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Just a literary testimonial to Das, for being brave in life. I often receive surprises when it comes to reading novels. The biggest of all was my ability to read a 500-page novel The Great Expectations by Charles Dickens) without any academic pressure or requirement. Initially, I was a quote person. I was amazed by the idea of compressing ideas. Oft on YourQuote I discovered such writers. From there I even tried to come up with quotations that would amaze me when I re-read it sometime later.  लोग चांद पे जा रहे और बच्चे काम पर। चुप हूं, गलत नहीं। -are some of my favorite self-composed quotes. The goal was achieved, when I re-read these I feel happy. But it's not that just quotations amazed me. For the first time when I read an open letter, my brain stopped braining (if braining is a word). It was like slowly sliding the curtains to literature’s window, only to discover an unexpected serene scenery.  But Kamala Das’s glimpses from her autobiography scared me for a while. “What ...

From the life of a Dalit: Joothan reflects on the narrator’s journey from ‘Chuhre ke’ to ‘Valmiki’. It was difficult to be Valmiki coming from the swamp. He survived and thrived. The parental support Valmiki had was commendable. The father, who held pride in his son being educated, died with the contentment of his son escaping the caste, although he died as a chuhra. Valmiki’s mother, who dared to dream along with his son, heard the stories he narrated. Even after the severe financial crisis, her Bhabhi didn't hesitate to sell her only jewelry to let the narrator stay away from the dirt of the responsibilities they bore. The livelihood helps people in this community survive, but it dismisses the emotions. When you've got a family to feed with no social support, just fighting with the world to barely exist, this is what comes out as a result. The irony of how we say what's written in a name, yet the emphasis we place on digging into someone’s caste, is quite ironically happ...

The carnival field was full of lightning strikes. Laughter and humor were in the air. I stood near the small fountain, where a boy was quietly gazing at the alcohol consumers. A thick cotton string was hanging around his neck over his torn shirt, and some cards were in his pockets. His face was serious, with a tint of patience. Something unknown attracted me to him. He had contentment in his scarcity. I asked, “What did you see in here, dear?” “I have seen everything. They throw bangles. They aim at toys. They stab numbers with arrows. I liked aiming at toys. The magician is useless. I can display a better show of cards than him.” He replied very profoundly. His words didn’t pause anywhere. I asked, “And what's behind that curtain? Did you go there?” “No, I couldn’t go there. Tickets are charged.” I said, “Let's go; I'll take you there.” I thought, “You're my companion for the day.” He said,“ What will you do there? Let's go shooting.” I agreed with him and said, “C...

का हाल बाटे? Writing in Bhojpuri restricts my other language-speaking readers. You and I realize this, it’s equivalent. But the difference sparked when Alexander the Great realized it. He wanted the Greek scholars to convert the contemporary literature. The process of translation and its history is dated thousands of years ago. The details could be traced from scholars like Roman Jacobson, Gideon Toury, Mona Baker, and Venuti. But nothing could surpass the contribution of Horace and Cicero when it comes to the history of translational studies. Translation is in the air these days. How? Globalization! You visit a new country with a different language than your mother tongue, you are not as concerned as you would be, if this was a decade ago.  I have been writing since I was in eighth grade- makes me happy to say that out loud. I write in joy, sorrow, contentment, disappointment, and all similar feelings you can spell. It has its role and purpose, but one of the beautiful things ab...

Story One  लिख के रखो एक जगह I have annoyed my sister in every possible way. Be it rushing to the washroom when I used to notice her looking for the towel or making her draw the front page of my project only to erase it later. I am glad she did not disown me. Out of habit, I used to bring my maths sums, questions like a scholar, and the bundles of questions to her, only while she was studying.       I remember how one fine day, listening to my babbling, Mom came to our room with the bean in her hands. I looked up to see Mother India in the room, with a tint of confidence and fear I said, I was just asking questions, to which she replied, "Don't disturb her". I said what about my questions. She said, to write it down on a page, and ask when she's done. I was taken aback. Do I have to write all of it? I asked. To which she nodded smilingly and left the room to attend her chapatis on the stove.  Story Two सबका मुँह बोलेगा,  मेरा मुँह चुप रहेगा? ...

If you are reading this, there is a high chance- you know me. If you know me, most probably we have had a conversation. Did I bring my mom up? In my conversation? Maybe yes, maybe no. If yes, you know her by that conversation, and if no, you will read about her today. Where? Here. Now. It's her birthday and I could not just send a text to her, saying happy birthday. It is crazy how I brag about her to the world, and when it is the time to tell her the same thing, I cannot. And even if I do, she listens and makes it a very normal conversation. She says, ‘Yes, that’s how it is. It’s not a big deal.’ Sometimes I want to tell her that it is! Not everyone could stand against the high tides of life and come out of it, with contentment, saying “I did my best, and that is what that matters for now, isn’t it?” I could not help but agree with it. Because that is life. If we start to stop glorifying the ideal and simply accept the real, it would be much easier to live. I remember how once she...