A Dirge for the Rainy Day in Schools - published in The Hindu date 20/9/2026 https://www.thehindu.com/opinion/open-page/a-dirge-for-rainy-day-in-schools/article71480307.ece

 

A Dirge for the Rainy Day in Schools
 (https://www.thehindu.com/opinion/open-page/a-dirge-for-rainy-day-in-schools/article71480307.ece)

Holiday is fun; an unexpected one is delightful; but the ‘rainy day’ in school was sheer bliss.

It’s strange that the dictionary defines ‘rainy day’ as a period of want or need – for example in a sentence like – ‘We must save for a rainy day. For us kids, however, it was something opposite- a day of enjoyment.

No festival generally falls in July and August, and hence, the schools did not have any holidays during these months. The rainy-days came as a succour to us children in the dreary times.

In those days, more than thirty years ago, the school-going was very different from what’s it today. The post-liberalization multitude of four-wheelers scenario was some years away and even the two-wheelers were not that common as they are now. Cycle-rickshaws and bicycles were the usual mode of conveyance to school. So, if it were to be raining more than a drizzle during that one hour period before the school-bell time, it was quite possible that that day would be declared a rainy day because it was difficult for most to reach school.  We particularly prayed our hearts out for a rainy day to be declared when we hadn’t done our homework.

Even if it was raining hard and everyone was sure that the schools would be declared closed, we would still dress up to go to school. In fact, we would all be more eager to go as compared to other days! When else would we be permitted to venture out in the rains but for school!

The onward journey to school wasn’t that fun that the return one was. We would go fervently hoping for the school to be called off and careful that our bags and uniforms do not get wet in case the school remained open.  We became happy when children returning from the school met us on the way shouting that the school had been closed. We did not stop and turn back however. We went ahead to reach school as the rain water filled field lay in wait for us to splash around with friends. We cared little as our shoes got wet and were delighted as it made “choon-choon” sound as we moved around in them. To adults it may have been an annoyance; to us children it was music.

The journey home was real fun. Getting drenched was one of the great pleasures of the season. Ensuring that the school bag was safe from getting wet, we cheerfully surrendered ourselves to the downpour and arrived home soaked to the skin. How we loved our cycles plashing in the puddles of rain water! How we pleaded with our rickshaw puller to lower the hood of the cycle-rickshaw so that we could enjoy the raindrops as they danced and fell amidst the blowing wind! How those travelling in the school buses gave us envious looks! Even the trees, with their branches laden with rain water, drenched those trying to take shelter beneath them as they swayed gracefully celebrating monsoon.

The rest of the day was spent in indoor games or reading comics if it was raining, and out in the park, when the rain stopped. Computers were something one hadn’t even heard of, and mobile phones were beyond pale of imagination.

 

Times, however, have changed. Rainy-day holidays in schools are a rarity nowadays. With most of the urban school children travelling to school in buses or other four wheeler vehicles, reaching school even when it’s pouring, is not difficult. Even when there is that rare occasion when the schools are declared closed, the scourge of online classes takes over. The poor kids and the teachers curse technology and participate in (to borrow words from Thomas Hardy) the general drama of pain called virtual education where learning is, in reality, but an occasional episode.

 

I pity today’s school children for  what they miss- experiencing the grandeur of nature, dancing raindrops, swaying trees, carefree drenching in the monsoon, squeaking shoes, jumping in the puddles and still managing to save the school bag from getting wet.

 

 

Dr Skand Shukla

 

 

Parathas, Pool Tables and Power Cuts- life in a PG (Article in New Indian Express by Shubhanan Shukla)

Parathas, Pool Tables and Power Cuts- life in a PG 

( https://www.newindianexpress.com/cities/delhi/2025/Jun/20/parathas-pool-tables-powercuts )

Moving to Delhi for college, I had my fears in order - unfamiliar subjects, unfamiliar people, and unfamiliar metro exits. But what I didn’t factor in was how one year in a PG - could give me a crash course in the many layers of adult life.

Unfamiliar city, pestering agents and, alluring pictures on the online websites vis-a-vis the dingy realities on site-visits were quiet an experience in our search for a PG. I ultimately landed a top-floor room which seemed a sweet deal- spacious, breezy, with a balcony overlooking a silent, unused park and, an unobstructed view of the Indian flag fluttering at the Shakti Nagar crossroads.

