It is a sad story of the disordered psyche of contemporary times of mutual hatred, strife and tension. The story of the inferiority and the superiority of the person is glaring and burning! Self-centered and isolation-oriented social (anti-social) network, purposeless sense of existence, rational populist politics, unlimited needs, insatiable aspirations, extreme individualism, fierce disappointment, a story of "good me" and "I'm only good" resulting from the malaise!

A proud frog who was proud of his artificial size died prematurely when the frog broke its flat while inflating. There was no one to call Kathaibara.

•••

begins Now the real story. He is both a woman and a man. Therefore, he is a union of two beings in one i.e. bisexual. His popular name is Vikramchand. Vikramchand is not an average man of the world either in his eyes or in his eyes. He is, in many ways, an extraordinary man of the world. He is like no other in terms of interest and psychology. He is like no other in his own eyes. And, in his eyes, he is not like anyone else in terms of the size of others. So he is just the same and the same. 

It's a slow-moving creature that gets shocked at a moment's notice - Vikramchand. This Sankasin prefers to decorate himself with quality, merit and  decoration. Therefore, in his eyes, he is an unparalleled talent, an extraordinary intellectual, a rare creator, a rare human being. Sitting on the lofty mandapa of his 'good self', he looks at the world in the dust below. And, he bursts out — Ah, how high I am! How low all the rest! How great I am! Everything else is so petty! 

But what do you think, such a 'great' Vikramchand also has his own sorrows. In particular, these are the sorrows that he himself has created. His facial features are not good, nor is his body fit. An ugly face and a mismatched soul are the two sources of his misery. Wherever Bikramchand goes, these two sorrows always accompany him. Together while awake, together while asleep. Together in advertising, together in dreams. 

Let me quote an old story. The name says - Sage Ashtavakra's body was crooked in eight places, very ugly at a glance. However, he did not care about that crooked life. There was nothing before his intelligence that Nathe Bangopan. He would never remember it. Nor were the eyes of the beholders ever engrossed in it. However, the story of Beglo Vikramchand is different. As the consciousness of beauty and ugliness unfolds, Vikramchand, when he looks at himself in the mirror with blurred vision, is shocked and saddened. In this sadness, a feeling of inferiority crept up in him. His inferiority complex was indelibly imprinted on his memory. So that it continues to grow at home, so that the heart continues to grow at home. 

•••

is an ancient Griselli legend. This is the story of an inanimate creature named Narcissus. Narcissus, the son of a water god and a mermaid, was perfectly fine. A prophet said — How long is the life of Narcissus. However, to enjoy this long life, he must be very careful and avoid one thing. That said, he should not look at the reflection of his face in a mirror or any other object. He saw that his sad moments were about to begin. Unfortunately, one day Narcissus' eyes fell upon the reflection of his face in the water of the river. He fell so in love with his beautiful image that he looked at it without blinking an eye and continued to look at it. Indulging in the love of his image, he forgot thirst, forgot hunger, forgot sleep, forgot the world. And, intoxicated by the beauty of his own face, laughing, he forgot to take a breath.

While Narcissus' grief was in his beauty, Vikramchand's grief was in his ugliness. In particular, these two strange creatures are two sides of the same coin. Both of these are self-centered. Both of them are humble. Both of them are arrogant. The views of both of them who look at and judge life and the world are unrealistic, they fly, and they cause suffering. 

•••

Vikramchand remembered the glimpses of his two ugly forms. And, he was equally convulsed with anger. He touched his face, touched his soul. With anxious eyes he looked here, there, everywhere. He did not even see the presence of his existence in such a vast world. Social media is such a jungle. There is no mention of him anywhere, not at all. There are so many FM and television stations. There is no mention of him anywhere, not at all. At that time there are print media, there is no mention of him anywhere, not at all. It is as if the existence of Vikramchand disappeared in this world. Similarly, Vikramchand, who was crying, furrowed his brow and closed his eyes, was sad - is there any trick to seem alive in the wave of discussion? As his concentration faded, an idea dawned on him. The trick worked, but it was not easy to do. 

Before Vikramchand's eyes, there was a small queue of names known and accepted by the society. Is there anything to say to any of them to come to the limelight in this amazing silence? Earlier, he had avoided the discussion by saying something like this to Sanatina. Now he felt, these little bastards will not work anymore. Why do people always repeat the same old things? Now someone with a big name is going to say something. He picked a name from the queue to say something. He was a writer in the eyes of the people. According to Vikramchand, he was a famous and highly valued writer. Many praises were worn around its neck. His name was decorated with many awards and honours. People of different levels of the society knew it with their consciousness according to the level. How can a small wave of discussion not arise by looking at that creature that is known everywhere? I dare say. And, by saying that I cause a wave of discussion. And in this noisy world, right after a while, I realize my existence. 

