko mt btana. Mai chup rhi. Vo aj b aate h mere uncle, aj b mai unki god me baithti hu... vo aj b muje pyaar krte h.

She was crying, she was speaking, and she was looking at him.

Veera hugged him for hearing her. He looked at her and tears couldn’t resist floating. He hid his face but couldn’t hide his heart. A heart that was not a criminal but was still a child, a kid who wasn’t born bad but was nurtured badly by the society, the society he was doing bad to. It was like giving back from where he got.

Veera: amma kaha h tumhari.

Mahabir: gaon me.

Veera: tum unse milne jaoge, promise kro muje... jaoge.

Mahabir promised.

He now knew that she didn’t belong to that society but was victim of the society. Just like him. She was like him. They were alike. They wanted the same: freedom.

He decided to send her back. But she denied. He tried. He pushed his fellows out of it, he took her to the town, he asked her to go to the nearby police station, and he told her to go home. He ran, ran away. He tried and failed. Because he was fragile but she was strong.

They traveled together, to mountains, river, to nature.

Kasana had told him at the time of kidnapping.

Kasana: kutte ki maut marego saale

Mahabir: kutta kutte ki hi maut marego na.

He knew his end was near, and he knew it won’t be pleasant but he was ready to grab it.

For once, for only a day but it happened. They lived. Far away from the voice of society and noise of past. They lived. Together. On the mountains, roamed, rented a hut, cooked, ate, slept, woke up. Together. A perfect day.

Dhammm. Again a bullet left its court. Pause. Veera turned her eyes from beautiful scenery of mountains towards the sound.

She turned to find Mahabir shot, shot by police and laid on ground. She ran to him, covered him, protected him from police; society. He was dead but she couldn’t believe. She spoke, spoke to him, told him that everything was going to be fine, that he would meet his amma soon.

She kept on speaking because she was not ready to accept because she couldn’t do anything. She left her house, went to mountains, lived the life she always wished. She was happy because she got hers... but he got his too...freedom.

Tuesday, 18 July 2017

wedding

Dark by Juhi Meshram

wearedarshatha 20:00

I was just half awake when a voice encroached my peaceful morning. It was my mother’s, it took me a minute to figure it out.

Next! I grabbed my half fallen blanket, covered my face and tried to sleep. But, the noises did not let me. This time, they were more than one. I stepped down the bed finally, and crossed that distance till living room which seemed to be a mile away. We had some guests and maa was talking to them, or I can say screaming with them. I rubbed my eyes to clear the picture and there I saw; maa, masi, masa and two others. I greeted them, all of them, but they kind of ignored me amid their serious discussion. That day I realised that you might be the best son or you are home for just 3 days or you were a scholar all your life, you will just be ignored if there is a serious conversation going on. And when I say serious, it is not about the cold war between India and China or about the monsoon in Delhi, it was about a neighbour’s wedding. I stood there thinking for a while and then went straight towards the washroom. The voices were so clear from there, thanks to our compact 2BHK apartment. I chose to hear them.

“You won’t believe Meenu, I told his mother straight that how she could agree for this marriage. She just walked away, couldn’t say a word.” Maa said to masi.

“I think there is something wrong with Anup. He is MBA, earns lakhs per month, is good looking, then why this girl? There must be something we don’t know.” masi replied.

“Yes, she is not even rich.” said masa. This much was enough to tense me. I was suddenly breathing heavily. I had come home for a week for Anup’s wedding. He is not just a neighbour but my childhood friend. We were similar. Went to same school, graduated from same college, I went Bangalore to pursue career in IT while he post graduated with MBA. Last night I was busy celebrating with Anup and other friends. But this morning snatched my hangover. I knew what they were talking about, why they were talking so and why they did not like Anup’s wife. But I prayed not to hear those exact words. But they continued.

“She is an MBA too, they were batch mates…” said an unknown voice.

“But she is too dark, couldn’t you see. There must be other girls in his batch”, I heard maa.

“Yes, you know I couldn’t even get her face, she just camouflaged with the lights”, said masi.

For the next few minutes, all I could hear were laughs. I couldn’t take anymore. They kept on saying when I joined the room, this time without caring about being ignored.

“So you people are talking about Priya”, I sat beside maa. All the faces stared me for a while and then maa said, “Anup is your best friend, couldn’t you tell him to find a good girlfriend.” And the laughs continued. “And why do you people think she is not a good girl?”, I added.

“This generation is so blind about relationships, Raghu think about his kids they will be dark too.” Masi replied to me. “So what masi, even your children are dark, because masa is, does it make any difference to their personality?”, and I crossed the line for them. “Beta, I am a man, head of the family but a woman… needs to be pretty.” said masa.

“So it is not about kids, then what? About being a girl. So, Priya is MBA earns equally like Anup, she has mentally supported Anup when he was down after uncle’s death, and they make a good duo with their compatibility. They have taken responsibilities of both the family way before the marriage and haven’t failed yet. She is better in fact best choice for Anup for she loves him and he reciprocates”, I took a deep breath. “Love lasts for days, but there are other things too, how would he manage with her, I mean how he would love her?” said masa. “Are you talking about sex?” I replied, to which maa frowned but I did not stop, “Let it be a private topic for them.” “But what about family status, you don’t know how her mother is going to answer people.” said masi.

“Which people? Whom should she answer? People like you? Maa? People like us?”

There was a silence. No! They did not get my words. It is just that… they faced the mirror and stood staring to what they are.