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Mrityu Kaise Hoti Hai? Phir Kya Hota Hai? by Rajendra Tiwari
मृत्यु जीवन का अटल सत्य है; यह अवश्यंभावी है। काल को जीतना लगभग दुर्लभ एवं असंभव है। इसलिए जीव मृत्यु के भय में रहता है। अनगिनत-अनजाने प्रश्न और शंकाएँ उसके मन-मस्तिष्क को जकड़े रहती हैं। विज्ञान लेखक श्री राजेंद्र तिवारी ने गहन शोध और अध्ययन करके जटिल व दुरूह ‘मृत्यु’ के बारे में विवेचना की है।
प्रस्तुत पुस्तक उनकी अब तक के प्रयासों से प्राप्त तथ्यों और उनसे निसृत निष्कर्षों की अभिव्यक्ति है। शरीर के अंदर कुछ रहता अवश्य है, जिसके बाहर जाते ही शरीर मृत हो जाता है। वह कुछ क्या है? प्राणों के निष्क्रमण की प्रकिया कष्टदायी है अथवा वस्त्र बदलने की भाँति एक सहज क्रिया? मृत्यु के उपरांत नया परिवेश प्राप्त होने तक आत्मा कहाँ विचरण करती है? क्या पुनर्जन्म होता है? क्या लोक और परलोक हैं? कर्म का सिद्धांत क्या है? क्या सद्कर्म-दुष्कर्म अर्थात् कर्म के रूप भाग्य और भविष्य की रचना करने में निर्णायक भूमिका निभाते हैं? क्या स्वर्ग और नरक हैं? यदि हैं तो कहीं और हैं अथवा इसी पृथ्वी पर?
पुस्तक में मृत्यु के समय एवं मृत्युपर्यंत के अनुभव प्रमाण सहित प्रस्तुत किए गए हैं। संदेश यह है कि ‘सुधर जाओ अन्यथा मृत्यु के समय व पश्चात् कष्ट-ही-कष्ट हैं।’ मृत्यु से भयभीत नहीं होना है, बल्कि जिसने भी मृत्यु के रहस्य को जान लिया, अज्ञात व अंधकारमय प्रश्नों से परदा हटकर ज्ञान के प्रकाश से अवगत हो गया, उसे मृत्यु से कभी भी भय नहीं लगेगा।
Mrs Funnybones by Twinkle Khanna
यह सब तब आरंभ हुआ, जब सरिता तँवर ने मुझसे पूछा कि क्या मैं उसके समाचार-पत्र के लिए एक मजाकिया साप्ताहिक स्तंभ लिखना चाहूँगी। उसने दो-टूक शब्दों में कहा, ‘तुम छिछोरे किस्म के चुटकुले सुनाती हो और लगातार पढ़ती ही रहती हो। मुझे पूरा यकीन है कि तुम लिख सकती हो।’
मैंने उसे समझाना चाहा कि लाखों लोग लगातार क्रिकेट का मैच देखते हैं तो इसका मतलब यह नहीं कि वे सभी इस खेल में भी माहिर होंगे। पर उसने मुझे टोकते हुए कहा कि कम-से-कम शुरुआत तो की जाए, उसके बाद जो होगा, देखा जाएगा।
मैं लेखन के बारे में सही मायने में क्या जानती हूँ? मेरी किशोरावस्था में लिखी गई एक अधूरी किताब की स्मृति आँखों के आगे कौंध गई। इसके साथ ही एक फाइल भी याद आई, जिसमें मौत और अपनी सनक से जुड़ी सारी भयानक कविताएँ दर्ज हैं। मेरे पूरे लेखन-अनुभव को इसमें ही सँजोया जा सकता है।
Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf
Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself.
For Lucy had her work cut out for her. The doors would be taken off their hinges; Rumpelmayer’s men were coming. And then, thought Clarissa Dalloway, what a morning–fresh as if issued to children on a beach.
Mrs. Farrell by William Dean Howells
This story of my father’s was first printed under the title of Private Theatricals in the Atlantic Monthly of 1875, while he was still editor of the magazine. It appeared a few years after Henry James’s Gabrielle de Bergerac, and neither of the two short novels was ever republished by their authors. My father’s must have been written in the Concord Avenue house in Cambridge which he and my mother had just built and moved into. They were very proud of the new house, even of its mansard roof such as every house of the period was obliged to have, and which is reflected in the newly added French roofs of some of the houses near the church in West Pekin; but their greatest pride was in the library. My impressions of the house are those of rather extreme youth, but I can remember that it was lined with bookshelves bordered by bands of red, scalloped leather that were meant, as I now suppose, to keep the dust from the book tops but which were then pleasantly mysterious to the infant mind. There were very satisfactory tiles of Eastlake tendencies over the fireplace, picturing the seasons in yellow and brown, and a vast flat-topped desk in the middle of the room with rows of drawers on either side that went down to the floor, leaving a dark hole between them, which was useful as a doll’s house when not occupied by my father’s feet. The room was at the back of the house, for greater quiet, and looked out into a deep, grassy yard divided down the center by a hedge of lilacs, and only invaded by birds and children.
Mrs. Lirriper’s Legacy by Charles Dickens
Ah! It’s pleasant to drop into my own easy-chair my dear though a little palpitating what with trotting up-stairs and what with trotting down, and why kitchen stairs should all be corner stairs is for the builders to justify though I do not think they fully understand their trade and never did, else why the sameness and why not more conveniences and fewer draughts and likewise making a practice of laying the plaster on too thick I am well convinced which holds the damp, and as to chimney-pots putting them on by guess-work like hats at a party and no more knowing what their effect will be upon the smoke bless you than I do if so much, except that it will mostly be either to send it down your throat in a straight form or give it a twist before it goes there. And what I says speaking as I find of those new metal chimneys all manner of shapes (there’s a row of ’em at Miss Wozenham’s lodging-house lower down on the other side of the way) is that they only work your smoke into artificial patterns for you before you swallow it and that I’d quite as soon swallow mine plain, the flavour being the same, not to mention the conceit of putting up signs on the top of your house to show the forms in which you take your smoke into your inside.
Mrs. Miniver by Jan Struther
Mrs. Miniver’ is a book first published in 1939, shortly after the outbreak of World War I. Written by columnist and activist Jan Struther, all of the stories centers around a fictional character – Mrs. Miniver. These stories were created by the author in 1937 for a series of newspaper columns for ‘The Times’. As a bestseller, the adventures of Mrs. Miniver have charmed millions.