The first few months were deceivingly smooth. The bathroom was clean, the bed comfy, and we had an air conditioner of some brand I’d never heard of – Hercules.  

We’d start our days with an 8 a.m. breakfast - piping hot parathas or the omnipresent bread-omelette, made on the fourth floor, transported to the ground floor via lift - a mystery of logistics I gave up trying to understand. Sometimes chhole-kulche and pav bhaji joined the menu - the former much-hyped by Delhiites, the latter something I mentally crossed out after my first taste. Lunch was hit-or-miss since college usually extended beyond lunch hours, but it always was one of these - rajma-chawal, kadhi-chawal, chhole-chawal, or dal-chawal. Evenings were reserved for snacks - self-serve pani puri (with a potato filling that deeply offended my chickpea-loving Allahabadi heart), aloo tikki, or the occasional Chinese platter. Dinner was basic - dal, roti, and some revolving door of vegetables. Sundays brought excitement - chicken curry for meat lovers, butter paneer for vegetarians, and deserts like gulab jamun or gajar ka halwa. The day would end with rounds of pool or UNO. At that point, it truly felt like a home away from home.

But then, as the lyrics go ‘the times they are a-changin’, it began with the bed first. The initial cosiness soon turned into a war between our backs and spines - prompting us to swap the mattress for a thinner one our bodies were more accustomed to. As the months went by the CCTV stopped working, biometric entries ceased, and the 24/7 guard developed a habit of disappearing for his “scheduled cigarette moments.” One morning, I met a stray dog descending the staircase from the rooftop like a paying resident - I hope it left a review!

The food? A complete character arc. The beloved egg curry became extinct, sweet dishes faded from memory, pavs started arriving half-baked, and bhajis transformed into liquids. The vegetables, bought once a week and left to rot on the kitchen counter, would turn an ominous shade of black before being generously served at dinner. Paneer, once the Sunday hero, now floated in a mysterious gravy that deepened in colour week by week. I found myself surviving mostly on dal and chapatis. Breakfast was skipped, lunch was taken care of by the college cafeteria, and evenings involved three or four boiled eggs bought from a kind old uncle nearby. As a post-dinner reward, we’d stroll to the local Havmor stall and buy ourselves a Mango or Raspberry Dolly – sweet rebellion against a bitter kitchen.

Laundry? Initially, a luxury - clean, ironed clothes twice a week; but with time clothes began disappearing for days. Some never returned.

Power cuts joined the PG chaos soon after - sometimes stretching across entire days, offering no inverter-backed salvation. Summer in Delhi became a survival test. The one refrigerator either froze things to ice sculptures or melted them into puddles. The Hercules ACs finally surrendered, the bathroom drains began revolting, and the lift started trapping people regularly.

The common room - once our pride - crumbled literally and figuratively. Walls chipped, posters peeled, the smell turned repulsive, and worst of all - rats arrived. Massive ones. Confident ones. I once witnessed a WWE-style brawl between two rodents in broad daylight, with a pav as the championship belt!

Our beloved pool table, once the centrepiece of social life, also saw its demise. Balls disappeared mysteriously, sticks lost tips or grew hair from constant abuse, and the marble table grew holes like battle wounds. Eventually, we improvised and turned it into a makeshift table tennis setup - using our TT bats and a net made of books.

As the building decayed, so did the management. One of the guards famously sold off the electricity meter to fund his New Year’s celebration and was carted off the next morning by the PG owner’s men. A manager fled with three months’ worth of rent. The staff - mostly overworked, underpaid, and sometimes even minors - stopped showing up.

The PG as an institution revealed itself - profit-first, care-never.

The people! When everyone’s new, everyone’s nice. But then personalities emerge. There were the rebels who raised their voice at every injustice, the quiet ones who spoke only when it mattered, the stoics who endured silently, and the emotional ones who gave too much of themselves. There were givers and takers, hoarders and sharers, comedians and philosophers. The diversity of behaviour in that one building was enough to qualify as a human psychology thesis. I made friends. I unmade some too.

