Yaadein...............the sweet n sour moments shared from life.

             कहीं हँसता-खेलता है बचपन ,   दादी-नानी की गोद में,   कहीं तरसता है ममता को किसी झाडी में.   बिलखता है भूख से,  किसी कूड़े-दान में.   असमय मृत् हो ता बचपन.   कहीं किताब-कलम थामा करते हैं नन्हे हाथ,   कहीं मजबूर है मजदूरी करने को,   परिवार का पेट भरने को,   जीवन-चक्की में हर दिन पिसता है बचपन.     कहीं भविष्य के सुनहरे ख्वाब है आँखों में,   कहीं कच्चे हाथों में मेहंदी की लाली लिए   विदाई के आंसुओ का समुंदर है आँखों में,   रस्मो-रिवाजों की आड़ में लुटता है बचपन.    कहीं सपनों का राजकुमार हैं सखियों की ठिठोली में,    कहीं रेत से बिखरे सपने है झोली में,   नन्ही कोपल कुचल दी गयी दरिंदों की टोली में,   वासना की अंधी गलियों में बिखरता है बचपन.   कहीं माँ-बाबा का लाड-दुलार हैं,   कहीं अपना खून ही बना हथियार हैं,   जब रक्षक ही बन जाएगा भक्षक,   तो पूछती है ‘विनी’,   फिर कैसे ब...

  Vivaah ka laal joda har ladki ka sunder sapna hota hai, jise wo khuli aankho se dekha karti hai. Wahi laal joda, Suman ke liye shaap ban gaya tha. Kal wo dulhan banegi par na uski doli ko kaandha dene ke liye uske baba honge na usey gale lagaakar nam aankho se vidaayi dene ke liye maa hogi. Na honge uske bhai-behan aur na sakhiya. Har dulhan ki tarah, aane waale kal ke liye uski aankho mei sunhere sapne nahi bas aansoo jhilmila rahe the, aur yaad aa raha tha wo manhus din jab uske gaanv mei Brij aaya tha, Sheher se apne saath anginat sapne lekar. Brij, vidhva Surja kaki ka beta, teen varsh pahle kaam dhundhne sheher gaya tha. Kuch mahine to koi khabar nahi aayi uski, phir ek din kaki ke naam money order aaya, purey 10000 rupaiye ka aur ek patra ki usey naukri mil gayi hai ek factory mei aur ye uski pahli tankhwah hai. Kaki phuli nahi samayi thi apne bete ki kaamyaabi par aur saare gaanv mei laddoo baante the. Phir har mahine isi tarah money order aata raha, aur kaki apne bete k...

  Waiting for someone after a scheduled time of meeting can be so irritating, but I had no other option than to wait for her. In my two years of career as a youth counsellor, I had never seen a case as sensitive as this one. Ten minutes later, I heard a knock at my door. “Come in please”, I called. The visitor was not the one, I was expecting. A woman in her forties entered my office and wished me with folded hands. I offered her a seat and before I could ask her anything, she introduced herself as Mrs Sengupta, Rubina’s mother. I was surprised by her visit as I was expecting her daughter instead, yet I asked her, “Yes Mrs Sengupta, how can I help you?” “Madam, I need your help. Rubina has been missing from her hostel since yesterday morning. The hostel warden called us when she didn’t show up at her classes and neither returned to her room. We’ve looked everywhere, all her classmates, and our relatives. Even Shreya, her best friend, had no idea about her whereabouts. While going ...

देवी बनाकर बैठा दिया मंदिर में भूल गए कि वह भी एक इंसान हैं कोई पत्थर की मूरत नहीं जो सब सह जाये तो क्या हुआ? जो सहनशीलता उसकी पहचान हैं माँ, बहिन, पत्नी, बेटी बन प्यार वह लुटाती रही क्या यही उसके प्यार का अंजाम हैं? लहूलुहान कराहती है वह, दरिंदगी के घाव लिए पूछती हैं 'विनी', इंसान की खाल में ये दरिंदे भी, क्या किसी माँ की संतान हैं? Placing her as a goddess in the temple They seem to forget that even SHE is human She is not a stone idol who can survive every torture So what if she is known for her patience and tolerance? She showered love as a Mother, Sister, Wife and Daughter Is this how her love is to be reciprocated? Brutally wounded and bleeding, she suffers in intolerable pain May I ask, Do these brutes deserve to be called Sons of a MOTHER? - VINITA SURANA

Kaha jarurat tumhe lafzo ki, Tumhari aankhein bolti hai. Bayaan kar deti hai sab raaz dil ke, Jab muskaan bolti hai. Haathon mei haath pata dete hai jazbaato ka, Har chhuan bolti hai. Har baat alhada hai tumhari, Meri dhadkan bolti hai. Yun hi chalte rahna saath mere, VINi Ye nazdeekiyan bolti hai. Kaha jarurat tumhe lafzo ki, Tumhari aankhein bolti hai. By- Vinita Surana

That winter morning is still fresh in my memory. I had just sat down on my balcony with a cup of my favourite ginger tea and fresh newspaper, after finishing my routine morning chores. With the first sip, the doorbell rang. “Oh no ! don’t I deserve even a cup of tea in peace?” Mumbling to myself, I opened the door to see Geeta, my maid standing at the door. Surprised to see her, as she was on a week’s leave, owing to her daughter’s wedding, I was taken aback at her dishevelled appearance. Her clothes were in a disarray, her hands and tear-strained face covered in black soot.     “Hey Geeta! what’s wrong? What are you doing here at this time? It’s your daughter’s wedding tomorrow, isn’t it?” I asked, my mind telling me something was terribly wrong with her. My questions were answered by a fresh storm of tears, she started sobbing uncontrollably, tears flowing down her cheeks. All I could hear between her sobs was “Madam he killed my Chanda….. My Chanda… Madam please save...

Morning hours just went by and it was 11 am, when the bell rang. Ghazal opened the door to see her neighbour and friend Rashmi standing there with a covered dish in her hand, with her usual cheerful and warm smile. The delicious aroma of magical spices from south told me , it was my favourite biryani. I stepped back letting her in and closing the door softly so as not to disturb Arun, if by any luck he had not already been by the door bell. “Hey Ghazz ! everything fine I hope. I saw you seeing Vrinda off to school alone, so was wondering if you were sick or something. This is for you love”, she said handing her the still warm dish. “Oh yes , everything ‘s fine. It’s just that I had some work at home , so took a day’s leave…”, Ghazal said, silently praying in her mind that Arun was still asleep and she could be saved explanations to her ‘gossiper’ neighbour, who was otherwise a very warm person at heart. Rashmi was popularly called ‘news letter’ of their lane, a name in which she too...

               Words kept evading me, even though my mind overflowed with thoughts…. of those sunshine days, serene evenings and countless starry nights.   I never knew its really tough to express in letters, what goes on like an unending reel in the mind.   Isn’t it easier sometimes to let the thoughts be images tucked away in the mind’s vault to let them be… in all their beauty.   Words could never express that longing, when eyes searched for that face familiar in the crowd, when heart wished to reach someone far away, when ears yearned to hear the only voice that matters. BY- Vinita Surana