Stories that transmit the aroma of roots

Shriniwas Joshi

BORN in Mandi on July 13, 1936, Yogeshwar Sharma has now settled in Mandi after having served in various colleges of the state. 

A postgraduate in Hindi and English, Yogeshwar in one of his ‘stories’ ‘Drishti Bhram’ (deceptive vision), questions himself — “I am in doubt as to what I write. Is it a story or an essay or memoirs or humorous satire or yet another discipline of literature? Literature has many disciplines, which are complementary to each other and just possible; my writing is the latest discipline, which I have invented myself.” 

‘Drishti Bhram’ is a story in Yogeshwar’s latest anthology of 18 stories ‘Phone par Mahanagar’, published by Ayush Publishing House, Delhi, costing Rs 250. 

Dr Dharmpal Kapoor, in the introduction to the book, tries to solve the dilemma by declaring that his stories are ideological (vaichaaric kahaaniyaan). The dictionary says that ideological means ‘concerned with or suggestive of ideas. I believe all stories are suggestive of ideas and so, Yogeshwar’s quandary, as to what does he write, remains unsolved. Reviewing his earlier book ‘Basaaon’, I had written that his writing is satirical essays in the garb of short stories.

I still hold my earlier expressed opinion and call his stories as character analysis satirical essays. This type of essay requires deeper understanding of characters and Yogeshwar deftly weaves the characters. May be these were drawn from real life. Surendra and Mahendra or Rirku-Kaatku or Twarsoo or Master Radheyshyam and Bhagwanti, all grip readers, who imagine that he had met them somewhere in Himachal. His characters come from the lower or middle classes and gel comfortably with any reviewer belonging to that class.

The goal of writing character analysis satirical essay is to put a smile on the reader’s face while sticking to facts, and bringing to light the author’s motive to which he is passionate about. His stories-cum-essays start with a hook sentence to engage the reader. “Park mein do boodhe baithe hain (there are two elderly sitting in a park) or bus mein jitney log baithe the, unka apna apna itihas tha (all sitting in the bus had their own histories) or chunao ki adhisoochna jaari ho gayi hai aur Twarsoo ek voter hai (the notification of the election is issued and Twarsoo is a voter)”. The beginning in almost all stories is catchy and compels one to read ahead.

I pick up the story ‘Phone par Mahanagar’, which is also the title of the book. Master Radheyshyam’s son is a managing director in a company and his wife a senior manager at a known bank. Both take good care of their absolute rustic elders, who believe that like photo frame, they are fit for their village house only, but their children think otherwise and invite them turn by turn to live with them in a metropolitan city. Either of the two, who was left back in the village, managed the household, including cattle. This time it is the turn of Master Radheyshyam to go who often telephones his wife Bhagwanti and tells her about the Metropolis. His son has purchased a flat on the 25th floor of a 40-storeyed building. Standing at that height, Radheyshyam tells his wife: “Bhagwanti, Mahanagar mein sab daurte hue nazar aate hain. Ruke hue jo hain, vey bahut thode se hain. Main bhi ruka hua hoon aur in daurne walon ko dekh raha hoon. Hamare gaon mein peepal ke chabootare par jo thehrao hai, woh yahan nahin hai”. Radheyshyam explains Metropolis to his wife over phone and forgets not to use the catch-sentences — “samajh rahi hai na tu? Aakhir baaraah jamaat to toone pass ki hi hai”. The story or the essay concludes saying that technology has brought the village and the Metropolis closer, but the distance between the two still exists.

Twarsoo, grown up in utter poverty and the last person in a long queue, is the most sought after person on the Election Day. He is photographed and the candidates contesting elections are very friendly to him. After the elections, he goes to the minister, who represents Twarsoo’s constituency. The minister reads the note and asks: “Who is this Twarsoo, son of Kaatku?”

“Unhe boodha mat kahiye. Boodha shabd, ek kathor shabd hai…” starts the story ‘Park mein do Boodhe’. Surendra and Mahendra, who met after a long time, recall their past. They talk about their lost love, old songs and the huge mansion of Mahendra, which was vacant and almost locked now. True, “vey ab boodhe ho gayen hain, lekin unkaa woh samay boodha nahin huaa hai. Samay kabhi boodha nahin hotaa”.

In the book, all ‘stories’ carry the aroma of the roots from where one grows. The author confesses in ‘my words’ at the start that he has refrained himself from giving unusual expansion to his stories. Yogeshwar that is your forte and make you readable!

Tailpiece

“Never say more than is necessary.” — RB Sheridan

Catching reader’s attention his speciality