पता नहीं क्यों, अपने किसी भी मित्र, साथी या प्रियजन की मृत्यु के बाद मैं दो लाइन लिखने की हिम्मत भी नहीं जुटा पाता हूँ। लिखने की बात तो छोड़ दीजिए, अपने फोन बुक उनके नंबर भी नहीं मिटा पाता हूँ। आज भी मेरे फोन में उनलोगों के नंबर पड़े हैं जिन्हे गुजरे दस साल से भी ज्यादा हो गया है। Continue reading “शिव अनुराग पटेरिया : पत्रकारिता जिनका पेशा था और किताबें लिखना पैशन”
That cold December night of 1984 will be etched in my memory forever. I was fast asleep under a warm quilt in Bhopal when the phone rang.
My friend RaajumarKeswani, a journalist, living in the old quarters of the town, sounded agitated, a little incoherent and was gasping for breath and coughing.
He said there was a commotion in the street, people were running around and something had happened. “I am having a problem breathing,” he said.
I came out of my house and was greeted by a bizarre sight. It was almost 1 in the night but the normally deserted road was jam-packed with people as far as my eyes could see.
They were walking silently, visibly tired, some of them carrying children in their arms, others supporting older people. Many lay on the footpath. Quite a few were very ill and vomiting. Several others were trying to stop vehicles, already overloaded with people.