Dr. Nidhi Jain
(Dr. Nidhi Jain is an Assistant Professor at Bharti Vidyapeeth, College of Engineering, Pune. She selected teaching as her profession, but it was a dream to be a litterateur. Her first book कुछ लम्हे is a culmination of her interest. Her time management of family, profession (Teaching in engineering science) and literature is exemplary. Today we present her short story with poem “The Migrant Worker“.)
☆ Weekly Column ☆ From Nidhi’s Pen #13 ☆
I woke up in the morning, in the darkness only small light coming from the night lamp which was hanging on the wall. I started searching for my watch which I keep on my bedside table. It was 4 O’ clock in the morning. I started to toss and turn on my bed. After 15 minute, I started feeling uncomfortable. I wanted to get rid of my bed. The smooth bed, silk bed cover and woolen cozy quilt were not able to comfort me.
I went to the drawing-room which was full of beautifully decorated things. I rolled my eyes on the showcase. I started gazing each and every object sleeping comfortably on the showcase. I consoled myself that they were non-living, without heart and blood. They all beautifully decorated and transported from across the world.
I went outside into the balcony. Night was still holding the dark clouds. The stars were smiling and telling me, “I will go soon from the sky when the big boss sun comes to meet us. The sun is like a policeman for all the stars”. These stars captured and stole the light of the sun. When the sun comes they have to run. The moon is the leader of all thieves. He remains full night in full swing without taking rest. The moon motivates the star to stay fearlessly in the sky without caring about the guilt of stealing the light.
Street lights were on. The rains drops were dazzling from the sky. They were meant to fall. The leaves of the trees were holding their hands sometimes. But the weight of the rain drops was increasing; the leaves cannot hold the pressure and stress and allow rain drops to fall. The edges of the building were also pushing rain drops to fall because they were meant to fall.
The breeze was touching my cheeks. Hairs were holding the hands of the breeze to fly but not able to leave their roots. The temples of my face were still talking with the worries. The hot air was jumping from my nostril to escape, from the inner lava that makes the eye to remain open.
The eyes were the window for the outer world. The eyelids were stuck on the roof of my eyes, not allowing to shut, which was governed by the chemicals of my brain. The worries were in full swing. They were rolling inside the brain doing all sorts of exercises to keep me awake.
Tensions are the output of all types of exercises the brain does. I was gazing and allowing my ears to do some work.
The only person I saw sleeping comfortably was the migrant worker in the half-constructed building. I stopped myself. I started churning and juicing my tensions. I instructed my mind to throw the dirt of mind. What I was thinking about? Is this way of living? What is my destiny? Peace is the only destiny.
Now the world became pleasant. The ears started listening to the beautiful music of the chirping of the birds. The darkness started fading. The breeze started kissing me. I was here to change myself, not the others. The world was only a reflection of ourselves. The shades of worries started running from my body. I was waiting for the sun to come. Feet started working and took me to the bed. I went to sleep again with a smile on my face.
Nothing to lose, nothing to gain, he went to sleep again.
Full day he works,
Taking mud and sand,
Never takes rest,
Works his best,
Nothing to lose, nothing to gain, he went to sleep again.
Night lamps are on or shut,
Nation economics are up or cut,
Rich are behind name or fame,
His hopes are concentrating on work not on dirty game,
Nothing to lose, nothing to gain, he went to sleep again.
No house, No bank balance,
No insurance, No worries,
Only single bed to sleep,
Days are passed, but nights are only to sleep.
Nothing to lose, nothing to gain, he went to sleep again.
© Dr. Nidhi Jain, Pune
लेखनी सुमित्र की – प्रेम के सन्दर्भ में दोहे 
