Like it is written in my father’s diary, that I was born on 4 March 1986 at my maternal home. After some days, I brought to Arout. Years passed and I grew, and that moment too came when aversion happened between my mind and heart. After that, I learned wisdom of life at my local school and the wind taught me how to love. In spring, when the mellow yellow aroma of the mustard flower engrossed in the breath, it seemed as if there were some sounds. And this resonation escort me to the summers, where many lads plucks the fresh fruits from the tree and eat them too and also hum with the koel cuckoo. We all used to float over the Baghmati river surface.  While keeping my feet in the pristine water, I realised that my soul was flowing with the water. Those flows haul me towards the rain. And after sometime, I dance on the rythm of the rain. And gradually this dance increased its pace so much, that leaves starts falling from the trees. And these withered leaves by giving me this promise that they will meet me again, wrote autumn on my heart. I became sadden, and that sadness when turns into the winters, still I don’t understand this. Maybe, I don’t want to discern this.

​

I find evening like a elusive woman, when in the twilight, on the maximum doors of the village, the preparation for brooming has been done. Cows and buffaloes with dangled chimes in their neck were coming back towards the home. Cow-herders were humming the song. In that particular moment, in the light of fireflies and in the voice’s nest of birds, I try to hide my fear. In the middle of this, from a far distant I heard the tune of filmy songs which were playing on the radio. On one side, sun was setting in the Baghmati River. Twilight covers the black bedsheet on the white face of the day. The earthen patio filled with the cricket’s sound. On the other side, keeping lantern in hand I came to the door and spread the sack over the ground, to start my studies. Amid the bookish words I used to weave the dream. A dream that never became true. Identifying the animals’s faces in the clouds, during the day time and counting the stars in the night, while lying over the mat I like the most. There was a calf too, who is a very good friend of mine. With age, I experienced many dimentions of life.

 

I was thirteen year old, when my father died. Seeing his dead body, was like seeing own dead body. It was a weird experience, when I saw myself by eleminating myself from my own being. A crying boy and other boy were laughing. In that particular moment, I became the third person. I became the witness. There was no tear in my eyes, when I cremated my father. I only realise that, a son was dying inside me. On that day, with my farther’s death, my childhood also died.

Now, I admitted to a new school. It was the first time, where need to live in the hostel. Village, river, firefly, butterfly, cricket, rain, moon, stars, calf, cow... now these were not the part of my world. In this new world, there were few wounded words whose meanings were always changing. For the very first time I came to know what is loneliness. Sometimes, I thought that if someone investigates my hostel room, even today they can find my whimper. Those tears are visible, but only flower’s plant can identify them. Don’t know why, but I always liked sitting in the garden instead of playing.

​

While living in the hostel, a time too came when I enjoyed talking about a girl. Although I never had a word with that girl, but her blurry face still luminates in my mind. ...and how can I forget that night of August 2001, when poetry happened to me. I wake up from the sleep, wrote a couplet, and again went for sleep. This was the only start of forthcoming succession, which is still continued. At each stage of life, different kinds of people came to my life and I changed, with the span of time, with people, with circumstances.

​

After hostel I came to Patna, because this was the only option. Living with the elder brothers I experienced every kind of freedom and I also got the chance to fight with them. Actually, we all were growing. I realised this thing, quite after long time, that I never grown up. In my eyes’s patio, there is a thirteen year old sad boy sitting, who is still living with this hope that his father will return! Well! In Patna, while doing my intermidiate I failed in the second year. And this failure became the cause to come to Delhi.

Coming to Delhi, in every way was beneficial for me. I introduced to a new world. I studied Hindi and Urdu literature from the Delhi University. Then I did M.A. in mass communication. While studying in the north campus I won dozens of trophies. First time, my ghazal, nazm and story got pulished in the newspapers and magazines. I was being invited to the mushaira and gatherings. First time I experienced the love too.

​

This was that time, while expressing my thoughts in Hindi/Maithili, the breath of the ghazal/nazm throb. In such time, fiction has holded my finger. Fiction has given new wings to my inner’s cosmos. Apart from this, there was something which was yet to be melted. And then I returns back to Urdu poetry and still now I am experimenting with various forms.

When I came to Mumbai, I realise that, this city was waiting for me. The very first welcome, was bestowed on me was by the slow rain. After few days I got a project, and believe me it was a paid one. I enjoyed working with people who belongs from various places. In passed years, few songs, some t.v shows and ad film releases too.

​

In 2017, I was selected for the Yourquote Himalayan Writing Fellowship. They have sent me to the Mudhouse, Jibhi (Himachal) for 15 days, where I completed ‘north campus’ my collection of 12 short stories. In 2018, this book won the Lit-O-Fest Manuscript Contest Award. In 2019, my poetry has been included in the school syllabus of Maharashtra board for the eleventh class.

​

At last, nowdays I am working on various projects. Wait for the good news.