Vikramchand was driven by the desire for publicity. On social media, he bluntly said that the writer Govind Sharma is a thief. Saying this, and remembering the quickness of his wits and courage, he relished it. Come on, Govinde, you don't know how big you are!

The reaction of this 'thief' was magical. Reactions poured out of social media like ants crawling out of hives. In response, some lashed out at Vikramchand. He who carried it, in devotional posture, said — Vikramchand is truthful. Whatever he says, he is always right. Yee: ​​Still right. The author is Govinde Chorai! A different response came from another angle of response. This angle of dissent sought reason. Writer or non-writer, to be a thief he must have stolen something. In a society where morality is respected, 'stealing' is a serious crime, a crime that leaves a mark of stigma on a person's forehead. A flurry of questions hurled at Vikramchand—what proof do you have that the author is Govinda Chor? Vikramchand remained silent. A verbal response came from the crowd of devotees—What Vikramchand says, he says by thinking. Let us not doubt that. Let us believe that when the word comes out of the holy mouth of Vikramchand, it is automatically true. The response clearly fell into two categories. A stake was committed to faith. The next batch continued to search for the exact reason. Some hunters of the reason questioned the mental balance of not revealing the reason and calling him a thief. Can you say

? At night!

Vikramchand was panting with a fierce thirst for talk. He listened to all this talk with a frown. It can be said from both sides. And, there was a deep emptiness in the atmosphere. Now it was Vikramchand's turn to speak. Breaking the long silence, he said - I felt the same way and said, that's it! Lokmat Jungio - Can you say anything if you have a mouth? Will I also walk saying that Vikramchand is a thief? It was said that due to the suddenness arising from the Heenagranthi, he was riding on the gland called Shrestha, and now Vikramchand was in trouble. However, he was not one to run away from the field. He said - the call of the writer Govinda is not his original, it is stolen. Author Govinda's lifestyle is not his private, it is stolen. What is the evidence Vikramchand? The shocked people fell on Vikram in unison. The proof is my speech — Vikramchand roared as he stood on the threshold of 'good me'. After speaking I spoke, spoke. Now it will not come back. 

•••

Vikramchand was fickle minded, unstable in profession. He used to jump from this job to that job, from that job to that job, just like Chulbule Fisto jumps from leaf to leaf. He was also a chicken farmer. Yesterday he was a master, today he is a businessman. If he runs a hotel tomorrow, he will be a Persian leader. As Vikramchand jumped in this and that profession, the economy of the house quadrupled. Yet the wisdom never came to him that he should be sustained in something. He never regretted the fickleness of his mind and the instability of his profession. Turning to Vikramchand, the people shouted—look, look. It is walking, taking steps. It is a lot of work and work. 

•••

When someone saw someone doing something good, Vikramchand Daha would start burning with rage. Someone became famous in ghazal, he must surpass him. If someone makes a name for himself in haiku, he must outdo him. Ditto in poetry, ditto in story, ditto in memoir, ditto in whatever. The method does not lead to anything. In this race of Daha, Vikramchand was not discussed anywhere, nor was there a single yawn. No one could hear aha in their words, nor did they look right in anyone's eyes. However, he never realized that I was unbelievably shy. And he became the object of ridicule here, the object of ridicule there. But it never occurred to him that I was the object of ridicule everywhere.

•••

Vikramchand remembered his two ugly forms again. And Audaha convulsed him just like that. 

He touched his face, he touched his soul. With anxious eyes he looked here, there, everywhere. He did not see the presence of his being anywhere, not even lace. There are so many eyes in the world, he has not fallen into any eye. There are so many mouths in the world, no one talks about him. There is so much noise in the world, he is nowhere in this huge noise. It is as if he has been completely forgotten. He seems to have been completely abandoned by all sides. Vikramchand's heart burned with anger. Hey! Am I dead? What's wrong with me being alive? Well, in whose eyes, in whose speech, in whose memory, in whose devotion, in whose condemnation am I living? O small Ram! How is it now that the living fetus is in the news? Vikramchand frowned and closed his eyes. He called writer Govind a thief not once but many times on social media. Every last time, the number of people discussing it decreased. Even his limited devotees are tired of discussing this stale topic, his wide critics are also tired. Hey Jhagwan, is there any trick left in this troor world? While thinking about

, Vikramchand felt like a new trick was bubbling in a corner of his mind. Sometimes he had heard—some writer, perhaps a German, who had announced long ago that he would shake the universe—God is dead! Oh, what is the name of Nietzsche? It was on the basis of a declaration that the immortal legend of the German Nietzsche was created. Vikramchand was zealous here. Chasing Govinda would lead to nothing. Something like this should be said now. To say that God is dead is a big deal. How about a little smaller than that? Vikramchand reasoned - what if God is crazy? He decided immediately—that would be fine. He said on social media - God is crazy!