Eventually, most wanted out; and one fine day, so did I to a sharing flat- a better place, in several ways. The PG refunded my security deposit months later - minus Rs 2,000..

But what it gave me - beyond parathas, pool rats, and power cuts - was something else – an experience. A year in a PG is not just a stay. It’s a rite of passage. A little mad, a little sad, but all very real.

And somewhere in my drawer, I still have one of those TT balls, a small memento of resilience and jugaad. 

Shubhanan Shukla

B.A (Hons.)

St. Stephen’s College, D.U.

 

 

The Sarkari Files (published by Khushwant Singh in his column in 2011)

 

‘तुम’ - ‘आप’ (Published in Amar Ujala Kavya november 2021)

 https://www.amarujala.com/kavya/mere-alfaz/skand-shukla-tum-aap-1635696168896

‘तुम’ - ‘आप’

 

‘तुम’ से ‘आप ’ पर चले जाना;

यानी, कितना बदल जाना।

 

प्रीति, साहचर्य, सानिद्ध्य;

‘तुम’ में, एक निश्छल भावना।

 

लिहाज़, दूरी, अदब, अंतर;

‘आप ’ में है विलगाना।

 

जीवन में, विरल ही होता,

‘तुम ’ सदृश सम्बन्धों का बन पाना;

बन गये जो, सहेज वे रखना,

न उन्हें 'आप '  होने देना ।

 

 स्कन्द शुक्ल

गांठे खोलो published in Amar Ujala Kavya on 31-10-24 (https://www.amarujala.com/kavya/mere-alfaz/skand-shukla-gaanthe-kholo-2024-10-31)

 

https://www.amarujala.com/kavya/mere-alfaz/skand-shukla-gaanthe-kholo-2024-10-31

आओ,

कुछ यूं ही बातें करते हैं,

जो मन में आए वह कहते हैं,

आओ, कुछ यूं ही बातें करते हैं।

 

ना तुक हो न ताल हो,

दिल में ना मलाल हो,

जो जी में हो वह कहते है।

आओ,

कुछ यूं ही बातें करते हैं।

 

कुछ अपनी कहें, कुछ तुम्हारी सुनें,

कुछ इधर की हों, या उधर की हों

बस ढेर सी बातें हो।

आओ,

कुछ यूं ही बातें करते हैं।

 

वे भी क्या दिन थे ना!

जब दिन भर बोला करते थे,

जब से चुप्पी साधी है

अंदर सबके आंधी है,

कितना सब में छुपा हुआ!

मन में क्या-क्या बसा हुआ!

 

आओ, बैठो, गांठे खोलो,

कुछ अपनी कहो, कुछ मेरी सुनो।

आओ,

कुछ यूं ही बातें करते हैं,

जो मन में आए वह कहते हैं।

 

डॉ स्कंद शुक्ल

प्रयागराज

--- आइये विचार करें, क्योंकि हम सब भी वृद्ध हो रहे-----(01/10/24 - दैनिक जागरण' में प्रकाशित)

 ---- आइये विचार करें, क्योंकि हम सब भी वृद्ध हो रहे-----

दो दशकों के बाद पुनः वही सब कुछ - रात भर जागना, डायपर बदलना, नेबुलाइज़ करना, वक़्त-बेवक्त दवाइयाँ देना, खड़े होने में-चलने में मदद करना, ऐसे लोगों से संपर्क स्थापित कर सलाह-मशविरा करना जो इसी तरह के अनुभवों से गुज़रे हैं या गुज़र रहे हैं...। दो दशक बाद इन दिनों मेरी पत्नी और मैं पुनः माता-पिता के दायित्व का निर्वहन कर रहे हैं। बस अंतर यह कि इस बार कोई शिशु नहीं है बल्कि हमारे जनक हैं। यह अनुभव पूर्व जैसा भी है, और बहुत अलग भी।

प्रेमचंद ने ‘बूढ़ी काकी' में सही ही लिखा है कि ‘बुढ़ापा बहुधा बचपन का पुनरागमन हुआ करता है’।