Very few devotees of Vikramchand repeated the old raga. Vikramchand is truthful. Whatever he says, he is always right. Yee: ​​Still right. God is really stupid! A thousand arrows were shot at Vikramchand from a circular angle. That arrow said in a fierce voice - not God, Vikramchand is crazy. Both the serious believer and the shallow atheist took a dig at Vikramchand. An imaginative archer once said – There are only nine strings in the human mind. At least three strings of Vikramchand's mind were loosened. And, he was relieved. And he was crazy.

Vikramchand listened carefully to both sides. And, laughing in his heart, he lamented—what happened if Parchakri cursed me? I had another round of discussion in this desolate place! What Kalle said is not the important thing. The important thing is to have a discussion. That happened! And it was amazing!

It's been a long time. However, the arrow from the opposite angle did not stop. This time also he sought to outline the reason. And, he asked Vikramchand in a loud voice - tell me quickly - what is the reason why the madman says that God is mad? Listened here, the question is the same - the madman...... Heard there, the question is the same - you crazy... Wherever you hear, the question is the same - that's crazy..... Vikramchand felt as if a ball of Aringal had been thrown at him. He was shocked. And, when the shock was over, he thundered—You want proof of this? I said, God is crazy! It's over!

•••

Within a few days, Vikramchand remembered his two ugly forms again. And Audaha convulsed him just like that. He touched his face, he touched his soul. And asked himself- Am I alive or dead? What in the world is the slave of my life? Vikramchand Gharighari Manchinte in the hearth of superiority to overcome the painful inferiority 

used to climb. And, looking down and cursing the people, he used to reason — I say, this world is a flock of fools who do not know the gem. Lost here my glory? Lost here my dear? Lost my glory here? He knew—when he came out, a cannon would be fired in Chokchok. May the heavens resound with the tumultuous sound of his exultation. May flowers be showered on him from the windows of the house. And let the world lift up its feet and look at him and say in one voice— Look, Chin and Maan. That is Vikramchand. It is a blessing to be able to find it.

'...Parasmani' Vikramchand gave Hares a deep sigh. And, in a worried posture, he asked himself - Vikramchand! Is there anything left that can be done to feel alive? No matter how sad he was, nothing came to his mind. God, the creator of that time, was called 'Boulaha'. Who else is above God? Is it true that the sun is nothing, just an illusion of the eye? 

I will tell you, who will listen? Who will believe? Who will discuss? Nirupaya Vikramchand became more and more frustrated. He thought - now I'm dead! I'm done! I do not live in anyone's eyes! I do not live on anyone's word! I do not remember anyone! My discussion ended in praise, it ended in condemnation! was the day. The sun was shining. However, thick darkness prevailed before Vikramchand's eyes. The darkness of despair. The darkness of despair. Darkness of Death ! 

Vikramchand decided to use his last weapon to feel alive. His weapon was suicide! He wrote a suicide note. In the note, he said - It is useless for me to stay among the herd of strangers who do not know people. There was no one in the world who understood my importance. Now I have no hope for anyone. So I died today!

susite note is found, Vikramchand disappears from the screen. The police issued a notice giving the hulia of Lokchhe Vikramchand. Whoever sees such a person alive or dead will be rewarded accordingly. Days passed. Weeks passed. Weeks passed. Vikramchand's needle was not found anywhere. The police said in disbelief - they tried to find him, but he was nowhere to be found. The possibility of finding Bikramchand is over now!

Vikramchand was hiding in a secret place listening to his talk. In the discussion he was sometimes called Mani, sometimes Khusket. It was called an inexplicable gland. He rejoiced until he felt alive in this diverse discussion. However, his happiness did not last long. The exhausted police twisted the story and said that Vikramchand had committed suicide. Now, Vikramchand is trapped in the terrible abyss of crisis. On the other hand, Vikramchand is breathing heavily in secret. He has committed suicide in the eyes of the people. Oh God, what to do now? To come out as if I was alive, fearing that people would think I was a ghost and kill me. Decide how many days in the ghost, where to hide?

Constrained and helpless, Vikramchand's body is found hanging from a tree in the Vankali forest. The body was hanging from a tree by the side of the stairs. The choice of place indicated that, even at the moment of suicide, Vikramchand's insatiable thirst for discussion was intense. Perhaps it is his last wish - that many people see my dead body and discuss it while hanging on the stairs where people are always walking - Until yesterday, a sad man named Vikramchand was alive in the mortal world! 

•••

When Vikramchand breathed his last, there were many comments from many mouths. Commoners said— his face never looked brighter. Well he lived in sorrow, died in sorrow and hid in sorrow. Someone sarcastically lived carrying a mountain of ego, the ego also died with it. A psychologist wrote in his daily diary in a mood of sadness - Vikramchand had one disease, he went about hiding it.