बच्चों की तरह घुटनों और कोहनी को मोड़कर सोना, त्वचा का इतना नरम हो जाना कि बिस्तर का खुरदरापन भी घाव पैदा कर दे, आपके सरल निर्देशों - जैसे मुँह खोलने, कौर काटने या चबा के निगलने- को भी समझने में समय लेना, चीजों को याद न रख पाना, चिड़चिड़ा हो जाना, और जवाब देने या निर्देशों का पालन करने से इनकार कर देना जैसे व्यवहार पर तो कोई भी किसी शिशु के बारे में ही सोचेगा।

अपने किसी बड़े को इस स्थिति में देखकर अपने को यह विश्वास दिलाना बहुत मुश्किल होता है कि आपके समक्ष वस्तुतः एक बच्चा ही है। हम अभी भी उन्हें एक मजबूत व्यक्तित्व के रूप में देख रहे होते हैं क्योंकि हम बचपन से ही इसके आदी हो चुके हैं और यह स्वीकार करना बहुत मुश्किल होता है कि वे अचानक ही कमजोर हो गए हैं। यह भूलना बहुत मुश्किल है कि कुछ समय पहले तक आप हर चीज के लिए उनकी सलाह पर भरोसा करते थे। उनकी आवाज़ में अधिकार था और यद्यपि आप बड़े हो गए थे और दुनियादारी की समझ भी आ गयी थी तब भी आप अभी भी कभी-कभी मार्गदर्शन के लिए उन्हीं की ओर देखते थे।

बात ना मानने पर बच्चे पर तो आप चिल्ला सकते हैं, नाराज़गी दिखा सकते हैं लेकिन यहाँ यह संभव नहीं। आप इन्हें केवल बहला कर, फुसला कर ही अपनी बात मनवा सकते हैं। फिर ये शारीरिक रूप से बड़े और भारी हैं। आप बच्चे को तो उठा सकते हैं, उसे नहला सकते हैं, कपड़े बदल सकते हैं, लेकिन किसी बुजुर्गों को बैठाना और संभालना एक कठिन काम होता है।

उपर्युक्त अनुभव मुझे अपने देश में वृद्धावस्था के बारे में सोचने को मजबूर करता है।

यूएनएफपीए की रिपोर्ट के अनुसार, भारत में वर्तमान में 15 करोड़ (60 वर्ष और उससे अधिक आयु के) बुजुर्गों की आबादी को 2050 तक लगभग 35 करोड़ तक पहुंच जाने की उम्मीद है। स्वाभाविक है कि जैसे-जैसे जन्म दर कम होती जाती है और जीवन-प्रत्याशा बढ़ती जाती है, बुजुर्गों की संख्या में वृद्धि होना तय है; लेकिन हमारे पास इस विशाल आबादी के लिए सपोर्ट स्ट्रक्चर नहीं है।

बुजुर्गों के लिए विशेष चिकित्सा सहायता प्रणाली का अभाव स्पष्ट रूप से दिखाई देता है। बड़े शहरों में ही जेरिएट्रिक विशेषज्ञ मौजूद नहीं हैं तो माध्यम या छोटे शहरों की कोई क्या कहे। हमारे देश के मेडिकल कोलेजों में जेरिएट्रिक विभाग नगण्य हैं। लोगों को यह मालूम ही नहीं है कि बुजुर्ग और वयस्क एक जैसे नहीं होते, और वे उतने ही भिन्न होते हैं, जितना एक बच्चा एक वयस्क से।

एकल परिवार तथा बच्चों का काम के लिए घर से दूर जाना सामन्य बात हो गई है। इन स्थितियों में बुज़ुर्गों का अकेला पड़ जाना उन्हें मानसिक स्वास्थ्य से जुड़ी बीमारियों के प्रति विशेष रूप से संवेदनशील बनाता है। पार्किंसंस और अल्जाइमर बुजुर्गों में बहुत आम होते जा रहे हैं, लेकिन लोगों को इनके बारे में कोई जानकारी ही नहीं हैं।

बुजुर्गों के लिए ऐसी स्थिति में कोई सोशल सपोर्ट सिस्टम, विशेष रूप से शहरी क्षेत्रों में, उपलब्ध नहीं है जहाँ वे अपनी भावनात्मक, मनोवैज्ञानिक और सामाजिक ज़रूरतों को पूरा कर सकें। मुझे याद है कि मेरे पिताजी हर महीने की पहली तारीख को बैंक इसलिए जाना चाहते थे कि वे अपने सेवानिवृत्त सहकर्मियों से भी मिल सकें।

प्रत्येक बीतते दिन हम सभी बूढ़े होते जा रहे हैं और बहुत अधिक समय नहीं है जब हम अपने माता-पिता की तरह वृद्ध और अशक्त हो जाएँगे। अब समय आ गया है कि हमारा समाज और पूरी व्यवस्था अपने बुज़ुर्ग नागरिकों के बारे में चिंतित हो। येट्स की कविता 'सेलिंग टू बाइज़ेंटियम' की वह पहली पंक्ति कभी भी चरितार्थ न होने पाए- ‘दिस कंट्री इज़ नॉट फॉर ओल्ड मेन।'

('अंतर्राष्ट्रीय वृद्धजन दिवस' के अवसर पर 'दैनिक जागरण' में मेरा यह लेख अंग्रेजी में पूर्व में 'द हिंदू' में भी प्रकाशित हुआ था, जिसका मैने हिंदी रूपांतरण किया)

डॉ स्कन्द शुक्ल

-------------Parenting Parents------------- (Published in the Hindu 22/09/2024)

 -------------Parenting Parents-------------

(https://www.thehindu.com/opinion/open-page/parenting-parents/article68642569.ece)

Those sleepless nights, keeping watch on diapers, changing them when they are wet, nebulizing, giving medicines at odd hours, helping in the awkward gait, comparing notes with people who have or are undergoing similar experiences… all are back after two decades. We, my wife and I, are experiencing parenthood once again; only that it’s not a child but one of our parents. It’s similar and yet so different.

The old age is ‘second childishness and mere oblivion’ – as the bard wrote in As You Like It - ‘Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything’. As he cuddles himself when sleeping, the skin gone so soft that even the roughness of the bed-sheet can create sores, takes time to understand your simple instructions for opening his mouth- chew-swallow the morsel of semi-solid food, looks with vacuous eyes when unable to remember things, gets irritated and just refuses to reply or follow instructions, one cannot but think of a baby.

But then it’s so difficult to make yourself believe that though he is a grown up, you are dealing actually with a child. We still tend to see them as strong people as we have been habituated since our childhood and find it hard to accept that they have suddenly become frail. It’s so difficult to forget that only some time ago you were counting on his advice for everything. His voice had authority and you still looked towards him for guidance at times though you had grown up to be a man of the world. You can shout and express anger at your child if it doesn’t do your bidding but you are unable to bring yourself to shout at him; you simply can’t. You have to cajole and persuade somehow to get past his obduracy. Then he is physically much large and heavy. You can lift a child and bathe it and change clothes, but in the case of the elderly, making him sit and holding him steady is a task in itself.

As I undergo this experience, I muse on the wider picture of geriatrics in our country.

While India has the highest number of young people, ageing is rapidly progressing. The current elderly population of 153 million (aged 60 and above) is expected to reach a staggering 347 million by 2050 as per UNFPA report. As the birth rate gets lower and the life expectancy higher, the number of elderly is bound to grow; but we do not have the support structure for this huge population.

The specialized medical support system for the elderly is conspicuous by its absence. Pediatricians abound but geriatricians are simply non-existent even in big cities. Geriatric department in the medical colleges in our country are a rarity. People don’t even realize that the elderly and the adult are not same, but are as different, as a child is from an adult.

The nuclear families are the order of the day, and the moving of children away from home for work leaves the elderly forlorn and thus susceptible to illnesses related to mental health. Diseases like Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s are becoming so common among the elderly but people are simply not aware of them.

The social support system for the elderly, particularly in the urban areas, is practically non-existent where they can fulfill their emotional, psychological and socializing needs. The need of socializing is so strong that I remember my father wanted to visit bank on the first of every month not for withdrawal of money as such, but to meet his retired colleagues.

We all are aging every day and it isn’t very long when we shall be in the state in which our parents are. It’s high time when our society and the system as a whole get concerned about its elderly citizenry. Let not the opening line of Yeats’ poem ‘Sailing to Byzantium’ (written in a different context though) ring in our minds- ‘That is no country for old men.'

 Dr Skand Shukla.